Page 41 of Good As Hell

A sharp pain twists in my lower left leg. Groaning low, I grab the aching cramp, trying to massage the knot away. Then another cramp pierces my side. Yep, I definitely need to start moving my body more. There is no way a little outing like this should have me bowed over like I’m an octogenarian.

“Here let me.” Hassan reaches for me. My tummy growls and his gaze shoots up to mine.

I rear back like he’s trying to stab me instead of massage me. “I got it.” Concentrating on my leg, trying to apply enough pressure to ease the ache, but it’s dang near impossible when my side is also trying to end me.

“Lyric.” With a tone hard as steel, he pries my leg away from me, settling it on his hard thigh.

Wordless and tense, he works the cramp out of my leg. His hands are so gentle yet firm tears prickle behind my eyelids.

I’m still sitting awkwardly when he finishes. Obviously I must look pitiful because he says, “Come, let me ease you, jameela,” in words so soft and sweet they immediately melt my resolve.

I don’t have to move because he drags me over to him, pulling my body into his lap, cradling me as he soothes the ache in my body.

His gruff promise, “I’ll have someone come and pamper you tomorrow, little wife,” is that last thing I hear before I drift off.

Chapter Fourteen

PRINCESS OF THE PEOPLE

LYRIC

“Shukran” the little girl smiles her thanks up at me as I pass her a bundle of clothes to go along with the care package that Fi has already given her parents. Nodding their thanks, the young family moves to the other volunteers who will give them a voucher for housing, prepaid debit card for food and other necessities she and the family may need.

“They love you. Maybe as much as the people back home. You’re doing so much good. You always do.” Turning, I look up into Fi’s smiling face. Her words a balm to my soul.

Going out several times a week to help those affected by the earthquake has restored not only my reputation, but my mental health. I don’t care how gilded a cage is, it’s still a cage. I can use the vast resources of the palace to help people as much as I can. The press coverage has grudgingly acknowledged my work, even though they constantly question my motives. Yet once the people come in contact with me, they seem to brighten towards me.

“I’m not mad about it.” I quip, smiling at the next family in line. “You know we don’t know how to do half measures.” Filling the parcels with goods and clothing. I notice their teen daughter holding her phone, looking at me with hope.

“Would you like to take a picture with me?” I ask, through the helpful translator Indigo, the palace, has provided. How this girl ended up here working in the Palace is a question for the ages and I can’t wait to get some time alone with her to ask. However, as usual, my time is never my own. And to be seen gossiping with the staff is highly frowned upon by the palace officials.

“She says yes, if it pleases you, mistress,” Indigo provides with a cheeky smile, knowing I hear that phrase often enough to know that particular phrase. My language skills are getting better, though some of the nuances are tricky with the various dialects. Still, I am determined. I don’t like the fact that people could be speaking about me in negative terms in my own household when I’m not aware.

Scooting past Indigo, I go over to the girl. We do a couple of selfies. My little teen fangirls posting on their social media has done so much to help me re-establish my place as the Empress. All the love and personal stories have nearly undone the bad press I’ve gotten since my shot-gun wedding to their beloved prince.

After hugs to the girl and her mom, I move back behind the table with Fi and Indigo.

“The line is thinning. Do you want to take a break?” Fi asks. Checking the veracity of their words, I shake my head. “Nah, there’s not that many people. We can finish, then we can head home.” Funny that I think of the palace as my home when it should be anything but. There is still gossip about Hassan and my relationship making it to the tabloids and gossip blogs. Feeling like I had no choice I gave Fi permission to each out to Joi to try to counter some of the narrative of me being a golddigging, diva who trapped their noble prince only to make him so miserable that he won’t even come home to the palace his family’s inhabited for millennia.

Turning back to the people, I try to push down the hurt just thinking of it evokes. Since the night a couple of weeks ago, when I rode home with Hassan, he’s been a ghost. Only seeing Ayaan when I’m not there.

The times when I know he’s in residence, I hesitate to intrude, thinking of the last time I tried to reach out to him and the awful fight that ensued.

“Oh, you’re sad again.” Indigo observes, looking from me to the people.

“The smile that you’ve pasted on doesn’t help, sis. It makes you look even more pitiful. Stop letting that motherfucker ruin your day.” Fi’s admonishment does the job intended. Snapping me out of my morose thoughts and shocking the innocence out of Indigo.

“You’re a mess.” I tell her. “You can’t be talking like that around Indigo.” Nudging her side, I add. “Apologize.”

“Sorry, Indigo.” Fi says not meaning it at all.

“You’re so hoodly.” Indigo quips back, rolling her eyes.

“It’s hood and you have no idea.” Fi counters, blasting the new arrivals with a dazzling smile.

“Mistress.”I look up at one of the Red Crescent workers approaching me.

“Yes?” I asked the woman who I put to a task when the second time I volunteered.

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