Our marriage is fake. But our feelings are dangerously real…
Marrying playboy billionaire Darren Walker was only ever supposed to be a business deal.
If only it were that easy.
I’m finding it far too comfortable living in Darren’s world, and I never predicted I’d find real meaning in the charity I’m involved with while I pretend to be the perfect wife.
The worst thing is, I’m scared Darren’s feelings for me are becoming real, too.
But a woman with a past like mine doesn’t belong in a world like his. Especially because I thought my heart belonged to someone else before we were married. Someone much too close to him.
When Darren decides to leave his playboy ways behind and follow in his father’s footsteps, I must face reality. A marriage like ours won’t last forever.
Not when my former life has the power to come back to haunt me. There’s no way Darren’s reputation will survive the scandal of being married to a former escort.
And if I let myself get any deeper, neither will my heart…
Queen of Ruin is the second book in The Kingmaker trilogy, a steamy marriage of convenience romance full of political scandal. The books must be read in order for the best reader experience. This book does end in a cliffhanger.
Queen of Ruin Excerpt
“Revisionist history, Alistair,” I say,
pointing my finger in the air before taking a seat on the step.
Alistair takes a seat next to me, stretching
out his long legs over the marble steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
“We look back on history and memorialize a
great man, but we forget about the flaws; we minimize them. His martyrdom makes
it impossible to point them out. It’s true that Lincoln had one foot in the
20th century, but the other foot was still planted heavily in the 19th,” I
lament, “and yet here we sit on the steps of this memorial that holds the daily
pilgrimage of thousands, and we forget about those innate things that made him
human.”
“We’re not really talking about Lincoln, are
we?” Alistair asks astutely.
“I didn’t get along with my father,” I say as
a matter of fact. “That’s never been in question; a constant since as far back
as I can remember, and yet I always looked up to him.” I sigh, tilting my head
towards Alistair who looks down at his clasped hands resting on his thighs.
“But I always thought I knew him. Lately, I’m beginning to question that, to
question a lot of things.”
“Anything in particular that you didn’t
know?” he inquires, lifting a brow.
I pull out the envelope and hand it to
Alistair.
“Fuck,” he says, “He was a client?”
“No, these were taken four years ago. She was
a student, and my father was giving a speech at her university. She said
nothing happened.”
“Do you believe her?” The photos are damning
without context, but that’s the problem with photos – they’re up to the
interpretation of the viewer.
“Bailey was there when they met and attests
to the fact that he drove my father back to his hotel alone.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he questions.
“I wanted to believe her,” I admit, peering
over at Alistair. “But it’s this part of me,” I gesture to the monument, “that
needs the facts.”
“Who gave those to you?” Alistair’s question
breaks through my thoughts. “Rausch?” He gives a dark laugh.
“I know he’s pissed that you circumvented the
will, but now that it’s done, what does it matter to him?”
“Other than to gloat that he was right about
marrying her?” I scoff. “I’m not worried about that.” I shake my head. “It’s
who he got the photos from that I’m worried about.”
“If the press had gotten ahold of them…”
Alistair doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. This would be a
huge scandal, whether it was an innocent interaction or not. Politics runs on
perception, not to mention the media storm that would descend on Evangeline.
Even though I’m angry, I wouldn’t wish that
upon her or the destruction of my parents’ reputation.
“Someone’s had these for four years,
Alistair,” I point out, my voice sounding grave with the weight of it. “I have
a feeling it was Langley.”
“But what would he have to gain from that?”
Alistair asks. “Rumor around Washington was that he was going to be your
father’s first pick as a running mate.”
Something my father taught me – Presidential
elections aren’t won in the final hour. Presidents are made decades before they
even run.
Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, I hold
my hand up for Alistair to stop as I take a call. He rolls his eyes.
“Sir, I’ve been notified that the jet is
ready for flight,” Bailey explains on the other end.
“What are you talking about?”
“The crew called me to find out if you would
be joining.”
“Bailey, I don’t know what you’re talking
about.” I start to get agitated.
“I don’t think Evangeline knew that the
flight crew would alert anyone.”
Evangeline?
Fuck!
“What’s going on?” Alistair asks, the creases
of concern fanning his eyes.
“Evangeline’s leaving, and she’s taking my
fucking plane.” My heart races and the sudden change makes me feel dizzy. Never
did I think she would actually leave – especially when she knows what’s at
stake.
“Leaving?” he asks, tilting his head in
confusion. “Does she know she’s not getting any money unless she stays the
whole year?”
“She knows damn well!” I yell, pacing along
the steps. But if I thought Evangeline cared about the money, I’d have bought
her a closet full of designer gowns, fur coats, or whatever the fuck she
wanted.
She’d rather leave penniless then stay with
me.
I press the phone to my ear and ask to be
patched into the pilot.
“What’s the destination?” I ask before the
pilot can utter a word.
“Sorry, Mr. Walker?”
“Where the fuck is my wife going?” I
fume.
“Las Vegas, sir,” the captain confirms. “Do you want me
to cancel the flight?”
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Paula Dombrowiak grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois but currently lives in Arizona. She is the author of Blood and Bone, her first adult romance novel which combines her love of music and imperfect relationships. Paula is a lifelong music junkie, whose wardrobe consists of band T-shirts and leggings which are perpetually covered in pet hair. She is a sucker for a redeemable villain, bad boys, and the tragically flawed. Music inspires her storytelling.
Author links:
https://www.pauladombrowiak.
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