Page 25 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“That had better be a promise,” she said firmly. “I can tell you’re trying to get off the phone. It’s your wedding night, but… Bris is perfect for you. You know that right? Don’t let your pride get in the way of a really good thing.”
That wasn’t the problem, but the last thing he was going to do was rip open his heart and bare all his problems to his little sister. She had enough going on right now.
“Okay, thanks… I’m going to uh… do what’s right.”
She groaned audibly. “Achilles, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of! When you start talking about ‘doing what’s right,’ you usually do something completely stupid and self-sacrificing—”
He cut that off before she could really get going. “I got to go, okay. I love you. Don’t take this out on the burly guy. Bye.”
He lowered his phone with shaking hands, feeling like he’d run a marathon, especially when he saw that Charisse had written about twenty more texts, each one more heartbroken and desperate than the last. Her messages ranged from confused to angry to pleading, an emotional rollercoaster that made his chest tight with guilt. Taking a deep breath, he typed in a careful, brief answer.“No choice, honey. I’ll explain later. I’m sorry.”
The bubbles immediately rippled up, disappeared, then rippled up again… then disappeared. Could he take that as her goodbye?
The antique clock on the mantle ticked steadily against the wall, each second stretching like an eternity. Achilles picked up his pillow, adjusted it, punched it, then threw it aside, his gaze inevitably drawn back to the door where he’d left his wife… and perhaps even that pizza.
Could he go back?
Gena was so sure that he should make it work, that Bris was perfect for him. He was legally married to this woman—was it so bad to want to scoop her up next to him, enjoy a few more slices of that divine Tirrojan delicacy, and watch her fall asleep in his arms?
There was a workout room downstairs, weights, a pool, a snack bar if he was lucky.
He rolled off the couch and headed for the gym, determined to push himself to the brink of exhaustion so he’d have no strength left for the kind of mischief that would get him murdered by his best friend.
Chapter Seven
Thursday, November 28th, DAY 7
— about five days of the silent treatment—
Achillesstillhadfeelingsfor Charisse!
Her father was to blame for this marriage, so why take that out on Bris? She’d caught sight of who he was texting on their wedding night, right before he lurched off the bed to take a call, and then she’d been forced to listen through the door as his voice dropped to that tender, intimate tone he used when he actually cared about someone.
Every gentle murmur felt like a dagger between her ribs. She’d heard him say “I love you” with such warmth, such genuine feeling, that it made her realize with crushing clarity that he’d never spoken to her that way. Not once. Not even when they were kids.
Such an arrogant, smug… player! He’d always been untouchable. Why did she think he would change?
Bris dug her bare toes into the plush rug beneath the mahogany tea table, the silk threads cool against her skin. Kicking off her fashionable Loubotin heels was the only thing that made her feel at home here. As much as she loved how stylish they were, her painted toes were rebelling. Presently, she hid them behind the embroidered tablecloth, fingers digging into the velvet couch cushions
The servants arranged the delicate Wedgwood china with military precision. The palace’s morning room dripped with old-world elegance—floor-to-ceiling windows. Fresh white roses from the palace gardens perfumed the air, though their sweetness couldn’t mask the bitter tension crackling between her and her so-called husband.
Achilles had distanced himself from her for days, easy to do with the endless blur of state dinners, servant introductions, grounds tours, and mind-numbing planning sessions—doing nothing and everything all at once.
He cradled the delicate teacup in his large hands like he might crush the bone china to powder. His broad shoulders filled out his charcoal gray suit jacket to perfection, but it was his dark eyes that held her attention, the passion smoldered with a barely contained storm, though he kept it all hooded under a mocking smirk as Phoenix droned on about the upcoming charity ball.
“Remember to curtsy precisely three seconds to the Countess of Meridian, address the Marquess of Pedasus as ‘My Lord’ without any mention of his coastal properties, and never, under any circumstances, discuss maritime regulations with Aegialus Konstantinos.”
The chancellor was all she feared and more—overbearing, controlling, exactly what her father wanted in a puppet master. Phoenix wore his dress military uniform like armor, gold braiding gleaming across his chest, pale eyes sharp as he watched her prepare an appropriately submissive response.
“Of course, I’ll keep my knowledge of maritime regulations under wraps,” she said.
“Excellent,” he nodded with approval, completely missing her sarcasm.
She caught the amusement racing through Achilles’s expression before he hid that too.
“The Duke of Lyrnessus holds significant sway over our financial institutions,” Phoenix continued without a hitch. “You must make an impeccable first impression to secure his approval for your upcoming coronation. Should you fail to meet the High Consortium’s expectations, they possess the authority to block your ascension entirely.”
“Yes, we’ll slay them with our charm,” she said. And then as if her eyes had a mind of their own, they strayed to Achille again. Something had distracted him, and he wasn’t listening to a word; instead, he studied his phone with the practiced indifference of a man who’d perfected the art of looking devastatingly handsome while texting another woman who wasn’t his wife.
