Page 45 of His Queen

“That’s what I’m saying, yes.”

“Bullshit,” I scoff. “Everyone is searchable. Even your first-grade math teacher.”

Maximo cuts me off sharply. “Mira, enough. Don’t go digging for shit we buried a long time ago.” He glances briefly in my direction before returning his attention to the road. “Let’s keep the past in the past. It’s better that way.”

“You know something, don’t you?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Just let it go, Mira.”

My brother is good at a lot of things. But what he excels at is keeping things to himself. You could unleash hell's fury on him, and he still wouldn’t talk.

I sink back into the leather seat, unease soaking through my pores. Maximo is hiding something from me—something about our parents. Our family. And something tells me Nicoli knows it, too. Of course, he would. If it’s something worth hiding from me, the Del Rossa family will know exactly what it is.

We pull up at the hotel, and I get out of the car, walking into the reception with Maximo shortly on my heel.

The hotel lobby is grand, with high ceilings and chandeliers that glitter in the dim light. Luxurious carpets with intricate patterns add warmth to the area, and thick velvet curtains frame large windows.

The scent of freshly polished wood and cut flowers with a hint of fragrant candles are welcoming as we make our way to the check-in desk. The receptionist greets us with a smile before asking for our names. I give her my name, and she hands me my security pass for the day.

“Just show this to security when they ask,” she says with a smile.

“Thank you. And this is my brother.” I point toward Maximo. “He’ll be able to join me?”

After her gaze drips down my brother like he’s made of steel and melted chocolate, she finally looks my way again. “I’m sorry, but only one temporary security pass was issued for you, Mrs. Del Rossa. But your brother is more than welcome to sit and wait for you in our restaurant or bar area.”

I glance at my brother, whose expression screams,“Not a fucking chance,”and he pulls out his phone, probably calling someone who knows someone who knows the Dark Sovereign and has enough power around here to give my brother a pass.

I lift my eyebrows at him so high they almost tear off my goddamn face. “Don’t you dare,” I warn as I walk up to him. “Do not make a scene. And don’t pull rank here, okay? I won’t be long. The flowers are already here, so I’m just going to make sure the florists don’t make a mess of it. Then we can leave.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Jesus, Maximo. We’re in a hotel with security tighter than your ass.”

He frowns at me.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” I pat his shoulder reassuringly. “Just stay here.”

“Text me every ten minutes.”

“Are you serious?”

He lifts a brow.

“Okay, fine. Whatever. Go get yourself a drink so you can calm down.”

I take a deep breath and make my way to the elevator. As the doors close, I can feel my brother’s eyes burning through the back of my head. His protection is more suffocating than usual today, and the second the elevator doors close, I exhale, feeling like I can breathe for the first time today.

The steel doors open, and I step out into the corridor, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor with a quiet echo. Double doors lead me to a room where all the floral arrangements are set up, the sweet and heavenly fragrance of fresh flowers enveloping me as I slip inside.

Half a dozen people are buzzing around tables packed with the vibrant display of exquisite floral centerpieces and bouquets. The lavender roses have already been plucked from the arrangements and now sit ignored in buckets on the floor. I let out a sigh of relief when I see everyone sparking to place the fluffy blush roses among the delicate baby’s breath and lush green foliage. To some, it might not seem like a big deal, and I bet the guests hardly would have noticed. But the bride would notice. I would notice. And to us, it would be a goddamn train wreck.

I pull out my phone and text Maximo, telling him that I’m about to get to work and will not be able to text him every ten minutes—which is ridiculous, anyway.

I slip off my jacket, place it with my bag on the side table, and start working with the others to get the flowers done. We work in silence for a while, finding a peaceful rhythm as we tend to our task of saving‘operation flower swap.’The sound of scissors snipping through stems, the rustle of foliage as it’s rearranged, and the soft thumping of freshly-cut blooms being placed into vases create a symphony of serenity. I’m amazed at how calm everyone is. I half expected this to be a shit show of nerves, but the florists are all experts at their craft.

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