Chapter 42

I just wanted to use the bathroom.

Instead…

My past is being a bitch again.

Stacy comes out of the bathroom stall like she's the villain from Scream, appearing like a fucking murderer, silently stalking toward me.

Cathy appears on my other side, standing by the sink, eyes shrewd and body poised like she's going to strike.

And…well, I don't have time for this.

I spin for the door?—

Stop when I find Dessie leaning back against the wooden panel.

And…now I'm scared.

Because the looks in their eyes, the way that Stacy is moving toward me like a mountain lion ready to pounce, Cathy's sneer, Dessie's smirk?—

Right.

This isn't going to be good.

"You're going to leave him," Cathy says. "Tonight."

My brows drag together. "Leave who?"

Stacy's suddenly an inch away, winding up and I flinch back from her fist.

Only, it doesn't make contact with my face.

It flies so close to my skin that I feel the whoosh of air, one I'm still processing as it makes contact with the bodice of my dress and?—

Rip!

I gasp and stumble back, my fingers clenching at the material, trying to hold my beautiful dress together. "What the hell are you doing?" I gasp.

Smack!

This time a hand is making contact with my face—Cathy's hand. "You're such an ungrateful little bitch!" she snaps as I stagger back, clamping my palm to my stinging cheek. "Kingston deserves better than a pathetic little orphan like you. You don't even know what the hell you're doing, what the hell you have, what kind of jumping-off point it can be, do you?" she sneers. "Of course you don't. You're not smart enough for that. Otherwise you would have married the other one who was far too good for you."

Phillip too good for me.

That's a fucking joke.

"You know that he beat me," I grind out.

Her brows lift. "I know that you deserved it."

"No one deserves that."

Stacy darts toward me, hands connecting with my chest, shoving me back hard into the sink, tearing my dress further. "You do."

"Why do you hate me so much?" I ask. "I did nothing to you. Wanted nothing more than to have sisters, have a mother, and you've always treated me as less?—"

"Because you are less," Cathy says. "Born from that whore of a mother, taking resources from my daughters. Your father always focused on you and?—"

Be brave and kind.

My father's voice slides through my mind.

And…I stop.

Still.

Think.

Why do I have to be kind to these women who were nothing but cruel to me growing up?

"He was my only living parent," I say. "Your ex is in the picture, and he paid child support?—"

"Not enough!" Stacy shouts, the words bouncing around the space.

"My babies deserve the best," Cathy says, and I see the unhinged look in her eyes, have seen it time and again.

This is the same.

Always the same.

She's never going to change, never going to understand, never going to love me.

Because she has no clue how valuable I am…and how worthy King is.

That's the part that pisses me off.

This—I wave a mental hand at the assholes from my past—I'm used to this shit.

But it's King and I. Together.

And that feeling of sureness prompts my next words. "King isn't a stepping stone to someone richer and more famous. He deserves better. He deserves everything." I clutch at the bodice of my dress, turn to the door. "Same as I deserved more from you all—more kindness and compassion and—" I take a breath. "I know you'll never see it that way." Another. "But I know that I deserve it."

There. It's not a grand speech reminiscent of a coming-of-age film.

It's not pummeling these women into the tile floor.

It's not an exacting punishment that will lock them up for the rest of their lives.

But…

A switch has flipped inside me.

This isn't me cutting them off because I'm too scared to interact with them, too worried about yelling and insults and hissy fits.

This is me…done.

They don't get it, and they never will.

And…

Maybe that's the brave and kind part.

Be brave and know when to draw a line.

Be kind to myself, knowing that I don't have to keep throwing myself into this emotional blender.

I can be done with them.

I can move on.

I can have something beautiful without them ruining it.

I turn toward Dessie, who's always been the most reasonable of the trio. "I need you to move—ah!"

I didn't see Stacy come close again, didn't hear or sense her. Not until she's shoving me back, sending me colliding with the line of sinks.

Pain explodes over my back, my head, and I lift a shaky hand up, feel the back of my skull, the lump that's already forming there.

Come on, universe. Throw me a lifeline.

I am so donewith being hurt.

"You idiot," Cathy snaps at Stacy, grabbing her before she can push me again.

