My Queen.
“Ready?” she asked, her voice cool, distant. Like we were strangers going to a business meeting.
I wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. I wanted to tell her I’d never seen anything more stunning in my entire existence. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg her to look at me the way she had in that bathroom.
Instead, I nodded.
“Ready.”
The gala was at the Ritz-Carlton, a ballroom filled with crystal chandeliers and champagne towers and the kind of people who’d known my family for generations. The kind of people who’d watched me grow up, who’d whispered about my rebellions, who’d expected me to marry some debutante with a trust fund and a pedigree.
Instead, I’d married her.
And walking into that room with Zara on my arm was the single most satisfying moment of my entire life.
She played the part perfectly.
She smiled when I introduced her. She laughed at the right moments. She placed her hand on my chest, looked up at me with those dark brown eyes, and made everyone in that room believe we were madly in love.
I watched her work the room like she’d been born to it. Like she’d spent her whole life preparing for this moment. She charmed the old women, impressed the businessmen, and made the other wives jealous with nothing more than a glance.
I was in awe.
I was also so fucking hard.
This woman had me completely, utterly ruined.
That was until my father, the cock-block that he was, came up behind me while I was getting a drink, his hand landing on my shoulder with that familiar, heavy weight.
“Son.”
“Father,” I replied, coldly.
We stood side by side, not looking at each other, the way we’d done for thirty-seven years.
“She’s a pretty little thing,” he said, his voice flat. “But I hope you know that’s not enough. A pretty face won’t run a household or manage the family’s reputation.”
I felt my jaw tighten as my hand clenched around my glass.
“She’s not just a pretty face.”
“Isn’t she? What does she do, Lorenzo? Decorate your penthouse? Spend your money?”
I turned to face him, and I saw the challenge in his eyes. The same challenge he’d been throwing at me my entire life.Prove me wrong. Show me you’re not a disappointment.
And for the first time, I didn’t flinch.
“She’s the reason I’m here tonight, smiling at strangers, pretending I care about their opinions. She’s the reason I’m not in a bar somewhere, drinking myself into oblivion.”
I paused, meeting his eyes.
“She’s not just a pretty face. She’s the only good thing in my life. And if you ever disrespect her again—ever look at her like she’s beneath you—I will walk away from everything. The family. The money. The name. All of it.”
The silence stretched as I watched my father process what I had just said, the line I had drown around my wife. And then, slowly, my father’s expression shifted.
“I’m proud of you, boy,” he said as he reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.
I blinked. “What?”
