Page 122 of Sinful Bride

I yank the drawer back open, grab my phone, and momentarily wonder if Pasha would mind me hurling this out the window so I can get a new one.

I see the inbox blink with the preview of yet another message. It’s all I need to see.

“Hey, Aubrey?” I lean into the intercom system we installed to connect our offices.

“Good morning, hon! What’s up?”

“I need to step out for a while. I should be back around lunchtime.”

“No problem! Everything okay?”

I hesitate to answer. I don’t like lying. But, at the same time, I have this feeling that everything will be okay.

Once I get this settled.

“Everything’s fine, thanks. Just realized I need to run a few errands.” On a second thought, and just to ease any suspicion, I add, “Need anything while I’m out?”

“Well, if you’re coming back around lunchtime…”

That genuinely makes me smile. “I’ll text you and Hazel for your orders. It’s on me.”

This must be what they mean by “full circle moment”: the profound realization of how far I’ve come since the last time I was here.

Last time, I wore whatever floral sundress monstrosity my so-called mother deemed “appropriate,” just so she could sit there and try to force me into a loveless marriage.

Today, I’m wearing the plum bodycon dress Sofiya bought for me as my “first ass-kicking gift,” along with heels that could stab anyone who gets in my way.

I’m married to the man I love, who loves me back just as fiercely and passionately.

And I won’t listen to a word of criticism.

In fact, I’m the one doing all the talking.

“Miss Covington!” The maître d' does a double-take when I stride through the double glass doors and approach his gilded podium. “So good to see you again! Do you have a reservation?”

“I know—it’s been a while.” I offer him a warm smile. “I am married now, though. No longer a Covington.”

“Oh, how wonderful! My biggest congratulations! Is your reservation under…?”

“Chekhov.” I bite back the knowing smirk when I see his eyes widen a bit more and he takes a step back. “But no, I’m not actually here to stay. I just need to deliver something to my parents and then I’ll be on my way out.”

He visibly swallows and peeks down at his tablet. He clearly wants to deny me entrance, but my new name holds more power than either of my old ones ever did.

“Of course. They’re seated by the fountain. I can have someone escort you over?—”

“No, thank you. I see them.”

How could I miss seeing them? Stewart is frowning so deeply, there’s practically a storm cloud forming over his head. And Ophelia, dolled up as ever, is wearing one of her gaudy tea hats and a painfully bright, coral pink dress suit.

I stroll over to them, my head held high and every step more confident than the last.

You’ve got this.

You’re a queen.

You’re his queen.

“Daphne!”

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