Page 51 of Corrupted Queen

For a second, I believe it. I believe that when the cameras shut off, Gabriel will love me just as much as he does now, and all the hard ridges in our relationship will soften, and everything will be okay. But while that is true for Harry, it’s not true for me. Gabriel is flaunting me like a prized jewel now, but once Chip and his cloud of spicy cologne waft out of the house, Gabriel will toss me away like I’m just a lump of plastic.

We bat questions and answers back and forth for a little while longer, and then Chip announces that he’s got everything he needs and thanks us for our time. The crew de-mics us, and we keep up the façade right to the front door, where we see them out and wave as they drive off.

Once they are gone, Gabriel closes the door and releases a sigh. I hold Harry a little tighter, needing the comfort after my draining performance.

I think Gabriel will leave then since I know he has a lot to do, and the interview went on longer than he anticipated, but he turns to me with a look in his eyes that I can only describe as gentle.

Gabriel is not gentle, and usually neither are his expressions. It shocks me before he even speaks, and once he does, I am even more shocked.

“Thank you,” Gabriel murmurs. “You were great.”

Gratitude and a compliment? Am I dreaming?

“Uh, yeah. No problem.”

I try to think of something a little more profound to say, maybe even to use this rare opportunity to connect with Gabriel a little, but he sweeps up the stairs to his office before I have the chance. Nonetheless, I’m touched.

Harry sags in my arms, exhausted from all the excitement. I take him to the nursery for a quick nap before lunch and consider taking one myself. I am worn thin emotionally. Our game of pretend stirred up so many emotions inside of me, so many thoughts and desires I thought I’d left tucked between the pages of our past.

Lust has been a constant for us, but I forgot the way it felt when he looked at me with adoration in his eyes. And now I yearn to see it again, if only for the length of an interview. It’s pathetic, but I reckon I’ll do as many interviews as he wants if he keeps looking at me like that while we do them.

I stand over Harry’s crib, watching as his eyes flutter closed. My phone rings and I jump in surprise, sprinting into my room and closing the door quietly. I check the Caller ID and frown. It’s Debbie. I flick on the obligatory pop music.

“Hey, Debbie,” I answer, plastering on a sheepish smile that I hope she can hear through the phone. “I was just about to call you.”

“Why? So you could tell me you still have nothing?” she says snippily. “Seems like a waste of your minutes.”

“People don’t really have minutes anymore, Deb, most plans are—”

“I didn’t ring to haver on about phone contracts!” she snaps. “I need results, Alexis. Where are my results?”

“Debbie, I promise you I’m working on it.”

“I cannae print and sell your promises,” she snaps. “My boss is breathing down my neck, wondering why the hell we seem to be the only publication not getting a scoop on Gabriel Belluci when his girlfriend is on our payroll.”

I stiffen at the wordgirlfriend. That title belongs to me just as much as the title ofgardenerapplies to a person who happens to be sitting in a garden, though I suppose I better get used to it.

“The only thing I could tell him to keep him from demanding we fire you immediately is that we’re going to have the biggest scoop of them all,” Debbie continues. “And now you need to stop dragging your heels and deliver me a Texas-sized scoop or both of our asses are on the line.”

I bite my lip. “I understand, Debbie. I appreciate that you’ve gone out on a limb for me, I just need more time.”

“Aye, and so does a poorly seasoned chicken stew, but if there’s none in the spice cabinet, then you’re shit out of luck.”

I’m really not sure what she means, but I suspect saying that will only make her angrier.

I squeeze my eyes closed and take a breath. “I’m still searching the house and grounds, but there’s one place I haven’t been able to get to yet. I’ll try to get in there tonight.”

“You better. And send over a least a couple of paragraphs to me as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

We end the call and I fall back on my bed with a groan.

* * *

I tug on the bottom of my Spandex shirt and take a deep breath. This is going to work. Not because I’ve planned it particularly well, or because I’m a particularly skilled spy, but because if thisdoesn’tgo well, I could soon find myself tied up to that metal chair in Gabriel’s basement. This is the riskiest thing I have done since coming back to the mansion, and if Debbie hadn’t lit a fire under my ass, I wouldn’t dare attempt it without a solid plan.

As it is, my plan is thus—first, complete one very hard, very sweaty workout.

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