Her Mafia Bodyguard

“Did you ever think there might be a reason for that?”

I didn’t mean to make her feel bad, but she blushes anyway before lowering her gaze back to the bird. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t assume.”

“No, I shouldn’t give you shit over the stuff you don’t know about.” I finish the last potato, leaving a pile of peels in the sink, then look around for a knife. I’m not going to be one of those guys who acts like he doesn’t know what comes next. I’ve at least watched mashed potatoes getting prepared before. “It’s just I usually had to work on Thanksgiving. So did my dad. And it was pretty much just the two of us for most of my life, except when I was real little and living with my grandparents.”

“So your father worked—”

“For your dad and his family, yeah. For a long time. That’s how I got this job.” I look around. “You have a pot for these?”

“You know where the pots are,” she reminds me. I do, so I grab one and fill it with water. She’s not going to let me change the subject, is she?

“Anyway, we usually ended up keeping an eye on things while the family—your family—had their meal. There was always extra food leftover, and we always ate later with the rest of the crew on duty. Back in the kitchen, you know, wherever there was room.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask with a chuckle. “You don’t need to feel sorry. To tell you the truth, I’ve never known it any other way, at least not that I can remember too clearly. So it’s not like I lost out on anything.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“How about you?” I nod toward the turkey before winking at her. “I get the feeling this isn’t your first time.”

“Honestly? It sort of is.”

“What? How did you know how to do that?” I ask, gesturing toward the bird she’s now tying up with twine.

“I watched videos, and I used to watch cooking shows on TV. We couldn’t really afford a turkey for Thanksgiving. Sometimes we’d get a chicken or a free ham if the supermarket was giving them away—like, if you bought a certain amount of groceries, you’d get something free. We did the best we could with what we had.”

She turns back toward her work with a little smile. “This is the first time I’ve ever been able to do everything I want. Like, I could just go crazy and buy all the ingredients my heart desired. That was nice.”

And now I wish I had let her make her disgusting cranberry sauce from scratch. “So I’m not going to die of food poisoning or anything?”

“I’ll do my best,” she retorts with a smirk. Her whole life, she’s done her best to make do with what she was given, and now she’s been given so much. Strange how I used to think of her as a brat. She still can be, especially when she digs her heels in. But at her core, she’s one of the most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met. And she still appreciates everything she’s been given instead of taking it for granted the way other people do.

I go back to my potatoes, cutting them up and trying hard not to imagine a younger version of her cooking a pitiful little dinner.

* * *

Mia’s sleepingin my arms an hour after we went to bed, but I’m nowhere near sleepy. I can’t even stir up any interest in doing more than lying here next to her.

I ate myself sick tonight. We both did. Sex was the last thing on our minds by the time we stumbled to bed after watching holiday movies. I still think it’s too early for that shit, but she disagrees—and I knew better than to argue.

Besides, it made her happy.

And I think that’s why I can’t sleep. Why I have to carefully extract myself from bed, doing everything I can to keep from waking her up. She’s out cold, though, snoring softly. She deserves it after all the work she put into making it a nice holiday.

I’m still too full and too uneasy. It’s the uneasiness that gets me dressed in sweats with the intention of heading down to the gym. I’m not going to put in a full workout—I’d never get to sleep if I did—but at least a walk on the treadmill might help me think. I make sure to arm the alarm using the app on my phone once I’m out in the hallway. Once I get confirmation, I take the stairs down to the second floor, where the gym awaits.

It’s a shame working out at this time of night is unsustainable. Otherwise, I’d be down here at one in the morning all the time. One of the TVs in the far corner is still on, playing The Weather Channel at low volume. That’s fine by me since the rest of the gym is empty. I have the whole place to myself.

What am I going to do about her? And about myself? That’s the question weighing on my mind when I start walking on the nearest treadmill. How am I supposed to balance how she makes me feel with the job I’m paid to do?

This was all a lot easier when I didn’t know her. It was easy to want her and resent her at the same time. Most of the time, I resented her because I wanted her so much and couldn’t have her.

Now, she’s mine to have whenever I want. I know she’s looking forward to the rest of her break, and so am I. It’ll just be the two of us without distractions or interruptions, without having to pretend nothing is going on.

And that’s the most dangerous part of all. The way I’m looking forward to having her to myself, just like I look forward to the end of her last class every day. I can’t wait to get her back to the condo where we can be alone and drop the act.

Because it’s not going to last. It can’t possibly. I know it… and deep down inside, she has to know it, too.