Page 50 of The Queen's Denial

My smile hurts my face. “I didn’t even know whether you liked my shows or not,” I mumble, unsure how I can even speak with all the giddy energy running through my system. A nervous hiccup of laughter escapes my mouth. I can’t believe I’m acting like a middle school girl with her first crush.

“I like everything about you, Chi,” he says, looking down at the floor. Somehow, despite everything we’ve done with each other — every bit of our bodies we’ve shown each other, all the hours we’ve spent watching TV, through our injuries and all — this is the most intimate I’ve ever felt with him. With anyone, actually. We’re both splitting ourselves open and showing everything inside. I always thought this would be awful and painful, but I couldn’t love anything more than this moment we’re in right now.

“Me too, Andy.” I move closer to him and hug him, shoving my face into his chest. “This isn’t just about fucking for me, Andy. I… I really like you. As a person. As… everything. You are just…” I take a deep breath in and sigh out into him. I feel closer to him than I’ve felt to anyone. I feel intoxicated and stupid, like I’m throwing everything I know out the window, and I absolutely couldn’t care less. This high is carrying me away.

“I know, Chee-chee. I know you do, because I feel the same way.” He holds me delicately and smooths my hair down my back, leaving a thousand tiny goosebumps in his wake.

He kisses me softly, but it feels so intense. When he picks me up and carries me into his room, I know it’s all going to be the same way, and I’m right. Every touch is almost an overstimulation. We fuck slowly, because I think that’s the only way we would be able to handle the onslaught of emotions that comes with the declarations we’ve made to each other tonight.

He holds me firmly but gently, like I might break. There is no pretending. There is no role play. There is only us, together, enjoying each other in a way I truly think we never have before. Enjoying each other, I believe, in a way neither of us has ever enjoyed anyone else. And it is fucking spectacular.

All that shit I read about in books happens: our chests rise and fall at the same time, we lie together without speaking, looking into each other’s eyes. I know he’s saying beautiful things in his head, because I am too. I’m certain that we fall asleep at the same time. I doubt either of us will ever name these feelings, but it’s all I’ve ever imagined it would be.

Chapter 25

Chi

I wake up to the light pouring through the windows of this modest little house. There are old, rickety shades, but they don’t do much. I study them for a moment, for some strange reason, finding beauty in the wear and tear, wondering how many families lived here before Andy bought it for his own purposes.

I look out the window into the small backyard and think through all of the generations. I think about the mothers who played with their children out there, kissed their scrapes and bruises away without a world-class doctor on staff to make sure they were okay, and made canned pasta for lunch in the winter. When they bought those ancient blinds, were they the best available? Were they excited at the design? Did they talk about it with their friends over coffee, about how they were remodeling the home and how exciting it was?

A whole life, so different from the one I’ll live. It doesn’t feel noble, or even courageous, to fight for a run-of-the-mill life that will affect nothing and no one. I will have power and sway far beyond the dreams of anyone who ever lived in this house. Far beyond anyone who ever lived in a house like this one, or like any on this street or in this neighborhood. It’s not I who should envy them. I’m Chichi Yan, and I was born for more. I have so much and am extremely privileged to have it all — things that my own ancestors worked for decades to obtain.

But I can pretend. I can pretend for a little while longer that I could be one of those people. That my choices will affect only me and my little family — that I could even have a close family. That I could love my husband and my kids, wipe their tears when they scrape their knee, and teach them how to ride a bike. So, I let myself think about it. About… us. Andy and I.

The bed next to me is still rumpled and carries Andy’s citrusy scent. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the pillow, pretending that I’m that 90s housewife, about to spring out of bed, put on my makeup, get my kids on the bus, and go to the gym while my husband is working hard making the lion’s share of our income. And for a few minutes, my cold heart is filled with warmth.

Then I realize I’m smelling real coffee — my favorite coffee — and smile at the fact that Andy has actually brought it here to this safehouse that he probably never even comes to anymore since he spends all of his nights with me now. That’s what the good-looking, sweet 90s husband would do for his doting wife, after all. “You like the coffee at this fancy Italian restaurant? I’ll order it for us!”

I sigh dreamily as I drag myself out of bed and step lightly through the room and down the hall. As I walk, the distinct smell of fresh herbs catches my attention. I follow it to a door, slightly ajar. When I open it, I see Andy hunched over a small trove of different plants, pruning one that looks like it might actually be spinach.

I’m too stunned to be amused. “What are you doing?”

Andy startles at this intrusion, which I’m certain I’ve never seen him do before this moment. He looks like he’s been caught stealing something. “Uh… this is sort of like… a greenhouse.”

I finally laugh in amazement. “What?”

He turns toward me and puts his hands behind him on the shelf, leaning back, trying to look casual. “Do you not know what a greenhouse is?”

“Ummm, I know what a greenhouse is, but… what?”

“Do you have an actual question you want to ask?” Andy asks, and he finally seems to be taking some enjoyment in my shock.

“Andy… how do you have a greenhouse? This room is like… slightly larger than a closet. How do you take care of these things? Do you come here to this safehouse just to, like, water these plants?”

He bites his lip, as if considering whether to answer me truthfully. “Well, I have a housekeeper, and maintaining them is part of her job. Then I come once in a while to check on them. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

He turns back and takes his small clippers to one of the tiny branches while I continue to stare unabashedly. “It’s like… I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He turns his face to the side and smirks. “Well, I guess you’re not the only one with a hobby, Princess Leia.”

I squash my laughter behind the back of my hand. “At least I’m open about my love of sci-fi/fantasy. But here you are, a closet gardener. Literally.”

“You know, only a billionaire would think this is the size of a closet.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “It was a sewing room when I bought the place.”

“Ohhh, a sewing room. That goes perfectly with the vision I had of who used to live here.”

Now Andy stops his pruning. “Huh?”

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