Page 5 of The Queen's Denial

My eyes roll slowly over to his. It’s not natural for me to hear a man apologize, and I almost want to ask him to do it again, but I refrain. Instead, I say, “Listen, you got them to keep me here for an extra night, okay? The least you can do is let me read in peace.”

He studies me for a moment without looking into my face, and I realize too late what he’s actually looking at.

“Hmm, who’s that on the cover?” he asks, his grin telling me he knows exactly what it is.

“What? No one.” I shove the cover into the mattress quickly and pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“What elven mysteries are you reading about, Chee-chee?”

I feel my cheeks heat yet again. Now I’ve been embarrassed in front of him twice in the span of two days. “None of your business.”

I’m glad, over the next minute or so, that my father has taught me how to read all types of expressions. I can tell that Andy’s holds just a tinge of affection. “The elves on your covers are a lot better looking than the ones I learned about as a kid.”

I bite my lip and look down, still blushing but curious enough to continue the conversation. “What kind of elves were those? Didn’t you ever read The Hobbit when you were a kid?”

He thinks for a minute. “Oh yeah, I think I saw the cartoon or something. But I just remember the dwarf — the main character.”

I close my book and lay my hands over each other like a patient teacher. “No, Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit.”

“He was definitely a dwarf. He was short.”

I shake my head, really wishing I had glasses that I could push up on my nose at him right now as I explain this. “No, no, hobbits are short too. They are like little people. Dwarves are like… little people that live underground.”

“But Bimbodid live underground, in a sort of hovel type thing.”

“His name was not…” I suddenly realize he’s fucking with me, and I narrow my eyes at him.

I’m right, and he gives me another slick little smirk before saying, “I loved that cartoon when I was a kid, and I’ve seen the movies. Yes, I remember Bilbo and the elves. I’m kidding.”

“You asshole,” I say, unable to hold in a small laugh that I attempt to turn into a cough.

“I was talking about the little elves that help Santa Claus. They definitely don’t have sweet six-pack abs like that guy.”

I was hoping he’d forgotten about what I was reading, and my cheeks heat again. “I don’t read it for the elves with six-pack abs. I read it because sometimes the feelings are so real. And it’s just nice to…” I remember who I’m talking to and who we are — the type of life we live — and trail off, realizing how stupid it’s going to sound just a moment too late.

“What? Do you read it for the hot leading ladies?”

I close my eyes at his juvenility. “I read it because it’s just nice to see the good guys win sometimes. It’s nice to be so sure of who they are in the first place.”

When I open my eyes again, I’m pleasantly surprised by his thoughtful gaze back at me. “I feel like I knew that about you before you told me,” he says, and there’s something boyish in his normally hard, unforgiving expression that I’m sure he doesn’t know is there. A moment later, it’s gone, and he speaks again. “But in this life, I think we have to just go with the knowledge that the bad guys are the guys who want to hurt us. Regardless of the reason.”

I blush as he stares at me intently, pretty certain that he’s talking about his wish to kill Giardi for trying to hurt me. I’ve been on the sidelines of the Yakuza my entire life and know how to use a range of weapons — I actually enjoy throwing my knives and my fencing lessons, in fact. I’m just not supposed to be obvious about my knowledge, and I never get to carry a gun. If I did then I could take care of myself, but it’s nice to think someone else wants to protect me that much.

I try to shrug off any warm and fuzzy feelings that thought gives me. “I really wish I could remember what happened.”

Andy has been tight-lipped the past two days, and I doubt that’s about to change now. “Do you remember any of it?” he asks.

“Not really,” I say, considering the question. “I just remember giving you directions, getting into that parking lot, and… that’s about it.”

He gives me a stern look, and I glance away. I may be a little impulsive, but he’s just going to have to get used to that. “You came to help out and started swinging a tree branch like a crazy person while I was busy trying to kill the other guy. Thank God he must have recognized you and decided that shooting the famous Chi Yan could have dire consequences. So instead, he just bashed you on the head with his gun.”

I lie back on the pillows and close my eyes, trying not to blush too hard. Andy is probably downplaying the danger he was in. I try to remember any of what he’s telling me, and nothing but murky, dusky pictures emerge from the recesses of my brain.

“Maybe I could’ve been more effective if you’d given me a gun. Or if I’d had my knives. But I probably saved your life anyway.”

Andy snickers caustically. “Not quite, Chee-chee.”

I open my eyes and narrow them on him. He has taken to calling me by my full name every time he wants to make me feel uncomfortable. And it works, although I don’t want to admit it. “Stop calling me ‘Chee-chee. Your American accent butchers it. It’s a softer ‘ch;’ and ‘i.’ Almost like a ‘sh.’ Tshyi-tshyi.”

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