Page 38 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

S ome bloody stupid pop song blared from the portable speaker. Perched on the kitchen counter, Anna kept sneaking globs of cookie dough from the bowl Penelope was spooning chunks out of to roll into cookies.

Both my brother and his wife had been at the ceremony, watching from the back of the church.

Tonight’s dinner party was their way of celebrating our union.

While we talked shop, the girls prepped the Tex-Mex feast. When Sandro took a call, I came to check on them, only to discover they were making a fourth pitcher of drinks.

They painted a cute picture, baking and chatting, while dinner was set aside on the back counter. My presence felt like an invasion, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave even though my wife was clearly ignoring me.

It was my own damn fault.

I was a bad husband.

Sandro barged into the kitchen. His wife shot him a disgruntled look at the noise, but he was focused on me.

“Nothing,” he said with a tight shake of his head.

My fingers curled into a fist.

Baldwin Acquisitions was still closed for business forty-eight hours after the raid. The assets were frozen. Yellow tape barred our entrance.

“There’s no smoking gun,” Sandro murmured as he stopped beside me and poured a healthy glass of scotch.

My brother’s blind faith that they wouldn’t find anything rattled me. “If there isn’t one, they could always make one.”

Sandro shot a glance to where his wife sipped her margarita and watched the timer on the oven count down.

“Has she found anything on Voss?” he said with a little more volume, his gaze shifting to my own bride.

Annaliese stiffened. Bracing her hand behind her, she leaned over. “ She has been busy planning an impromptu wedding.”

Sandro grunted. “I’m going to need you to start looking…sis.”

Anna gave him a mock salute before turning her attention back to Penelope and the raw cookie dough. She plucked the wooden spoon from the bowl and, with long licks, began cleaning the utensil.

Heat rushed to stiffen my groin. There was something else she could use that pretty little mouth for.

“Hey!” Penelope protested.

Anna held it out. “Want a taste?”

Giggling, Penelope scored the bottom of the spoon with her teeth.

“How many of those have they drank?” Sandro groaned.

“Too many.” The bag of tortilla chips was half gone, the queso grown cold.

“We’re not sitting down to a proper meal at this point,” Sandro sighed. “Want a taco?”

Penelope’s cheeks turned red. “You already had one!”

Anna gasped, and Penny clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Mio dio, they’re toasted,” my brother muttered.

But under his annoyed observation, there was a light that never used to shimmer in his eyes. He had it bad for his wife. Her antics brought new life to his world.

I wished I could say the same for me.

She would if you let her.

There was no good reason to punish Annaliese. I knew my behavior was abominable. But while logic told me to quit being an ass, my guard was up, protecting the feeble organ in my chest. I knew what it was like to have it ripped out. The pain was a not-so-distant memory.

“Ah, shit, they’re burnt.” Penelope poked at the puffy, still undercooked treats with chocolate chips still unmelted.

“And that’s a wrap.” With lightning speed, Sandro took the hot pan from her. “Say goodnight to our guests.”

“What!” Anna protested.

But I was already scooping her off the counter. As agonizing as it was to know she was capable of destroying me, not touching her, not being in the same space as her was equally painful.

I tucked her struggling form against my body and managed to put her in the front seat of the car.

Anna groaned as I secured her seatbelt. By the time I started the car, her eyelids were flickering with the heavy, wild dreams of drunken sleep.

Streetlights sped past us, a blur of brash colors and vivid shapes, until the kaleidoscope merged into one dull smear against the darkness.

Her head lolled forward. She muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?” I demanded.

She sucked in a sharp breath and adjusted herself with a jerk. “Why does he hate me?”

Unease shifted through me. “Who, cara mia? Who would dare to hate you?”

“My lion.”

Those words snagged in my chest like a barb. They hooked deeper with each mile we drove in silence. Her chin drooped, and her words became a gentle snore. She passed out before we were on the expressway.

One arm rested against the center console. I let my pinky hover above her skin as I flexed my grip on the wheel. I was too proud to reach even that far into the void that was growing between us.

