Page 28 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
For what? To catch her husband’s eye? With her vicious tongue? Not likely.
Her stomach knotted as Peder steered the chancellor for the door, talking in low voices. Now that they were alone, the temperature in the room seemed to raise a hundred degrees. Achilles’s focus was aimed on her. What? Did he want to see her reaction for abandoning her like she was nothing more than a flat mate? His eyes were saying something different.
Her fingers dug further into the couch while she tried to pull herself together, control her emotions, make them invisible. “You’re not getting a different room,” she said.
“Excuse me…?”
“Why would you?” She moved from him, her legs untangling from the tablecloth. “You already live in the gym. It’s not like you sleep anyway.”
“Are you telling me no because you can’t keep an eye on me or you just don’t like to see me have a bed?”
“I—” None of the above. She was trying to salvage what was left of her hopes of a happy marriage… for just a few days more maybe. “People will talk.”
“You didn’t care about that when Phoenix was around.”
“He’s loyal to us…”
“Tous?” His brow went up again.
“Well…” Maybe to her father, but that meant he’d keep his mouth shut to the world.
She noticed Achilles’s eyes drifting to her bare feet peeking out from beneath the tablecloth, and something flickered in his expression—she couldn’t read him lately, but the stark tenderness in those eyes held her in place. His shoulders had relaxed from their earlier rigid tension, and he was leaning slightly forward now, like he was drawn to her despite himself.
Well, she wanted no part of his mixed signals and smoldering looks—the same way he probably watched Charisse. Bris straightened defiantly. “What?”
“Blue? Why that color again?” he asked under his breath, his voice softer than it had been moments before.
She shrugged, wiggling her toes rebelliously. The nail polish had seemed to match her stormy mood when she’d applied it this morning, but in all reality? “It was all I had in my purse.”
He made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or something else entirely, his lips quirking up at one corner in a way that always made her stomach flutter. “You’re going to be a queen. How about you ring a bell and ask for some proper footwear to go with your new wardrobe? You don’t have to go without your designer shoes.”
Her mouth flew open. Did he really think that’s all being a queen meant to her—pretty dresses and expensive shoes? “Yeah, I’ll be sure to bankrupt the royal treasury on Pradas and Roger Viviers, just so you don’t have to see my nail polish.”
“Hmm.” He took her hand, inspecting the pink polish there—it was distinctly conservative in comparison. “I never thought I’d see the day when my little Prissy gave a second thought about where the money came from?” His tone had turned almost flirtatious, intimate in a way that reminded her of the old Achilles—the one who used to make her heart race with just a smile.
She swallowed back her sudden panic at the thought. She snatched her hand away. “It’s not like I’m impoverishing our people with my clothes.”
“Exactly. You have plenty of ways of making money…” His eyes drifted thoughtfully down to his phone, but there was something different in his expression now—a calculating gleam that wasn’t entirely business-like. “Just invite Deedeelicious to come steal our most private moments like before. She’ll come running before her jet touches the ground in Tirreoy.”
“Deedee? Why are you bringing her up?” Her gaze went to his phone with new suspicion, and she snatched at it.
“Hey, not so fast.” He held it from her reach.
“What are you talking about, private moments?” she challenged. “I hate to break it to you, but we’ve got nothing for her.”
“Nothing?”
Almost nothing. At least not anymore. He could be a wild bird for how fast and how far he flew from her. Her eyes locked with his, and she couldn’t look away.
“I guess it’s hard getting insider information when there’s nothing left to reveal to the world.” His voice had dropped tothat dangerous, velvety tone that made her pulse skip. “Should we improvise like last time?”
She froze at the memory of that mind-blowing kiss he’d given her over the altar—passionate but achingly sweet, so much raw feeling that for one shining moment she’d felt the full force of his soul entangling with hers. Where had that man gone?
No wonder her heart was such a mess.
He set the phone on the tea table, sliding it closer with deliberate slowness. His fingers lingered near hers as he tapped the screen—their kiss was playing out on his TalkieTalk app.Twenty-one-million views.This is what had his full attention earlier! Her heart sank at the disaster, even as his eyes sought hers with that same intensity that made her breath catch. They’d officially gone viral. His lips curled into what should have been a sneer but looked suspiciously like suppressed satisfaction.
“We’re never kissing again,” she assured him, though her voice came out breathier than she intended.
