Page 3 of The Queen's Denial

Once I do, just enough comes back to me about the night before for me to begin piecing it together: a parking lot, a party, the whip of a tree branch. “Giardi,” I whisper. “That fucker.” I don’t remember details, but I remember that one of my family’s biggest rivals, and the man whose soldiers shot my father just a week ago, is the one responsible for my current state.

Andy laughs while pushing my hair back gently, presumably to check the bandage I now feel encircling my head. “Yeah, one of his guys whacked you with a gun. The guy who hit you is dead, and once I get my hands on Giardi, he’ll be dead too; don’t worry.”

My eyes dart to his to see if he’s kidding, but his face is a stone slate. Before I can attempt to read him, I jolt in bed. “Mara? Is Mara okay?” Mara is my best friend — the only other friend I have in this billionaire life we both live who seems to actually get that it’s all just a game. A game that isn’t always so fun to play. She doesn’t quite know how deeply entrenched in this world I actually am and hasn’t ever really asked. But she’s starting to figure it out, little by little. It seems that everyone is.

“She’s fine, Chi. She and Cas had to go off the grid for a few days.” I breathe a sigh of relief. He’ll keep her safe. Technically, Cas is the head honcho of the mafia-like organization Andy works for, but I personally think Andy does as much work as his cousin does and is just as important. Cas is also Mara’s… well, in my mind, he’s her epic love, if they can get their shit together. This life we live, that our families live, tends to keep us from finding true happiness. Because of the circumstances surrounding my future, I don’t have the luxury of an epic love story, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for them.

“So we all survived… but you’re still planning to kill Giardi, huh?” I ask, trying to get my bearings back. Andy just puts his palms out and shrugs: an “Obviously, Chi,” without words.

My father taught me how to read people — how to use their discomfort against them — but most of the time, I can’t read Andy at all. I pride myself on my people-reading skills, so this is more than a little unsettling. And if I’m being honest, intriguing.

I realize that he’s doing to me what I wish I could do to him, simply by withholding his feelings from me. Well, if he’s going to unsettle me, I’ll have to do it right back. “KillingGiardi.” I reach up with my hand and push the corners of his lips up. “Does that make you happy?” Now I push his lips down in the corners. “Or sad?”

He opens his mouth and bites my finger so quickly and unexpectedly that I shriek and knock the water on the bedside table over.

Andy grins, but still grabs my finger to make sure he didn’t bite too hard. “For you, baby? It’ll be my pleasure.”

*****

I hate hospitals. I have always hated them, but I despise them even more now. Just over a week ago, a few bullets were shot through the window of my father’s study and nearly killed him in the incident that forced Mara, Cas, and Andy to bring me along with them. My father has been in this hospital ever since, trying to recuperate. Visiting him when he was half-alive was torture.

Now I just remember that horrible event, which made this already somewhat traumatizing life I live even worse. I knew bad things happened to other people, but thought with all the security I have surrounding me, none of it could touch me. After a handful of men come into your home and hold a gun to your head, then put their disgusting hands all over your body, before your best friend and her boyfriend shoot them off of you, it definitely changes your outlook on your own safety and mortality.

Even though they are for recuperation, hospitals now just give me such uneasy vibes. Just because I can only count the times I’ve been a patient or a visitor on one hand doesn’t mean it isn’t terrible each time.

“Go to sleep,” Andy mumbles in the darkness as I try to find a good position for the umpteenth time. Of course, with the doctors coming in and out every hour or two, it's easier said than done.

“I’m trying,” I say, elbowing my pillow. I’m exhausted, but I’m itchy and achy and so fucking uncomfortable.

“This is one of the best rooms in this hospital, Chi,” Andy says, with more than a little testiness in his tone. I've noticed that he gets cranky when he’s tired. I file that away for later. I didn’t think anything could disturb his calm and cool composure.

“Doesn’t mean it’s comfortable,” I mutter back, throwing the pillow off the side of the bed and using my arm instead.

“Comfort is different for some people than others,” Andy says, a smirk evident in his tone. “Maybe if you stopped comparing it to your state-of-the-art mattress at the mansion…”

He trails off, which is good because I’m about to interrupt the son-of-a-bitch anyway. If he wants to get laid, he’s certainly not going to get it with that attitude. “Listen,” I say with some exasperation, “I’m not trying to tell you that I’m ungrateful here, but this hospital uses detergent with perfumes. It messes with my eyes and my skin is sensitive. You want to see the rash on my—”

Now Andy interrupts me by turning the lamp on and allowing pale yellow light to spill through the room. “You have a rash? Where?” He grabs my arm and searches before he sees the tiny red bumps. I think he’s about to make fun of me, but he hits the call button instead.

“You should have told me!” he says, shaking his head. “Jesus, if you have a rash from the bedding, we can get you different sheets. I’ll get you whatever you need.”

I open my mouth to speak, but for once, I’m at a loss for words. It’s not that I’ve never had people jump up and do things for me when I ask them to, but I guess I never really thought of Andy like this. I don’t hate it.

“Thanks?” I say uncertainly. I’m exhausted, but in truth, I probably would benefit from a change of sheets. My skin sensitivities haven’t ever really been a problem since my father is rich as sin.

When the orderlies barge into the room, I look away the entire time they change my sheets so as not to show my embarrassment. It annoys me that I’m embarrassed in the first place. My father has always told me not to apologize for my wealth and lifestyle. It’s not my fault that I’m rich.

When they’re done, I lie down and bite my lip. I hate feeling grateful to someone for doing something I wouldn’t normally have to be grateful for.But I sigh into the crisp, cool sheets that don’t smell like cheap detergent and pull the pillow to my face.

Andy smirks, giving himself a huge pat on the back, I’m sure — one step closer to his goal of nailing me. I’ll let him think it’s a game, even though I decided a week ago that he’d be getting lucky as soon as my father was feeling better.

With that in mind, I decide to play with him a little. “Tell me a bedtime story,” I say, batting my own long lashes. I’ve found the best way to keep men on the hook is to act meek and coy, and then strike when they think they have me all buttoned up and ready.

He smirks that devilish grin at me that I’ve come to know so well. He’s definitely practiced it in the mirror — it looks too good to be natural. I love it when men put in the extra effort, even if it does make them a bit arrogant and overbearing. It’s almost funny how obvious it is that he’s trying to lure me, just like I am him. “A bedtime story? Like what? I’m pretty sure anything I have to tell you will give you nightmares.”

I smile back, breathing in deeply and sighing out. “You’d be surprised by how much I can take. I don’t scare so easily. Why do you think I went with you, Mara, and Cas to a party where an enemy of my family could have killed me?”

He leans back without turning off the light and studies me. He looks off at the wall and bites his lip in thought. “Okay,” he says with finality. Then he turns his dark eyes back to me, and I see them swirling in thought: black coffee with a touch of cream.

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