Page 55 of Corrupted Queen

I’ve missed this, I realize. I think back to before Gabriel properly came into my life, when I worried about money and raising Harry right and showing Debbie that I deserved to be a serious reporter. My worries are so much darker now, but in return, my life is so much more exciting. I am never bored, that’s for sure. All the same, it’s nice to pretend to have a normal life free of all thoughts of death and torture, if only for a little while.

Gabriel comes into the room just as Sandra is zipping me into my dress. He looks up, adjusting the cufflinks of his tux, and his eyebrows hit the roof.

“Wow,” he says. “You look stunning.”

I turn to face the mirror, running my hands over the silky fabric stretched taut over my hips. The gown is a jewel-tone forest green that clings to my body like a second skin, with a cowlneck showing off the round tops of my breasts without flaunting too much cleavage. Sandra has painted my eyes with smoky brown tones that make the blue of my irises pop, and my hair is gathered in an artful mass of curls at the base of my neck.

I do look stunning.

I turn back to Gabriel and smile, preening under his appreciative gaze. The moment feels just as normal as all the ones with Sandra beforehand, and I let myself sink a little deeper into the fantasy of us just being a normal couple.

As though he can read my thoughts, Gabriel crosses the room and wraps my hand in his long fingers, pulling it up to his lips for a lingering kiss on my knuckles.

“Really, Alexis,” he murmurs, looking deep into my eyes. “You’re breathtaking.”

Sandra is staring at us from the side of the room, her hands clasped together over her heart, her eyes cloudy.

There’s nothing wrong with indulging this fantasy for tonight, I decide. It’s harmless—as long as I don’t make the mistake of starting to believe it.

* * *

The fundraiser is like nothing I have ever seen or experienced before, and yet somehow, I do not feel out of my depth. As a journalist, I’m accustomed to making conversation with strangers, finding what makes them interesting, putting them at ease. As a gangster’s “girlfriend,” I’ve been threatened, tortured, and shot at, so the judging stares of the city’s top socialites hit me with no more force than a drifting feather.

The event is held in a historic banquet hall, and though it has been hastily strung together over the past couple of weeks, the level of glamor makes it seem like it has been months in the making. The room is dotted with circular tables, each with a unique floral centerpiece and an assortment of name cards. Delicate white silk streamers plume from the molded ceiling, and the wall behind the stage at the far end of the room is backlit in purple.

Personally, I find the color choice tacky, but then again, I find these people tacky too. They smile without happiness and talk without saying anything. I doubt any one of them has ever seen the devastating effects of purple heroin first-hand. All they see is a cause that they can attach their names to so they can look good to the press and ease some of their corporate guilt.

An example of this mentality is standing in front of me, yammering away about her summer home. Her name is Beatrice Fulton, wife of Dennis Fulton III, and the more she speaks, the more I am convinced she only came to this shindig to show off her lovely Chanel gown.

“You really can’t beat the weather in Nantucket that time of year,” she drawls. “Too much sun doesn’t suit poor Denny’s complexion, so we spend most of our time inside, of course, but the ocean view is worth its salt alone.” She smiles, more for Gabriel than for me. She has been more or less ignoring me. “Where is it that you summer, Gabriel?”

Gabriel clears his throat. “We didn’t have much time to get away this summer.”

“But surely you have some delectable property that poor Alexis could escape to when you’re all work and no play?”

It’s the first time she has addressed me. I jump on the opportunity.

“He does have the cabin in the Poconos,” I say. “But I daresay I don’t think I would go there alone.”

“Oh, why ever not?” Beatrice simpers.

I hold her gaze with a grave expression. “Because that’s where they discovered Fabrizio’s body.”

Beatrice pales a little, and Gabriel’s hand tightens on my hip. It’s totally worth it. She makes a shaky excuse and swans away not a second later, and I let out a bark of laughter the second she is out of earshot.

“That was cruel,” Gabriel remarks.

I look up, expecting to see disapproval creased in his brow, but instead I find his lips ticked at the edges, amusement playing in his dark eyes.

“Oh come on,” I say. “She deserved it.”

Gabriel swoops down and presses a kiss to my lips. He pulls away long before I am ready but hovers close to my face.

“All terrified elites aside,” he murmurs. “You’re doing a great job. I’m proud of you.”

He kisses my forehead and straightens, and I try to contain the smile that goes skyrocketing up my cheeks. Warmth blossoms in the pit of my belly and I let it wash over me, feeling for a second like I could conquer the world with only a hope and a prayer.

The flash of a camera draws me back to the present, and I remember why we’re here, the façade we are painting of the happy billionaire couple. I glance up at Gabriel and he is smiling for the camera. I wonder, is his tenderness as contrived as the rest of this billionaire persona?

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