Page 53 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
And now for the act of a lifetime—to pretend that he was just as callous, just as stupid and willfully blind to the suffering.
Achilles would do what it took to get in their good graces with a smug smile, a light joke, play a game of quid pro quo to get them to wager their resources to patch up a crumbling bridge or a sinking city.
Achilles nodded at the Baron of Sunfassa, a reed-thin man whose nervous energy made his bow tie quiver. He actually found himself agreeing that the brisk Christmas winds had certainly wreaked havoc on the ladies’ elaborate hairstyles, all while the room seemed to come to a standstill.
Bris had made her appearance.
The loud murmur of guests died to an expectant hush.
Was that a gasp of admiration? He groaned inwardly as he moved casually around the Baron to catch sight of his breathtaking wife descending the top of the grand staircase, her thick black curls swept up in an elegant chignon that left her graceful neck far too exposed.
She was a goddess, pure and simple. Diamonds sparkled against her soft cheek like captured starlight, her skin luminous in a form-fitting white gown that seemed to be woven from moonbeams and gold thread.
Unease settled deep into his bones. Ethereal and remote—the woman he loved was hidden from the world.
“Quite stunning, isn’t she?”
The voice near his shoulder made his hands clench with revulsion.
He turned to see the Earl of Alexopoulos materialize like a serpent emerging from tall grass.
Did snakes wear ivory dinner jackets that cost more than most Tirrojans made in a year?
Apparently so. Dimitri’s blue eyes were fixed on Bris with the hungry intensity of a hunter appraising a rare specimen—all brutality and no heart.
“A man could lose himself contemplating what lies beneath all that silk and ceremony,” Dimitri slurred with lazy arrogance.
Every muscle in Achilles’s body went taut as wire. His clenched fists itched to find the man’s nose, and for a moment he seriously considered throwing the Earl through the nearest tinsel-decorated window. “That’s my wife you’re discussing.”
The Earl grinned smugly in return. “How fortunate for you. Though one does wonder how long such… arrangements… tend to last in our circles.”
That was it. Achilles was going to show him the true meaning of deck the halls.
“Oh, look at you—you made a funny.” His voice dropped to a harsh growl.
“You know what’s even funnier? I think you’ve grown too used to cornering women in dark corners.
Let’s see how they laugh after I turn your face into abstract art. ”
The Earl took a quick step backward, his face paling. “Ah yes, so civilized! Is this how Myrdons conduct their business!”
“I wouldn’t know,” Achilles replied. “But I’d say you do. Have you been paying them to target my wife?”
The Earl’s face could only be described as punchable as his lips twisted in mockery. “No, that pleasure is all mine.”
Achilles saw red. His hands moved of their own accord, seizing the snake by his perfect little dinner jacket. “You’d do anything to get your clammy hands on the crown’s resources while children go hungry.” The Earl’s back hit the wall with a thud. “Don’t confuse my wife as your usual easy mark.”
“Oh, Killiefish… looks like you found a friend.”
Achilles spun at the familiar nickname to see a cascade of red hair and a camera phone set on record.
Great! TalkieTalk’s darling, Deelicious stood there in a figure-hugging emerald dress that screamed ‘pick me.’ His whole body revolted at the interruption, rage still dancing at the edges of his vision.
He forced himself to take several deep breaths, slowly releasing his grip on the Earl’s jacket.
He wasn’t about to become another viral sensation.
“What are you doing here?” He was surprised he could even get the words out.
Deedee smiled with that practiced expression women perfected when they weren’t happy but trying to defuse a testosterone-fueled situation.
“Just making sure the boys play nice under the mistletoe. Don’t get me wrong, I live for the engagement on my channel, but tonight’s too special to ruin with a brawl. ”
Really? seemed a little two-faced for someone who wouldn’t hesitate to record it.
Achilles glanced toward the dais where Bris chatted with a French diplomat.
A line of nobles and several members of the High Consortium all crowded around to play pretty with their soon-to-be queen.
The mounting danger pressed against him like a physical weight.
Any one of them could be the threat he’d been warned about.
