Page 54 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

H ow was she laughing?

Achilles’s fingers traced her waist like she was something precious, his strong hands pressed against her back, his every touch possessive, sweet with adoration, like when they kissed.

Why was it that Bris couldn’t keep anything back from Achilles, especially her smiles! She’d been so angry, so worried all week, doing her best to push him away, even as he used every bit of his irresistible charm to drag her back in.

She fought his act with everything in her. “I’m confused, Achilles, that you chose me to dance with,” she purred in her best syrupy-sweet voice that sent grown men running for the hills. “Charisse looks so lovely over there, like a blue cotton candy confection. Shouldn’t you be dancing with her?”

He actually laughed at that. “Cotton candy? Did you actually just compare my ex to cotton candy?”

“Okay… an angel then.”

“Angels dress in white—oh… your dress is white, isn’t it?

” He acted like he was just making the discovery, his gaze traveling over her with undisguised appreciation and a wicked sparkle that promised trouble.

“I’d say that you were more like an angel, but…

nah, this ensemble reminds me more of our wedding and all the fun we had that night trying to keep our hands off each other. ”

She almost stumbled over her own feet. Why hadn’t she guessed the second that she’d locked eyes with him across the room, that he’d come for her heart too!

There had to be a way to keep him at arm’s length, but she hadn’t stood a chance when he’d immediately charged for her, stopping only for a few distractions.

Even now, that distraction watched her—the Earl of Alexopoulos lurked like a shadow at the edge of the ballroom, his blue eyes carved from ice and tracking her every movement.

She’d thought Achilles might punch the Earl for a terrible instant earlier, but he’d chosen to claim her on the dais instead.

A relief… even if Bris would’ve cheered on Dimitri getting everything he deserved.

Of course, her father would’ve had their heads if they’d caused a scene to disrupt what he called “the most pivotal moment in Tirreoy’s modern history. ”

He’d already accused her of sabotaging his carefully laid plans with Achilles, of losing her grip on “the boy’s” loyalty, all while looking smug that he had his future son-in-law exactly where he wanted him. And if she tried to unravel this web further?

She couldn’t… and it wasn’t for lack of trying. She’d done her best to push Achilles away, and he kept coming back for more!

Tonight’s coronation was far too important to mess up. Her father had positioned snipers on every rooftop, stationed plainclothes guards throughout the crowd, and swept the building for trouble. The Myrdons weren’t going to stop her coronation with a few threats.

After that, he’d micromanaged the servants with military precision, insisting napkins be monogrammed with the royal crest and folded into origami swans because apparently regular napkins weren’t regal enough, ordering champagne fountains carved from single blocks of ice with cooling systems to prevent melting as if the threat of any dripping stood between them and total social catastrophe.

Even their dance had to be perfect. Strangely, it was—they moved together like water, her body responding to Achilles’s lead as smoothly as when he’d kissed her.

Perfect. Perfect… her breathing was the only thing not perfect; ragged and unsteady, and she couldn’t stop from drowning in the turbulent depths of his eyes.

Anyone would think they were in love, but they just couldn’t be. Not anymore!

She wasn’t that na?ve fifties housewife her father had called her.

Achilles traced his finger along the delicate bow at her sleeve, tugging it gently like he used to do with her swimsuit straps when they hung out on her brother’s yacht.

It only made her wish they could be themselves and forget these hundreds of gazes bearing down on them from every corner of the ballroom.

“You love the bows,” he said. “Just like when we were kids.”

“It’s a good thing we’re not those same kids…” she reminded him, “or I’d stomp on your foot right here in the middle of the ballroom.”

His expressive lips curved in that expression that spoke volumes without words.

Oh! He’d welcome a touch of chaos on the dance floor.

She sighed and refused to give in to his mischief.

They were no longer children, no matter how much she wished it.

Breaking eye contact for one blessed moment, her gaze drifted to his throat, and she gasped.

The cross was gone. “Where is the necklace I gave you?”

Her eyes snapped back to his—the storm was back in them, but filled with sadness, yearning, but for what? “Where is our marriage?” he asked.

