Page 82 of Protect Your Queen

Maybe because I had slept so well and woke up this morning believing that I had a place in this world. I felt like the world could bend to my will the way it did for my siblings. The way it bent to Christopher Ambrose. Surely, if he could worship my body the way he had, then I must be something.

I am someone. I am something…

“I do have one song,” I said, tentatively lifting my left hand to place my thumb on the first chord.

I just didn’t know if this song was finished. Was the song just meant for me and him? Even if I did play it for Stasia, it didn’t mean that she’d make me put it in the album if I didn’t want to, right?

She fought with her husband because of me… and I needed to show her that I was worth it.

So I sang, and played the music the same way Chris had.

It was different with me. It was slower, breathier, and less impactful. There wasn’t as much swing in the rhythm of my hands. But the melody was right.

“What a pleasure to have grown,”I sang the verse he had revealed last night.“Much more wise and much less bold…”

It was a song about happily-ever-afters. It wasn’t the kind that went off into the sunset, but the type to end on rocking chairs on a quiet porch. The joy of gray-haired lovers holding hands on a crisp morning as they looked back on a lifetime spent together.

When I finished, Stasia leaned back in her seat, and tilted her head.

“It needs a little work to make it yours.” She steepled her fingers under her chin. “But with a bit of massaging, I think that’s the hit you need.”

Chapter thirty

Leading Lady

Chris

Iwas sneaking into the Dryden estate today. It was an enormous, high-walled, ivy-covered villa in the Hollywood hills with a red terracotta roof.

There was the bustle ofhelpcoming in and out: A gardener. A maid. A cook. There was constant traffic in and out of the house.

I was delivering service equipment. I even had the credentials, and Leo was on the hook, in case they wanted to validate it with a phone call. But I didn’t think that would happen. Security guards outside of Caledonia were a trusting bunch, since no one ever really tried to harm execs like the Drydens in their own home. The guard’s main job was to keep wanna-be singers and tourists from getting into the place.

I watched as the Drydens drove two separate Audis out of their garage. Hers was white, his was black. They took two separate directions, which was bizarre, since they were going to the same place. Both vehicles now had a tracker, courtesy of Leo, who attached it to the undercarriage while they were parked in the studio lot.

I pulled the baseball cap low over my brows. The polo shirt of the local computer store felt itchy, now that I had gotten used to the feel of silk. I wondered if I would ever be able to return to my old life of cheap t-shirts and worn-out jeans.

I walked up to the gate with a little backpack on my shoulder, with all the tools needed to fix an in-home entertainment system.

I flashed an identification card to the security man in a small little turret by the gate.

“I’m here to fix their wi-fi.” My khaki pants felt sticky in the California sun. The Santa Ana winds meant that I couldn’t have my ankle holster. One strong breeze, and they’d be able to see the damn thing. Instead, I had to keep a conceal carry at my lower back, right where the sweat of the hot day dripped between my shoulder blades and down my spine.

How did people live in this kind of fucking heat? After Iraq, I had sworn that I’d never find my way to another desert. But here I was, thinking about taking residency because of a little muse that had me by the fucking balls.

The guard looked at my badge, then up at me. “Thank God! It’s impossible to get signal out here.”

He showed me his phone, waving it in the air, as if I could see his lack of 5G. I couldn’t, but it didn’t matter. “Well, I’ll certainly try to help if I can.”

I would, of course. The lack of wi-fi and the struggling signal was intentional. Another Caledonia bug that the twins had placed under the mailbox by the gate.

The guard waved me in, and I marveled at how easy that was. I was starting to think that Caledonia Security wasn’t just paid the big bucks because they were better, but because all the other security companies were just plain awful. They were like teenagers in a horror film – theywantedto die.

The long walk up the drive was a display in luxury. In a city of small parcels of land, the Drydens lived in their own little walled-in Versailles. The entrance was 3-stories tall, with glass all the way up to light the entryway. The door was unlocked, probably to accommodate the staff that buzzed around, cleaning, doing laundry.

I walked past the common area to the office tucked away in the back of the house. According to their favorite tech shop, that was where they kept the modem.

The moment I walked in, I knew that this in-home office wasn’t his, but hers. Stasia Dryden’s accolades were framed and hung on the walls, covering every bit of real estate. Every album she signed, and artist she launched was on those walls, with sharpied signatures along the glass.

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