“You confuse me,” I murmured to her snoozing form.

The flash of her bare legs curled up on the front seat had me hard, but the space she already occupied in my gut was even worse.

That was the heart of the matter. She drew me with a force that bordered on obsession, sparked through me like a live wire.

But there was a wariness I couldn’t shake, one that rumbled beneath every kiss, every soft and dangerous sigh.

I was drawn to her body, electrified by her presence, but wary like a stray that didn’t yet know how to act around a friendly face.

“I don’t hate you.” I never could.

But she didn’t hear the confession.

My shoulders collapsed around my ears. No matter how close I kept her, she was always one step ahead. I could never be sure who would pay the price when I let myself love her.

“I need to learn how to trust you,” I whispered. “That’s all, Anna. That’s what bothers me.”

Once we were home, I carried her upstairs. The stairs creaked like the old bones of the house even though the luxury apartment was a newer build. The ominous sound haunted me.

I laid her on our bed and stood watch over her.

I need proof. Proof that I could trust her.

Leaving her slumbering form for only a moment to collect her laptop from the guest bedroom, I powered it up. The eerie, digital glow mocked me with a password. The hint was the name of a terrible beverage.

Frowning, I almost gave up.

But then an idea popped from the void.

“No…that’s too easy.” But it worked.

Americano

The nickname she’d given me. This woman said she’d chosen me, and it seemed that choice was part of her being.

Pushing away the shock from the revelation, I began snooping.

There was nothing damning in her inbox. Quite the contrary.

She’s still writing.

Her editor sent a message confirming the delay of one week for the next manuscript and ending the email with a note of congratulations on her wedding.

I scoured her laptop for the books. But they weren’t in the cloud drive nor in the computer files.

There had to be something. If there was a smoking gun, I would find it.

I adjusted the computer’s position and aimed to uncover everything I could.

Knowing there was no concrete evidence of betrayal, the anticipation of a breath-stealing blow still kept me on edge.

It was too risky to rely on the absence of proof.

I needed some way to see it all. I needed to know who she met with and what she did. Only then could I begin to believe.

“What? Believe that she’ll never lie to me again?” I muttered.

Giving up, and knowing that there was nothing nefarious there, I put the laptop away.

Before zipping the case, I planted one of the tracking devices my brother had given me in its innermost padding. The thin disc would allow me to track its movements. Several more airtags lay pulsing in my pocket. I took them with me, a guilty shiver racing up my spine.

I went to the closet and knelt in front of her side.

I slipped the other devices in the soles of her shoes.

The plan was devious, slightly monstrous, but it would give me all the answers.

It would tell me everything I needed to trust her.

Would her loyalty still ring true if I really knew where she went and who she saw?

Or would I go mad following her every move, waiting for her to betray me, when in fact she had no intention to?

Still restless and unable to sit still, I ventured to the kitchen for a drink of water. If I had to learn to trust my wife, I needed to mend the bridge. Just one small gesture on my part.

Maybe then she’ll look at me again.

Abandoning the water, I brewed a fresh cup of strong coffee and let the steam rise to clear my head.

While the need to make sure she didn’t stab me in the back was strong, the desire to do something that would make her smile was equally as vibrant.

The bitter sip took the edge off my nervous energy, but it didn’t diminish my need to know.

At the kitchen table, I opened my laptop and pulled up the survey.

I read through the information my secretary had gathered, studied each response, each line of text, with the scrutiny it would have taken a bloodhound to pick up the scent.

How hard could it be, really? In principle, the answer should have been simple.

“This is madness,” I mumbled, but already my hands were pulling out a large glass cereal bowl.

The insanity gripped me with manic urgency.

I didn’t have the proper kitchen equipment.

But I was willing to try anything once. I was ready to go all in.

A tear in the defenses I’d built so high compelled me to take the leap, to make the sweet treat I knew she would need when she woke up.

After contacting a delivery service, I soon had what I needed.

It was a small—probably stupid—gesture, but it was something.