Page 33 of Bride By Coronation

Panic hits me. "That's impossible. I told her we were friends."

Valentina nods. "Yep. I reiterated that, but little Miss Sunshine didn't want to accept it."

An uncomfortable tugging sensation in my chest erupts. I can't help myself and ask, "What did she say?"

"Nothing much. But I'm a woman. I can tell these things," she insists.

The hope fizzles. As I expected, Valentina is making something out of nothing.

Stop acting like Fiona will be any different than any other woman,I scold myself, then reprimand Valentina. "Let's stick to the tasks at hand, please."

Valentina rolls her eyes. "Fine. Have it your way."

I'm hit with a wave of relief. The last thing I want to do is wallow in my misery all day. I prod, "So she's going through with it?"

"Of course. She loves her niece and nephew too much. I suppose for Sean and Zara, too, although I'm pretty sure they're on her shit list for life."

My gut dives, and guilt assails me. The last thing I want is for Fiona to hate her family members. And she and Zara are more than sisters-in-law. They're best friends.

Valentina points out, "There's only a week until the ceremony. Have you done everything on your end?"

I arch my eyebrows.

Valentina shakes her head in disappointment. "Really, Kirill?"

"What?"

She huffs. "This isn't a normal initiation. It's a coronation, and you're the king."

"So I've been told," I sneer.

"Snap out of it, Kirill!"

"I don't know—" I shut my mouth, another jolt of panic striking me.

"Ah, reality is hitting you," she coos.

My heart thumps hard against my chest cavity. "There's only a week left."

"Right. Do you want me to help you pick things out?" she offers.

I shake my head. "No."

"Are you sure? I can offer a female perspective."

I hesitate but then sternly reply, "No. I'll do it on my own."

Valentina shrugs. "Okay. Suit yourself." She finishes her bottle of water, tosses it in the trash, and puts her coat on. "If you change your mind, let me know."

"I won't," I insist.

She gives me an I-don't-believe-you look, then steps out my front door.

I pace my house for an hour, making a mental list of everything I'm required to do. Then I text my driver and flight crew. I exit the building and get into the SUV.

Traffic is heavy, and the drive to Chicago Executive takes longer than normal. It only serves to make me antsier. By the time I get on my plane, my palms are sweating.

My flight attendant, Arina, greets me with a curtsy. "Your Majesty. Nice to see you. Can I get you a drink?"

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