Page 118 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“Ahead of schedule and under budget,” Bris added, wiping paint from her hands. “And the farming cooperative is already turning a profit on their olive oil exports.”
“My wife, the economist,” Achilles murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he signed the approvals next to her name.
Their new life felt like a dream sometimes. His parents had settled into a cottage on the Island of Aeaea, finally free to live the quiet life they’d been denied for so long. Atreus Mnon had slunk away like the coward he was when the man he’d tried to assassinate returned to reclaim his mistreated wife.
Good riddance! Of course, the Myrdons were likely scheming their downfall in another country. There were rumors Atreus Mnon was eyeing the Island of Ithaca next!
But the teeth would be taken out of his plans.
Tonight would mark their official coronation as the new King and Queen of Tirreoy, becoming heads of the constitutional monarchy they were fighting to establish. But first…
Achilles turned to his wife, letting his gaze drift appreciatively over her paint-splattered work clothes and glowing skin. “You know, Your Royal Highness, we have about three hours before we need to get ready for tonight’s festivities.”
“Three whole hours?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “However, will we pass the time?”
“I have a few ideas.” His voice dropped to that husky whisper that never failed to make her blush. “Though they might require you to get out of those clothes… you’re covered in paint and sawdust.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “That’s exactly why I’m taking a bath as soon as I get home.”
His grin turned wicked. “You know, I should probably help you with that—can’t have the future queen looking anything less than perfect.”
She gently swatted his arm with a laugh. “You’re terrible.”
“Admit it. That’s why you married me.”
“Maybe.” She winked and kissed his cheek.
“So… is that a ‘yes’ on my help?” he asked.
She trailed her finger down his back. “Maybe.” She moved away, and he hurriedly gathered up his tools and headed for the Jeep.
They raced up the hill, past Nestor’s cathedral where the old priest waved from his garden. The palace came into view as they crested the rise—golden stone gleaming in the afternoon sun, its windows catching the light like jewels. No longer did it feel like a prison; now it was home.
A compact Audi sat in the circular driveway, and Achilles felt his heart lift as Venice emerged from the driver’s side. His best friend looked healthier than he had in years—the weight of unwanted responsibility lifted from his shoulders, leaving him free to be the man that he was always meant to be. Though Achilles wasn’t letting him slip away that easily.
Venice moved around the car to help Livvy out with the tender care of a devoted husband, his hand lingering protectively on her back. When he spotted Achilles approaching, his face split into a grin.
“Brother,” Venice said, and they embraced with the easy affection of men who’d been through a shared nightmare and had emerged stronger.
“Keep your hands off my sister,” Venice added with mock sternness as they pulled apart.
“Too late for that,” Achilles replied with a grin. He lifted his chin at his wife, and Venice’s eyes widened when he followed the direction of his gaze. His face filled with joy, and not before Achilles caught the secret, pleased look he exchanged with his own wife. Achilles guessed that they had their own happy news to share.
Bris immediately swooped in to steal Livvy away. “Excuse me,” she said. “We’ve got things to talk about.” They moved to the side garden, already caught in excited whispered conversation.
“Look at this place,” Venice said, gazing up at their golden palace with genuine admiration. “I always knew you had it in you to settle down, and I want to be honest—you have steel in you, man! I didn’t believe it before, but you were meant to rule Tirreoy with my sister.”
Achilles shrugged off the compliment, though warmth spread through his chest. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He lowered his voice, knowing that what he was about to say would shake his friend’s world. “We’re planning to establish a parliament—a proper constitutional government with elected representatives. It would mean the world to have you head the transition.”
Venice’s expression grew thoughtful. “That’s a tough one? You think we can actually hold an election, make sure it’s fair, and not cause another political upheaval? The people are still adjusting to prosperity after so many years of struggle.”
“Very tough,” Achilles agreed. “Which is why you’re the man for the job.”
Venice’s gaze drifted to where Livvy and Bris stood with their heads together, hands gesturing animatedly.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do it,” Achilles said quietly, “except we’re looking to the future… and to our families. I don’t want to make the same mistakes our fathers did.”
Those men had messed up their children’s lives in their own ways, repeating the examples of their parents and the ones before, and so on. What would it be to change things? To actually give their children a fair shot at life? “For the future of our families?” Venice asked. His shoulders squared with determination. “Okay, you’ve got me! It would be an honor.” His expression sobered slightly. “Father won’t make it to the coronation tonight—”
