Page 102 of Shattered Dreams

It will be easier knowing my sister’s settled.

To give up, I mean.

I walk across the ballroom, accepting congratulations that aren’t mine. I’ve fucked everything up, only this time Stella won’t be able to forgive me.

She’s standing in the garden near a tree, her hair pinned into a low bun at the back of her head, her cream silk dress glimmering in the light pollution. She looks sophisticated, elegant. My queen, like I promised so long ago.

But you know I’ve been shit at keeping my promises. This is no different.

“Stella,” I say, walking across the garden, the scent of the flowers too sweet. I’m glad we’re alone. I couldn’t bear to have any witnesses.

She looks over her shoulder, her bright blue eyes sparkling, though a little tired. It’s late, and the reception will be ending soon. I waited as long as could, eked out as much happiness as I could.

“Hi,” she says. “You caught me. I’m sorry I disappeared. The crowd gets to be too much. Are you okay?”

She always knows when something is bothering me.

“No, I’m not. I have to tell you something.”

Her hand flutters to her throat and the diamond necklace I fastened there earlier this evening. “Is it bad? It’s bad. What’s wrong?”

We haven’t quite shaken off what the Blacks did to us, always alert, wary, ready for the next threat.

I twist the rings on her finger. No matter how often I offer to buy her a different diamond, she insists she wants to keep the one I gave her at the penthouse. We were only kids, high on love and grandeur this would work out.

Dropping her hand, I resist the urge to slide them off her finger. They don’t belong there, that little diamond and the wedding band I put on her finger the evening we married at the courthouse.

“You know I believed the stories about you and Cardello,” I start. There’s not going to be an easy way to say what I have to say.

“Yeah, I know,” she whispers.

I tuck my hands into my pockets and stare at the ground. Talking about that time in our lives always shames me. That Stella was a prisoner at Black Enterprises for five years because I didn’t believe in her, didn’t believe she loved me enough to stay and not let an Italian prince lure her away.

It shames me that I didn’t fight.

I deserve tonight and all the years that will follow.

“I hated you, Stella. I hated you as much as I loved you, and I knew the second you surfaced in King’s Crossing. I had snitches and gossips and druggies and hookers all watching out for you, and I knew. I wanted to punish you. I despised you, loathed you. You broke my heart and and I wanted to break you, too.”

I flick at glance at her, and her skin’s as pale as her dress.

Get it done.

“I hired someone to kill you. I wanted to pay you back for every year I lived in agony and despair because I thought you wanted a crown more than you wanted me.”

A tear runs down her cheek.

“Hal was good at his job. I paid him hundreds of thousands of dollars to be good at his job.”

Her lips tremble. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” I lift a shoulder. “Nothing. Ash was already after you. I didn’t know it was him—I thought perhaps Cardello had a vendetta—but Hal backed out. He said he didn’t compete for marks, that if I was patient enough, your death would be free.”

She wipes her face, her hands shaking.

“He was curious why you would risk your life to try to see me, and it was his idea that I find you and ask what you wanted. That’s why I told you to meet me at your apartment. But instead of listening to you, I raped you—”

“No—”

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