Page 8 of His Queen

“Well, shit, I didn’t think of it that way.” I plop down on my chair, leaning back as Leandra takes a seat across from me.

“So, you didn’t once think that the bride-to-be would have been inclined to pick you because there’s no saying no to a Del Rossa in this city?”

“If you put it that way.” I huff.

“Then there’s also the fact that having her wedding tied to the Del Rossa name would give her just that teensy-tiny bit of influence?”

“Okay, stop. Do you want me to walk into oncoming traffic?”

Leandra snickers. “All jokes aside—”

“That was you joking?”

“—you’re a great event planner, Mira. The best. And there’s nothing more I want for you than to dream big and take this venture of yours even higher.”

“There’s a but coming,” I deadpan.

“But…there has to be a better way to do it than sneak behind your husband’s back.”

“He’s adamant, Leandra. And I’m afraid if I tell him, he’ll interfere by threatening the groom or burning down the church.”

“Just be subtle when you’re trying to convince him, and don’t just drop it all out in front of him in one go. Ease him into the idea.”

“There’s no easing Nicoli into anything. He’s a hard egg to crack, so you really have to hammer shit into his head.”

Leandra smiles as she stands, her hair sleeked back into a perfect ponytail. “If you can make him understand how important this is to you, I can promise you that he’ll let you have this. He has to.”

I scrunch up my nose, breathing out heavily as I twirl a stray hair around my finger. “You’re lucky,” I comment.

“How so?”

“You got the predictable one.”

She scoffs. “Alexius is not predictable.”

“At least he’s not as unpredictable as Nicoli. I’m telling you, I never know whether he’s pissing me off on purpose or not. And you might think his smile is just a smile, but it’s not.”

“What is it, then?”

I pin my gaze on her. “It’s the devil’s asshole curving up at the edges of his mouth.”

“Oh, my God.” She bursts out laughing, barely able to breathe, which has me smiling, too.

“I’m serious. Nothing is ever as it seems when it comes to my husband.”

“At least we all know he’s obsessed with you. There’s no doubt about that.” She saunters to the door before turning back to face me. “Talk to Nicoli.”

“Easier said than done. The night I told him about the Carrington-Winslow wedding, there was no room in our conversation for debating. For him, it was a big, fat no right from the start. He went through an entire list of reasons I don’t have to do this and kept sidestepping the one reason I want to do this.”

“Which is?”

“Because I want to.” I stand and round my desk. “It’s not about the money. It’s not about networking. It’s about doing something I’m good at. Having that sense of accomplishment over something more than just deciding next week’s menu and delegating it down to the kitchen staff. Ugh!” I lightly kick at one of the fabric rollers. “I want to be more than just a housewife. I want there to be more to my day than lounging around waiting for my husband to come home so I can sit on his lap and bark for attention. Like you,” I say, gesturing toward her. “You have the twins. And even though you have like a gazillion nannies at your disposal, you do it all yourself. You don’t sit around here and look pretty all day, waiting for Alexius. You’re raising your children, taking care of them, loving them, making sure they have a stable home and a happy childhood.”

“Mira—”

“I want more, Leandra. I need to have a purpose other than waiting around for my husband all day.”

“Do you want kids?”

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