Page 61 of Corrupted Queen

When I escaped this mansion months ago, we took the path through the rose garden on the way to Diego’s car. Harry tried to grab one of the roses and it cut him. He wailed all the way to Diego’s car as blood bloomed like a fallen rose petal on his finger. I wonder if it’s the memory of his hurt finger that makes him antsy or if it’s what came afterward—the isolation, the separation. Walsh’s cruel, laughing face …

I blink back into focus and Gabriel is staring down at me. “Where do you keep going?” he asks, and it has nothing to do with the façade.

“Sorry,” I mutter, and turn to Edie. “What did you say?”

I don’t want to answer Gabriel’s questions.

After another hour or so, we’re done, and Edie shows us some of the raw shots on her camera before she leaves.

“Wait until you see them after they’ve been edited,” she says, flicking through. “Though you both already look like models. If you ever want a boudoir photo shoot done …” She grins. “You know who to call.”

The photos look so ... normal. We are just like any other family in them. Laughing with each other, Gabriel and I staring adoringly at our son, his hand cupping my lower back.

In a different life, I would hang one of these above our fireplace and fill that wall with other family portraits through the years. I’d sprinkle in candid shots—Harry in the bath, Gabriel working in his office. And when Harry went off to college, Gabriel and I would stand in front of the wall of memories, our hair peppered with gray, and we would reminisce about those early days when we were just getting to know each other as a family.

* * *

I drop Harry off with Jessica after Edie leaves, needing a little time to myself. The photo shoot has left me unexpectedly raw, and I escape to the patio at the back of the house with a thick wool blanket and snuggle up on one of the wicker loungers. The early afternoon sun gilds the leaves from the overhanging branches and makes the grass glow. The air buzzes with bees desperate to collect the last of the summer’s nectar before their big winter sleep.

The door opens and I look over, chest tightening as Gabriel walks out. I try to appear nonchalant.

“We got some good photos,” he remarks, striding over to me.

I lift my brows. “You’ve ignored me for days and now you’re engaging in small talk?”

Gabriel’s eyes sweep over me and I huddle tighter under the blanket. I’m not in the mood for whatever game he’s playing, and I’m hoping that he’ll take my prickly attitude as his cue to leave me to my thoughts.

He sits at my feet and stares off into the back garden. In profile I can see the little crook in his nose, the one imperfection on his otherwise perfect face.

“Maybe thiscouldbe real,” he says after a moment.

I blink. I am afraid to speak, as if any sudden movement will drive him back into his cave for good.

Gabriel looks at me and his hand rests on the blanket over my shin. “Is that what you want, Alexis?”

I nod slowly. “But if it’s going to be real, you need to let me in.”

Pebbles of guilt plunk into my stomach, one for every treacherous thought. I think of how badly I want to forget about the article entirely and just give myself over to Gabriel and to this life. I think of how I can’t, how I have to follow through with my search for the truth. I think about how much Gabriel is going to be hurt. Even if I manage to keep him out of the article, he will know that I have been secretly researching and writing it this whole time. And based on previous experience, I know he’s not going to like that.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he says, stroking my leg through the blanket. “Can’t this just be enough for you? We can just be a family. Forget the past.”

“The past informs the present,” I say. “We can’t just forget it. And if we’re going to do this, I need to know the past. I need to know what’s planned for the future.”

A pained expression tugs his lips down, but he seems to be thinking it over. Gabriel has never trusted anyone outside of his organization before. I know that without him having to tell me. I also know that he has never trusted someone again after they have betrayed him, and while I wouldn’t consider my actions in the summer to be a direct betrayal as much as it was me trying to figure out what was best for my son, I know that he views it that way. If he chooses to trust me now, fully, and I break that … He will never trust anyone again.

But how much am I to blame when I am only trying to keep my son safe and do the right thing while navigating a world of criminals and danger?

Gabriel still hasn’t spoken, so I sit forward a little.

“Patrick Walsh was threatening you at the gala, wasn’t he?” I prompt.

Gabriel swipes his tongue over his lower lip and nods. “He has the same ridiculous affinity for theatrics his father did.”

Encouraged, I continue.

“Remember when you were telling me about your father’s plan to eradicate the Irish presence in the city?” I say. “You told me that you suspected the Irish had help, but that you didn’t know who from.”

His eyes flick to mine. I swallow, wondering if I am pushing too far.

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