Page 41 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t have to be spaghetti, I don’t think. Just something really different from the bad dream.”

Luka doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “What about something fun? Like the Fire Starters?”

“Oh, no, it can’t be that. It’s got to be something boring.” I hear the bedsprings jostling slightly and suddenly, I imagine her sitting on the bed with him, her legs crisscrossed under her. “So what I used to do was tell myself a story about spaghetti. Like, ‘once upon a time, there was a bowl of spaghetti that no one wanted. It just sat in the corner of the kitchen all day surrounded by the best foods. Donuts, cookies, pie?—’”

“Pie? I hate pie.”

“Doesn’t have to be pie, then. Cake. ‘So, the bowl of spaghetti decided that it wanted to be something else. And it rocked and rolled until it got to the block of half cut cheese on the counter.’”

He snickers. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s supposed to be stupid,” she responded. “That’s the entire point. Make it as stupid as you want. It just can’t be exciting or anything. It’s got to be kinda boring for it to work.”

“Okay…” he says. “How about pencils? Will that work?”

“I think so, yeah. Try a little story about pencils.”

“Hmm. Once upon a time, there was a pencil who wanted to be sharpened, but he couldn’t find a pencil sharpener… so… so he rolled across the desk until he… he ran into some paper. And the paper said, ‘My edges might be sharp enough. Maybe I can help,’ and the pencil said, ‘Nah. I’m good, ’cause you’re paper.’”

Sofia laughed. “That is very silly and very boring. I think that might work, Luka.”

I step away from the door as quietly as I can and go back to my room. So, she has been getting out of her room at night like I suspected. She’s also choosing to do it to be in service of my son.

By the time I’m getting back in my bed, thoughts of sex are long gone. All I can think about is how my enemy’s daughter was kind enough to try and help my son get back to sleep instead of a million other things she could have done… including forcing me to give her freedom through hurting my son.

She’s not playing this game correctly. Then again, neither am I.

Early this morning,I had the staff give her a note instead of breakfast. The note read to meet me on the back patio. I didn’t leave her any instruction to get dressed as I like her to be, only to meet me. Given her proclivity to be a brat at every opportunity, I’m curious to see what she’ll look like when she comes out here.

I’ve only been out here a few minutes. I was served my coffee and the weather’s already warm even though the sun just rose a few hours ago. I’m sitting in my robe with silk pajamas underneath, relaxing while the morning ticks on.

And in these minutes, for some reason that I don’t really understand, the idea that she’s not coming occurs to me. As if standing me up was an option.

The door finally opens and she walks out. She’s not dressed, but she is wearing a robe over her nightwear. She’s tied her hair back into a ponytail and otherwise looks as youthful and fresh-faced as ever. She smiles slightly at me.

“What did I do to deserve this?” she asks as she sits down at the table with me. A moment later, the door opens again and my cook comes out with plates of food. She sits up as she looks down at the eggs Benedict and hash browns.

“Just thought we needed to talk,” I said. “And it’s a nice day today.”

She’s still eyeing her plate. “I’m beginning to think that eggs Benedict is a running gag or something between us.” She picks up a fork and digs in, taking her first bite. I do the same.

“So… you don’t have any comment about my appearance today?”

I shake my head. “I’d rather talk to you outside the confines of our relationship, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Her little smirk drops the way it does when she thinks she’s in trouble. “What’s up?”

“You’ve been breaking out of your room at night.” She stiffens.

“How did you?—”

“I didn’t for certain until last night. You were in Luka’s room.”

She sets her fork down slowly, as if she doesn’t want to disturb an avalanche. “I can explain.”

“Which part? Being in Luka’s room or breaking out of yours?”

She sighs. “Listen, it’s kind of hard to sleep when there’s a child crying across the hall. Frankly, I don’t know how you manage it.” I glare at her and she flinches. “Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”