Page 69 of King of Lies
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Dressed in my black wide legged trousers and black silk blouse with a wide leather belt and my black Louboutins, I prepare for the day. My hair is down around my shoulders in bouncy waves with the front pinned back and a little to the side, because when I began to twist it up, Rhys said, “Absolutely not,” and then moved on.
He holds my hand as we walk down the hall toward the breakfast room. He’s in a beautiful black suit and dove gray shirt.
I have an undeniable blush staining my cheeks that no amount of makeup will cover, and when he saw it, Rhys told me not to try. It’s his and he earned it, so he’s keeping it. My mood is too good to argue with him.
“Rhys!” the queen calls out when he walks into the breakfast room. I feel my good mood start to deflate as she jumps from her seat and flings herself into his arms. “You’re back! I missed you so much.”
“Yes, well,” he says awkwardly as he sets her aside. “I’m home now.”
“Yes.” She smiles brightly and looks so much younger now. I didn’t notice it, but she doesn’t have a motherly air about her, now it’s decidedly … carnal. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you.”
He pulls out a chair, sitting next to me instead of next to the queen, and she pouts with her lip out like a child. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes at her, but that would be disrespectful so I don’t do it. But I really, really want to.
“There’s so much to do for the coronation,” she says happily as plates of food are placed in front of us and cups are filled with coffee.
“Yes, there is,” he says. “And the wedding.”
“Of course,” she says, losing a bit of the wind beneath her wings, and I’m feeling a little smug until her eyes home in on me and her smile turns vicious. “Suzanne will make such a lovely bride.”
“Stella, not Suzanne, is my intended,” he corrects her, and she waves her hand out in front of her as if it’s no skin off her nose either way. Based on our late-night convo, I’m liable to believe her.
She couldn’t care less if it’s me or Suzanne he intends to marry, because she’s going to block it and show up at the altar herself in a wedding dress with a license, no doubt.
“Same difference,” she says quickly. “Besides, the coronation has to come first.”
“I was thinking the wedding should come first,” he challenges. “I want Stella to crown me.”
“Surely, you jest,” she says sharply.
“I do not,” he replies staring her down across the table. “She is to be my wife, my queen.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks quietly.
“Look at her,” she waves her hand out to me just as I was biting off a chunk of bacon and I stare at them both wide eyed. “She’s not built for this life. She’ll never make it.”
“I think she’ll surprise you,” he says softly.
“Even if she doesn’t, that part of the coronation is mine,” she screeches. “It’s my due as your mother.”
“You are not my mother.”
“You know what I mean,” she rallies. “I’m the queen.”
“You were the late king’s queen, not mine,” he says quietly before turning to me. “Are you done, Hen?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He holds his hand out to me and I take it, rising from the table. He leads me down the halls to his study where he sits behind his big desk and pulls me into his lap. Then he picks up the phone and calls Maeve, who hurries into the office pushing a service cart with coffee and pastries.
I take one look at her and whisper, “God bless you, angel Maeve,” and fall on the breakfast offerings like a war torn refugee. What I don’t see is the happy look exchanged between Maeve and Rhys, because if I did, I wouldn’t have any doubts about my place here or my importance.
Instead, I drink my coffee like a lifeline and lick icing from my fingers while the two of them get down to planning a wedding and a coronation.
