Page 117 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“We were rescuing each other?”
“Before that… when we were in that tent under the olive trees, and you were truly mine—more than just the meaningless words we used before…”
Her face flushed with heat and then with joy as he gently touched her chin with the edge of his fingertips, drawing her closer to where he could reach her. The achingly sweet kiss hepressed on her lips tasted of hope, of promises, of a future yet to be fulfilled.
And feeling his lips turn possessively over hers, she had a feeling that no one would ever question whether Achilles loved her—not ever again.
Epilogue
Saturday, June 28th, DAY 220
—About six months of wedded bliss, give or take—
Therhythmicpoundingofhammer against nails echoed across the hillside as Achilles secured another beam to the tin roof of the new schoolhouse. He couldn’t stop peering down at his wife as she painted the door frame a cheerful sunshine yellow below. Her dark hair escaped from its ponytail to curl around her flushed cheeks. The crisp Tirrojan breeze carried the salt-sweet scent of the sea up from the harbor, mingling with the earthy smell of fresh lumber and paint. Nothing could distract him from the sight of her.
Below them, children’s laughter rang out like music as they played in the courtyard of their brand-new school—the first of many projects funded by Tirreoy’s newfound prosperity. At the center of the chaos, a familiar mop of light brown hair caught Achilles’s attention. Yiorgos was chasing a group of older children around the olive tree, brandishing his precious textbook like a sword—though this one was filled with real history instead of government propaganda.
“Yiorgos!” Bris called down with mock sternness. “That book is for reading, not for whacking people!”
The boy looked up with that same impish grin they remembered from all their adventures together, completely unrepentant. “But it’s more fun this way!” he shouted back in the English he was quickly adopting.
Maggie appeared from the doorway of the school, wiping her hands on her apron, her sun-kissed face creased with fond exasperation. “That boy,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s been carrying that book everywhere since the day you gave it to him.Won’t let anyone else touch it.” Her eyes softened as she watched him play. “His mother says he sleeps with it under his pillow.”
“Some things never change,” Achilles said, remembering how the child had clutched that first waterlogged textbook even in the face of death.
“Some things shouldn’t,” Bris replied. Her hand moved to her belly as she watched the boy who’d become a symbol of hope for her.
Their country was finally thriving as they harnessed their resources to enrich the common people, instead of feeding the fat cats. Schools, hospitals, roads—everything they’d dreamed of building was becoming reality, one hammer stroke at a time.
Bris lifted her chin, her eyes locking with Achilles’s before she broke into a smile. She’d caught him watching her again. Her paintbrush paused mid-stroke. “Are you actually working up there or just admiring the view?” She gave him that sassy grin that still made his heart skip.
He grinned back and promptly hammered his thumb instead of the nail. “Ow!” The curse that followed would’ve made a sailor blush.
“Oh!” she let out a concerned cry, already setting down her brush. “Achilles!”
Now he was caught between hamming it up to get attention and playing the tough guy who could shrug off the pain. The choice was easy—he’d do anything to get some love from his soft-hearted wife.
He climbed down from the roof with exaggerated care, cradling his injured thumb like he’d never done with his arm after getting shot… twice. “I think I need medical attention.” It was hard to say without rolling his eyes at himself.
She did it instead, but took his hand anyway, lifting his thumb to her lips to blow gently on the reddened skin. The warm tickle of her breath sent heat racing up his arm, and finally hecould stand no more. The supposedly injured hand found her waist, drawing her closer for a sweet kiss that tasted of laughter and sunny Tirrojan days. His palm settled protectively over the gentle swell of her belly, possibly his favorite new development about his wife.
“You’re such a baby,” she murmured against his lips.
“Poor thing, now you’re stuck with me.” He pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I better ham it up before this little guy steals all the attention.” His thumb traced gentle circles over her baby bump.
“How do you know our baby’s not a girl?”
His heart swelled at the idea. “Well, if she’s anything like her mother, she still won’t give us a moment’s peace with all that spirit and fire she’s inherited!”
Bris laughed, the sound brighter than it had ever been under her father’s care “And if it’s a boy, I can’t imagine the trouble the two of you will get into!”
Touche! He kissed those sassy lips. Bris was his match in every way—wit, fire, a heart of gold! He blessed the day that his manipulative father-in-law had forced him to marry her—though he’d never get alone with Chises Mnon to have the heart-to-heart to admit it.
“Your Royal Highness!” Polly approached with her ever-present clipboard, her professional demeanor softening as her eyes found Peder working nearby. The man was arranging supplies with nervous precision, and Achilles had noticed the way his hands shook whenever he touched his jacket pocket. The poor fool had been carrying that engagement ring around for weeks, hoping to find the perfect moment to propose.
“I need you to approve these community outreach programs,” Polly continued, though her stolen glances at Peder showed she was also distracted from her duties. “We have funding approvedfor three new medical clinics, a technical college, and an arts center for the coastal villages.”
Achilles scanned the papers, his chest swelling with pride at what they’d accomplished. “Perfect. What about the clean water initiative?”
