She’s My Queen

18. Have we met before?

18

HAVE WE MET BEFORE?

SEVERIO

W hen I asked Cristina to prepare our meals, I didn’t expect her to make one this very evening. She’s upset with me about Romeo, and the stress of my uncle’s demise probably hasn’t worn off yet.

Nevertheless, I waited for her to make her way back into the main house. I thought maybe she’d want to talk about our arrangement, the Order, or her position in the Order.

We had a lot to talk about, but Cristina either wasn’t interested or really didn’t want to talk to me. When I arrived to talk to Frenchy, the only other person on this island besides Cristina I’d trust with putting good and untampered food in my belly, I would’ve put my money on the latter: She didn’t want to talk to me.

After she almost fainted at seeing a ring on my wedding finger, I’m sure she not only doesn’t want to speak with me but also would love nothing more than to not see me or hear me because she’s attracted to me. She hates it, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

“I’ll be damned,” I repeat, basking in the glory of what I uncovered tonight, knowing exactly what I’ll do with this discovery, because God knows hate’s the only sentiment she’ll ever feel for me. I can’t help but laugh at this turn of events.

“You’re a jerk. I’m leaving.”

“Sit down, Cristina.” I lift my hands. “I won’t say a thing.” She must be hungry.

“I’m not having dinner with you.”

“What’s this I’m hearing about not having dinner with me?” Frenchy says as he walks into the alcove carrying a large serving tray. For a man in his eighties who’s survived three attempts on his life, healed seven bullet holes, and outlived two of his nephews, he’s in fantastic shape.

He sets the tray on the other end of the table, and Cristina gets up to help him.

They serve a variety of appetizers.

“I thought we were just having calamari,” she says.

“Severio has an unruly appetite,” Frenchy says.

“It only grows worse as I age,” I say before I nearly salivate.

Cristina sits back down and picks up a piece of bread, then dips it into the dish of olive oil and herbs. Her moaning makes me hard.

She serves me a plate. “Go ahead.”

“After he eats first,” I say.

Cristina’s discomfort shows in the blushing of her cheeks. She looks to Frenchy, gauging his reaction.

Frenchy’s eating. “Oh my girl, don’t be embarrassed. Paranoia is healthy for a man in Severio’s position.”

Validated, I lift an eyebrow at her and start my dinner.

“Please don’t defend him,” she says.

Frenchy shows her his palms in surrender. “Just saying. If he weren’t so careful, he’d be dead already.”

“Every time I go out, someone is trying to kill me.”

Cristina pauses chewing, and oil trails down her chin.

Before she grabs a tissue, I swipe it with my thumb and lick my skin. “My dinner tastes sweeter when you look at me with disapproval in your eyes.”

She gets back to the subject at hand. “Maybe you should find a less deadly profession?”

“Or maybe I should eliminate all those who wish me or mine harm.”

“I hate to be the bearer of this news, but upon meeting you, that would be most people.”

I snatch her fork.

She picks up a spoon.

I snatch that too.

“Children,” Frenchy says. “Let us all behave.”

“She makes me want to bend her over my knee,” I bite out.

Frenchy smiles. “You do what you must.”

Cristina’s blushing again. I wonder if she’s picturing me spanking her. I suppress a groan. This is going to be a long night if I have to sit here the entire time with an erection.

“So,” Cristina says, eyes bright and wide, obviously ready to change the subject. “How long have you guys known each other?”

Frenchy side-eyes me, and I nod, telling him he can speak freely.

“I’ve known the Mancini family since I met Severio’s grandfather. We served together and stayed friends over the years. Whenever they’d visit the island, they’d come here, not as often as I’d like, but…well, Severio was about ten, a wee boy, this tall when I met him. Quiet. Strong. Nose in a book.”

“In a book, really?” she asks.

I nod. “I still read every chance I get.”

“Morning papers,” she says, then looks away, appearing uncomfortable.

“Unlike you.” He points at Cristina. “Always with her hair full of sand and head full of ideas. You remember her, don’t you, Severio?”

I tense. I thought he’d forgotten.

Cristina looks from me to him. “Remember what?”

Frenchy’s cutting more bread for dipping, so he doesn’t see my glare. “Severio found you limping across the street. He picked you up and carried you in here. You had cut your foot on a rock.”

She looks from me to Frenchy. “When was this?”

“You were too young to remember,” I say.

“When was it?” she presses.

“Oh, I’d say a good twenty some years ago. Yeah, yeah, it was right outside. He sat you down on the chair and called for me. The seashell had lodged itself between your toes, and you were bleeding pretty badly. Did you forget?” he asks.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I remember sitting in the shade under the canopy on the beach, reading my cartoons, when this annoying little girl started crying about her foot. I figured out her parents weren’t around because she was a local, so that left me to make her stop crying so I could go back to my peaceful existence.”

“You carried me all the way from the beach?”

“It’s not that far, Cristina.”

“I know, but I’ve never been thin, so it’s not a small feat.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Cristina’s fingers touch her lips. I think my not discussing her weight pleases her.

“You weren’t thin, no,” Frenchy says. “And don’t take this the wrong way because you know I think you’re a nice girl, but Severio here”—Frenchy slaps my back—“has always been strong.”

“That’s true.”

Cristina narrows her eyes. “Is this story even real, or are you two inflating Severio’s giant ego by making up stories about his chivalry?”

Honey calls out from the kitchen.

Cristina rises as if to grab the meal, but Frenchy stops her. “I’ll get it.”

“You really shouldn’t,” she says.

I shake my head, knowing Frenchy might be old, but he’s plenty capable.

Frenchy presses his fists on the table and leans in. “I know what I can and can’t do. Thank you for looking out for both my health and Severio’s ego. But when either of us needs looking out for, we’ll let you know.” With that, Frenchy leaves.

I smirk.

“Oh please,” she says.

“You had it coming, telling Frenchy he’s too old.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Might as well have.”

I lift the carafe and pour her a glass of white wine. “Try this.”

She swirls it and tastes it. “This is very good. Not local, is it?”

I nod. “Frenchy’s vineyard.”

She shakes her head, then checks the label. “The ones we get at the resort don’t taste like this.”

“That’s because Frenchy saves the best for me.”

Cristina chuckles. “Does he, now?”

“Mmhm.” I steal her glass.

The food arrives, and Frenchy tastes everything first.

When you’ve learned the hard way at a very young age that the adults in your life are trying to hurt you under the pretense of feeding you and caring for you, you learn to be cautious and ruthless.

Nobody can be trusted except the people who have proven their loyalty over the years in service to the Order or me directly. Cristina’s unvetted, and Frenchy spent the last decade with Gio, monitoring him for me, but also befriending him. I trust him, but remain cautious because I’m treading new waters with Cristina now.

I need proof she’s good for me before I dive inside her. But I must admit, the longer I’m around her, the harder it becomes to resist claiming her.