Page 75 of Wicked Queen

“There’s rarely smoke without a fire. Lesson one.”

“All those threats are real.” I took a deep breath. He hadn’t reacted well to our suggestion of the press release. He was going to like the next bit even less. “Which is why we need to increase your security.”

“Increase?” Anders echoed. “I have security?”

“It obviously won’t affect you much,” Alexander said dryly.

“I can handle myself,” he said.

“My jaw remembers that,” Alexander said, “but you’re not up against a barroom brawl.”

“What am I up against? Is that Jacobson rubbish true?”

Somehow I knew he wouldn’t believe anything Alexander had to say, so I answered. “Every word of it.”

“Fuck.” For the first time, we’d made a dent.

“Why?”

“That’s a long story,” Alexander warned him. “I’m happy to tell you about it, but there are other matters to consider.”

“Security guards and press releases aren’t enough?”

Alexander peered at me, letting me take the lead. The next bit was my idea, and one the others weren’t sold on. “We want to bring in a handler.”

“A body guard? You said that already.”

“More like a publicist,” I said slowly. “Someone who focuses on crisis management and will know the right thing to say when you’re cornered.”

“A publicist? The track has those,” he started.

“It needs to be someone we know and trust,” Edward broke in.

Anders narrowed his eyes but he didn’t argue. “Who?”

I was exhausted—physically and emotionally—by the time the meeting ended. Edward walked Anders out this time. The two seemed to be warming to each other. Alexander and Anders? They were still as tepid as ice.

“That went well,” Alexander said and I glared at him. “I meant that.”

“What meeting were you at?” We were dragging Anders into our family kicking and screaming because we were out of choices. I didn’t flatter myself that he’d listened to us out of anything other than self-interest—and it had taken him long enough to locate that part of himself.

“He listened.” Alexander held out both his hands and pulled me from the chair. “I think that’s the most we can hope for at this point.”

“I suppose.”

“You look tired.” My husband pulled me against him—or as close as he could get me these days. His hands closed over the round obstacle between us.

“One month to go,” I reminded him.

“Have I thanked you?” he said suddenly.

I cocked my head, looking into his brilliant blue eyes. “For?”

“Having my baby,” he murmured. “

“There wasn’t a lot of choice in the matter,” I teased, overcome by the cocktail of emotions this dredged up. “When you shag as much as we do, it’s bound to happen.”

“That isn’t the point. You’re still doing all the work of bringing our child into the world. I wanted to thank you for that, and in that spirit…” He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me toward the hall.