Page 60 of His Broken Queen

“Why are you upset?”

“You’re disappointed in me.”

“No, not in you. I’m disappointed with the circumstances.” I didn’t want to have this conversation. “Let’s forget about it. You have to do what you have to do.”

“But you’ll never understand why I have to do what I have to do.” He took my face between his hands. “I’m sorry.”

When he stared at me, I wanted to break into a million pieces. I had never seen him look so desperate before. Why did he think I wanted to walk away from him? Why didn’t he know I could never leave him?

He caressed my lips with his, kissing me softly. He got up off the bed, and left the room without another word. I went after him, but when I got to the hallway, my phone rang. I could have ignored it, but maybe it was a sign to leave Romero alone for a while.

I glanced at the screen, not recognizing the number, but I answered it anyway. I needed a distraction.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Luciana?” I didn’t recognize the woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know me,” she said. “You knew my mother.”

“Oh?” My stomach dropped when I realized who this could be.

“My name is Carly.”

“Stella’s daughter?” I went back into the bedroom and closed the door, trying to process that Stella’s daughter reached out to me. “How are you?”

That was a stupid question. She was sad and grieving.Why is she calling me?

“I’m hanging in there,” she said. “I have to ask you for a favor.”

“Anything.” I would do anything to make up for what had happened to Stella. “What can I do for you?”

“My sisters and I are going through Mom's things and we were looking for her cookbooks. We were wondering if there was any chance that she may have left them at your house?”

“She has taken cookbooks to my house, but I’m not sure if she left any behind.”

“Oh.” I heard the disappointment in her voice. “Is there any way you can check? We’re looking for a special one with her grandmother’s recipes.”

“I haven’t been back to my house since…Well, I’m not home.”

“My sisters and I wanted to cook my father’s favorite meal my mother always made him, but I need her recipe. It would mean so much to us if you could look for this cookbook. We can’t find it anywhere.”

“When did you need it?” I asked.

“Today, if possible. We’re going grocery shopping tonight,” she said. “I could meet you at the house and see if the book is there.”

“Ah, you don’t have to go to my house.” I didn’t even want to go to that house. “I could get it and bring it to you.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

Considering what had happened at the funeral, she was probably right.

“This would mean so much to my family,” she said. “I don’t want to bother you though.”

“You’re not bothering me,” I said. “I can meet you there in about an hour if that works?”

“That would be great, but…” she hesitated. “I hate to ask this.”

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