I glance back up at Dessie, see that she's gone pale, is shaking her head, inching toward the door. "Des—" I begin.

She slips out, the panel shutting behind her.

Great.

I struggle up to my feet, turn, and?—

Stacy rips out of her mother's hold, shoves me again.

But this time, I'm ready for her bullshit, and I don't fall, just stagger back a step.

"Bring it, bitch," I mutter.

Be brave and kind?

Brave in standing up for myself.

Kind in taking notes from King and pounding my fist into my stepsister's face.

Stacy lunges for me, fingers curled, long nails like talons.

"Stop it!" Cathy growls, yanking her back. "You're making a scene and we need to be smart?—"

I snort.

I can't help it.

Smart like coming here in the first place? Like confronting me in the bathroom? Like trying to kowtow me by unleashing their abuse all over again?

I'm done.

D.O.N.E. Done.

Cathy slowly spins her gaze toward me—and I can't lie. She's fucking terrifying. "Leave," she snaps.

"No problem, psycho," I mutter, taking another step toward the door.

"Not you," Cathy snaps at me. "You," she snarls at Stacy.

Wide eyes. Begrudging expression. "But Mom?—"

"Go."

Stacy hesitates one more second then turns and walks out of the bathroom.

Leaving me alone with Cathy.

Who stares at me for a long, long time.

Right. Yeah, that's enough of that.

I turn for the door and?—

It swings open.

Revealing King.

He takes one look at me and the murder that bleeds onto his face…

God, it shouldn't make my heart happy.

It still does though.

King and I versus the world.

"Princess?" he rasps.

"I'm okay," I tell him, rage making my hands shake. But my voice is steady when I say, "I'm done with them all."

Blue eyes on mine—searching, holding, then he nods, glances over my shoulder. "You'll gather your daughters and you'll leave." A beat. "Immediately."

Cathy's mouth opens.

"And if I see you, if my mom sees you, if I hear that annoying voice of yours for even a second, you'll regret it."

Defiance on her face, and I know King's threats aren't going to get through that stubborn skull of hers.

"I retained a lawyer," I blurt.

She stills. "You don't have any proof about Stacy?—"

"Not about Stacy," I say, moving toward her, holding her gaze. "About my father's will…"

Her face goes pale.

"And how you spent my inheritance?—"

"That didn't happen?—"

Be brave.

I lift my brows, hold her gaze. "Didn't it?"

Brave and kind…and bullshit when necessary.

Because I don't have proof.

Because I never pursued it.

Because I didn't want to rock the boat.

But know what?

I'm diving right in and swimming to shore.

Her throat works. "You wouldn't."

I tilt my head to the side. "Wouldn't I?"

King steps next to me, takes my hand, giving me support without taking over.

God, I love this man.

"You should go," I tell her.

Cathy looks between us, hesitates, and then walks out the door.

King waits for it to shut behind her before he turns to me. "Christ, princess, do you ever not find trouble?"

"I think the question is why does trouble always find me?" I rest my forehead against his. "Are you okay?" I ask as I touch his temple. "In here?"

Because this isn't his fault.

But I know this is a trigger for him, another bit of fucked-up to add to our tally.

He tucks my hair behind my ear, leans close, sighs quietly. "You and me against the world, right?"

My throat goes tight.

God, I love this man.

"You and me against the world," I agree quietly.

Lips on my forehead before he pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "You hurt?"

And I know I can give him the truth, that no matter what, we'll sort it. Together.

"Nothing an ice pack and a couple of aspirin won't fix," I tell him. I glance down at the shredded bodice of my gown. "My dress, on the other hand…" I sigh. "How the hell am I supposed to go out there with my dress like this?"

"Funny story?—"

We both jump, and I turn to see Jean-Michel standing in the open door, a security guard hauling Cathy away behind him.

"—I can help with the crazy stepmother and sisters, that stolen inheritance, and"—he holds up a garment bag—"a replacement dress."

My eyes go to King's and even though it should be the last thing I'm feeling, I'm doing?—

I start laughing.

King leans in, settles his hands on my face, puts his lips to my ear, murmurs,

"Fairy fucking godfather."