Page 99 of Vexatious Queen

“Holy shit, that was intense. You are such a badass,” she said, and then her face fell. “Oh, god…poor Sabastian.”

Ivy kept talking, but I was too focused on what had just happened and how I felt to concentrate on a single word. My fists uncurled, but the adrenaline still flowed through my veins.

For the first time, I felt…strong. I felt like I could be what my father wanted me to be and be the queen my mother named me.

I hadn’t believed that I was cut out for this world, to rule the Genovese empire, until this moment, but now…I had a bit more confidence.

FEBRUARY 1 – SUNDAY 6:25 PM

Ren

Nash wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we walked up to my dad’s house for dinner. But my mind was still stuck at Wayward.

After my confrontation with Christov, Sabastian had come back to the room with an emerging bruise on the side of his face. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it. In fact, he had asked me to leave, while gathering the pictures and shoving them into my arms before pushing me out the door.

My heart ached for Sabastian, despite the guys not liking or trusting him. Unless he was in contention for an Oscar, he was just as in the dark as I had been. Now more than ever, I wanted to know what lies he’d been told.

I glanced over my shoulder at Marcus, who was right behind us, ever the perfect guard. Our eyes met, and I decided to ask a question he might answer.

“How did you and my dad meet?”

Marcus smirked. “We grew up together. I lived five minutes away, and I can hardly remember a time that we haven’t been attached at the hip. From childhood, to Wayward, and then after, when he gave me a job.”

“So, you’re best friends?”

“He’s more like a royal pain in my ass, but sure, let’s go with best friends,” Marcus said.

I smiled.

“I have one of those called Liam,” Nash grumbled. “He’s extremely annoying.”

Marcus chuckled. “I’m sure he finds you just as delightful.”

Nash snorted. “That’s a given.”

The door opened as we were about to go in, and Vicky appeared in a long black gown, a matching coat, and her hair swept up in a twist. She was dressed like she was on her way to a gala.

“Well, looks like I am leaving just in time,” Vicky said, stepping out and around us.

“Vicky?”

She turned in a flourish and glared at me.

“What?”

“You look beautiful.”

Vicky’s face shifted from haughty to confused, then back again. She smoothed out her coat and lifted her chin as she scrutinized me.

“Yes…well, you don’t,” she said, and marched off toward one of the waiting limos in the driveway.

Nash moved to confront her, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t, she’s going through something.”

“Yeah, it’s called being born a bitch.” He looked down at me. “How do you do that?”

“Do what,” I asked, stepping into the house that had begun to feel like home.