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“Absolutely. You’ve been taking enough credit for my ideas already. How else will I make grand entrance into your family?”
He snickered. “Your grand entrance? Will there be a coronation?”
“Are you not a king?” I challenged, looking him over again. “King Ethan of the bloody kingdom of Chicago. The wife of a king is a queen, so you’re damn right I’ll have a coronation. I expect a lot, the people on their knees, the respect, the fear…everything. Oh, and diamonds.”
“A wise king never says no to his queen.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “I look forward to it.”
As did I. “Let’s hope no more damn surprises get in our way.”
“Calliope. End of the month.” He reminded me, and I knew then he didn’t care what happened. It had to be done.
Thursday, September 21st
Chicago, Illinois
“One fucking thing after another,” he snapped over the phone as I cleaned inside the barrel of my sidearm. “After years, I’ve finally gotten the one I needed back home under the same damn roof, and all of sudden this Gabriel comes out motherfucking nowhere for Donatella.”
“He didn’t come out of nowhere, I’m pretty sure your parents sent him.”
“I don’t give fuck. I’m not giving him Donatella.”
My eyebrow rose, and I knew he couldn’t see, but I couldn’t help it. “What makes you think Donatella is yours to give?”
“She’s my sister—”
“Exactly. Your sister, not your watch. She is a twenty-six-year-old woman; she’s the same age as me. Did you ask for anyone’s permission before taking me?”
“That’s different—”
“That’s sexist.”
“Don’t even start—”
“Too late. I’m starting,” I said as I began to clean off the bullets. “She’s your sister, you love and want to protect her, but I doubt you love or want to protect her as much as your father. Think of Gigi. Don’t you want to her to be with someone you approve and trust?”
“No.” I stopped my cleaning to actually look at my phone. “Gigi is not aging past twelve so why would she need to be with anyone?”
I laughed. “If you can do that, I will wash your feet with my hair.”
“We don’t even know if it’s my parents who sent him,” he sighed, obviously lying to himself.
“Your grandmother wouldn’t be backing him if it wasn’t.” I was going to force-feed the truth to him.
“We don’t even know who he is yet,” he pressed, still fighting.
“No, you don’t know who he is.” I glanced at the database on my computer before picking up the knife to clean out the grooves in the bullet.
“Whoever he is, he is not good enough—”
“Prince Gabriel Honoré Déllacqua III, Hereditary Prince of Monaco, the Marquis of Baux…that is as good as it gets for her. And to be perfectly honest, he was my second choice if you ended up rejecting me.”
That was a lie. And his silence made me wish I could see his face. I could feel his annoyance and rage through the fucking phone.
“I’m going to kill them.”
“Dona and her Prince Charming?”
“No, the two people who can’t help but play fucking God.”
