Page 48 of Unforgiving Queen
She stopped but she didn’t turn to face me. She stared ahead, giving me the cold shoulder. Just like the queen she was. The bruises on her neck looked even worse from this angle. Jesus H. Christ.
“What do you want, Amon?” Her voice was colder than the temperature outside, her demeanor even more so.
“Tell me what happened,” I demanded, my tone low. “Those bruises… I swear to God—”
This time she turned her head and met my gaze, eyes flashing with cold fury. The same ocean-blue eyes that used to show me my soulmate now only offered a stranger.
“Youhurt me, Amon,” she snapped, her tone hushed. “These bruises are nothing compared to the ones you left behind.” A pale vein pulsed in her slim neck, a testament to her fury. “Now, let go of me.”
She jerked her hand out of my grip and walked out of the restaurant, never once looking back.
17
REINA, 21 YEARS OLD
Three Years Later
My sister strolled into my office like it was an impossibly short runway.
My iTunes playlist of sad-girl songs played in the background. Sometimes it helped with inspiration. Other times, it helped to remember why I refused to give love a second chance.
Who needed that headache and heartache? I’d rather be eaten by a shark. Slowly.
I dragged my eyes away from the designs I was fixing for my day job at Hermès. It was mostly thanks to my last name and connection to Mamma and Grandma—two of the biggest movie stars of their time—that I landed it. It didn’t hurt that Grandma knew someone on the board as well.
I was grateful, and the experience was invaluable, but I wasn’t happy working here. An administrative job just wasn’t for me. After months of struggling, I’d finally decided to kick off something of my own and had been working at it for weeks.
“Hi there. You’re here early.” I checked the time to ensure I hadn’t lost track of it. It was still only three in the afternoon. “I didn’t expect you and Isla until four with the symphony practice.”
She shrugged, signing, “Isla will be here at four.”
My sister smiled brightly, but the moment I locked eyes with her, I knew something upset her and she was trying to hide it.
“How come?” I asked, suppressing my instinct to demand what or who made her upset.
“Practice.”
I frowned. “You don’t have to practice?”
“No.”
I leaned back in my seat, ignoring the work that was piling up, waiting to be finished. I had a broom closet for an office. Well, not exactly, but I called it that because the space was only big enough to fit a desk, a small file cabinet, me, and a single visitor.
Unfortunately, none of it was working for my creative streak. It was the reason I was getting my own designs up and running, starting with hosting a show next week, and then—assuming it went well—I’d be outta here.
I shuddered just thinking about the disaster I still hadn’t dealt with. Was it too much to ask for things to go right for once?
I shook my head, chasing those thoughts away and focusing on Phoenix. “How come you don’t have to practice?”
I let my gaze roam over Phoenix’s slightly disheveled dark curls, black sweater, red leather pants, and black stiletto heels. She definitely didn’t go to symphony practice in that outfit. Maestro Andrea was very conservative. Isla tended to push her buttons with him, but that was never my sister’s style.
“I just don’t.” Another vague answer. Phoenix was usually pumped up when she had rehearsals and concerts.
“What happened?” There was no sense beating around the bush—Phoenix was an expert at avoidance. “And don’t tell me ‘nothing’because I’ll go ask Maestro Andrea.” She huffed and I could practically see her contemplating her next words, evaluating how to best answer without outright lying. “You know what, I think I’ll just ask Maestro,” I said, my methods slightly sneaky.
I’d rather gag myself than call him. He’d nag me about returning to music until he turned blue.
“He didn’t need me.” I blinked at her answer. It wasn’t what I had expected. Phoenix was a magnificent pianist, and there weren’t many who possessed her skill. The only downfall in her whole career was when nobody present knew ASL to translate for her. And that was usually where I came in.