“…bound to be talk if he keeps this up,” the Earl muttered somewhere behind him, his voice distant and trivial compared to the sight of the woman who’d haunted his dreams.
All at once, Bris looked up from her conversation, her gaze unexplainably finding his across the crowded ballroom. Her eyes widened. He’d been caught red-handed.
He moved away from the Earl. One step. Two. He’d be utterly useless to her if his security escorted him from the ball after beating the Earl senseless with a Christmas garland like some barbarian gladiator from ancient Greece.
“Uh oh, trouble in paradise,” Deedee sang as she narrated into her camera, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And here comes more complications in Prada heels.”
Achilles followed her gaze to see Charisse entering the ballroom in a flowing blue gown that matched her eyes, her blonde hair cascading in perfect waves. She’d clearly dressed to outshine every woman here—and failed. His wife was here.
And why was he allowing himself to be distracted? He was supposed to be picking Charisse’s brain for information. But all he wanted was Bris, who was surrounded by vultures. There was only one person he trusted around her—himself.
The orchestra struck up the opening notes of “The Christmas Waltz,” and the familiar melody gave him the perfect excuse to go to her.
He couldn’t do what must be done tonight without trying to talk some sense into his wife.
“Okay, Deedee,” he told her. “Try to do something useful and keep a lookout for real trouble.”
She laughed brightly and lifted her camera at him in an angle she probably considered flattering. “You’re standing right there, big boy!”
Not in the mood, Deedeelicious! Instead of engaging, he moved through the crowd like a man possessed, the haunting melody of Sinatra’s classic rising around him as he passed the musicians in their formal black attire.
Bris watched him come for her, her dark lashes framing those stunning eyes that held the golden-brown depths of autumn leaves.
Her carefully maintained composure slipped for just a moment, revealing a glimpse that told him everything—her love, her fear, her desperate longing to run to him.
It was the one thing her father couldn’t control—the way she watched him with her whole heart before quickly lowering her gaze to hide the radiance of the sun from him.
“… you dance too close to the fire….”
O Skia had been right, but just like his father, he couldn’t stop. No one would dare harm her while she was in his arms. He’d coax the brilliance of her eyes back on him again. He shoved past diplomats, security until he reached her. “I believe this dance is mine,” he said.
Bris froze. “I—I don’t know if we should…
” She glanced toward her father, who stood in conversation with several titled countrymen near the refreshment table laden with cheese and meats too fancy to be delicious.
Chises Mnon gave an almost imperceptible nod, his gesture somehow managing to convey both permission and a reminder that she was his dancing bear.
“Go ahead, darling,” Chises called out with theatrical warmth. “Show them what a perfect royal couple looks like. Treat them to the fairy tale.”
Achilles concealed his growl of resentment. Controlling toad! But when he noticed Bris’s shoulders relax with visible relief as she moved toward him, all else was forgotten. Finally, finally, after all these days, he could touch her.
His hands found her waist, and she melted against him like she’d been made solely for him. He’d always known that though. Through the silk of her gown, he could feel the familiar warmth of her body, could sense the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
This was his Bris—the woman who knew exactly which spots on his ribs made him helpless with laughter, who’d risked her life to save a frightened child, who’d faced down Aggie Mnon and cracked him over the head with a velvet rope stanchion.
The same woman who’d whispered that she’d loved him for longer than she could remember, who painted her nails a punky blue and gave away her designer heels to his sister just before delivering him a verbal takedown that made him want to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to their own private happily ever after.
He’d remind her of that woman tonight.
As the waltz swelled around them, he added this moment to his catalog of reasons why he’d fallen so completely and maddeningly in love with her.
“You know,” he said as they began to move in perfect harmony, “for someone who supposedly wants nothing to do with me, you’re terrible at showing it. You keep looking at me like you actually enjoy my company.”
For the first time all evening, her smile became genuine, transforming her face from Greek statue to living warmth. “Don’t flatter yourself Prince Charming—I’m just trying to figure out how much trouble you’re about to cause.”
“You’re right. You should probably stay close enough to stop me.”
The careful mask slipped away, and she laughed, revealing his best friend, the one who was worth fighting the entire world for just another stolen moment in her arms.