Panic fluttered through her stomach, though she tried to keep it from showing. He knew—he had to know what her father was doing with that cross. And now he was testing her, waiting to see how far she would go with these lies.

So much for him being in my pocket, father!

“You want me to wear it?” he asked.

She blanched. What if she was jumping to conclusions… easy to do under the intensity of his voice, though it was honestly hard to concentrate on anything else when all she could feel was the crash of her racing heart.

“Why?” he asked. “Tell me why I should put the symbol of our love back on?”

“It looks good on you?” That was lame.

His thumb brushed across her lower lip with achingly familiar tenderness. “I’ll only wear it if you put it back on me… with a vow that you’ll never let anything come between us again.”

The words hit her like a slap, sweet and devastating all at once.

Nothing could ever be the same and she couldn’t tell him because—why not?

He wasn’t wearing that necklace anymore!

Her father’s spies couldn’t listen to what they were saying!

Bris could talk freely! She could tell him every reason why they couldn’t be together, what she knew; she could stop the pretending!

“Listen to me and don’t let anyone see you react,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”

She might as well tell a raging wildfire not to burn, but to her surprise nothing flickered through his expression as he spun her with ease.

He was too good at following those instructions, and for a moment, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Screwing in her courage, she pressed her cheek against his rough jaw and whispered into his ear, “Your mother is in danger—she’s on the outs with Atreus Mnon and he doesn’t care what happens to her anymore.

The Myrdons will try to control you through her. ”

He drew back, his brow going up. “Is that what your father has been telling you?”

“You don’t believe it?” Fury and desperation warred in her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to follow her own advice and not draw attention.

“Achilles, I know that you’d never hurt me on purpose…

but it’ll be like the Island of Scheria all over again.

” He flinched at the reminder. “They’ll use you any way they can! ”

“How long will you hold that against me?” he asked softly.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “I know that, but I can’t put you in that kind of danger.”

He let out a scoff. “I’m not some mindless beast that destroys everything he touches!” She’d gotten to him. His gaze moved to where her father talked with a diplomat. “Is this why he keeps Gena so close? He wants to use her against me too?”

Her head bowed. “Yes… and I don’t trust what he’ll do to her if we turn against him. My father—my father killed yours, Achilles.”

He blinked. Twice. She had to give him credit—he was like granite cliffs weathering the crashing waves as they tried to tear apart his world. She suspected her face was the one giving them away, and she fought for control. “He said that?” he finally asked.

“He sent assassins, said your father deserved it after… everything.” She took a deep breath.

She might as well say all of this. “He blames your father for all the deaths, his family’s, our people’s, my mother’s.

” She watched for his reaction closely, seeing the pain slice through his eyes.

The last thing she’d wanted was to shatter his faith in his father.

In all his years living under her father’s roof, he’d clung to the hope that he was some kind of hero.

“If he was behind your mother’s death…” the anger in his voice felt like it was burning her—he was scalding himself with it and it hurt her to watch.

“O Skia told me…” his voice was pained as he worked through the information.

“He’d said that my father betrayed everyone…

why send orders to kill O Skia before he could say more?

What do they not want me to know?” He was still fighting this.

Frustration, disbelief, and pain flickered through his gaze.

“Your life is still in danger,” he said.

From him. She didn’t want to say it, but something in his expression told her that the thought crossed his mind, and he shook his head at her. “This is only a distraction to stop us from breaking free. Everyone knows this shadow government has me under their thumb if they can control you.”

“You won’t have to worry about that anymore…

” She’d sever the ties between them, make the break clean and final with no possibility of return.

If anything, his eyes grew more wary at her reassurance, more desperate.

He spun her as the waltz swelled around them, his body moving with hers like they were always meant to be together.

“We don’t have to drag this out any longer,” she said. “We can stop pretending and just go our separate ways. It’s safer that way.”

“Are you giving up on us?” his voice turned sharp. “That’s not you. You’re a fighter. I won’t throw us away… even if it kills me.”