Page 23 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“Well, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s why I ordered all that food. If you apologize nicely for giving me such a hard time about it, I’ll share.”
“You weren’t going to bed at all!” She crossed one long leg over the other, looking annoyed.
“Not… yet…” His eyes slid to that blue nail polish he’d noticed when she gave up her high heels to his sister earlier. Had it really been just hours ago? Those delicate feet looked even smaller now, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to trace that perfect arch with his thumb.
Stop looking at her!
He snatched at his new phone and concentrated on the strange new screen, squinting at the unfamiliar display… andnoticed Charisse had blown it up. They really had switched it over. Notification after notification had stacked up—she’d been texting him nonstop. He scrolled through the relentless stream. Some of them tearful. Most of them angry… until it finally ended with:You owe me an explanation. I think I deserve that at least!
“Well… then what was all that ‘tuckered out’ talk?” Bris asked.
He tried to focus on what she was saying. “Huh?”
“… if you were so hungry.”
“Cat nap…” His eyes went back to his phone, not finding any refuge in it, especially when he noticed the bubbles that showed Charisse was writing yet another message. A knock sounded distantly in his hearing, and he listened to Bris slide off the bed, her bare feet silent against the thick Persian carpet, to the heavy oak door that creaked on ancient hinges as she opened it.
The rich aroma of melted cheese and herbs drifted into the room as she wheeled in a silver cart laden with his outlandish food requests.
His stomach rumbled. Man, he really was a world-class jerk. Shouldn’t a guy lose his appetite on his wedding night after everything he’d done?
Bris bounced slightly on her toes as she pushed the cart closer in that ridiculously oversized shirt—that soft knit material was going to smell like her, like lilacs and vanilla. He knew that because her scent was already all over him, clinging to his skin like a sweet accusation.
New rule. Stop smelling her.
He’d have to hide his clothes from her and maybe burn that silky white nightgown the staff had laid out. There was nothing he could do about that thick, curly black hair. The thought of those strands getting tangled through his fingers was more than he could handle.
Turn off your thoughts!
He’d better be a robot after this was through! Bris was more fragile than she tried to show the world—Achilles couldn’t play with her emotions like he had with… others. His eyes drifted to Charisse’s messages.
You didn’t give me any warning, any inclination. We had a date tonight!
Why didn’t he even feel sad about Charisse? Guilty? Yes… that was usual, but sad? Nothing. Did he not have a heart? Maybe it had atrophied from disuse, withered away from too many casual relationships that meant nothing to him. Just another reason he’d never be worthy of his best friend’s little sister.
Myrdons, Tyndarians, spies, threats of a civil war—and add to all that, his overwhelming feelings, as if he was driving a car with no brakes and a frozen steering wheel straight toward a cliff. Anything could happen between now and when she was crowned… if she was crowned.
He could not, should not fall in love with her. If things didn’t work out because of these escalating tensions in their country… it might destroy her.
Bris let out a happy squeal, her eyes lighting up as she surveyed the spread of pizza boxes, chocolate milk cartons, and an absurd mountain of gummy worms. His gaze traveled from those tempting delights to her face, which was somehow even more captivating with that cheesy grin. “I’m big enough to admit when you’re right,” she said.
“Small enough, shorty,” he corrected. “Hold on to that thought,” he said. “I want a real apology.” He moved to the part of the bed she’d claimed, pushing past the scattered pillows to reach for a slice of pizza, biting down as the savory Mediterranean flavors—tangy olives, creamy feta, and fresh basil—exploded across his tongue. Well done, Tirreoy! Maybe this place wasn’t completely hopeless. “Okay, I’ll give you this—the food here isn’t terrible,” he said around another bite.
“High praise coming from a man who considers gas station hot dogs gourmet,” she retorted.
He watched her settle gracefully on the bed, her legs folded to the side, almost primly, like the princess she was. She held the chocolate milk carton between her fingers with the grace of a socialite holding a wine glass, her pinky slightly extended.
“Are you seriously trying to make chocolate milk look dignified?” he asked, fighting an urge to laugh.
“Everything I do is dignified,” she said with mock hauteur, then proceeded to take a long drink directly from the carton, which completely undermined her royal bearing.
His hands itched to steal the chocolate milk from her, take turns drinking from that carton while they put on the TV and he ran his toes over those blue nails, maybe pulled her close enough to—
And this was his best friend’s little sister! The pizza literally turned to dust in his mouth as realization crashed over him. Oh, there was that heart he didn’t know existed, and it was doing gymnastics in his chest like an overeager teenager. If he stayed here a second longer, he’d break every rule he’d just made.
Stop hanging around her.
