Her Mafia Bodyguard

Is that it? He did tell me a while back that Dad calls him all the time. “Is he giving you shit about me?” I ask once we’re inside with the door locked.

“What do you mean?”

“Does he think you’re being lax with my protection? Is that why you’re sitting outside, watching?”

“No. He knows everything is fine here.” He takes off his jacket, hanging it by the door before going to the kitchen for a drink. I follow him, hopping up on the counter. The marble is cold under my legs, but what’s more important is getting to the bottom of what’s bothering him. The fact that he hardly looks at me doesn’t do wonders for my self-esteem, let’s put it that way.

“What changed? You were so open with me. Is that the problem? You don’t want to be open with me anymore?”

He shoots me a look like I’m crazy. “No. What would make you think that?” All of a sudden, he’s very interested in the cap to his water bottle. Like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“Let’s start with the way you won’t look at me for longer than a split second.”

He shoots me a look from under his lowered brow. “Happy?”

“Thrilled. Thanks so much.” He rolls his eyes, which only irritates me more. “You’re not very good at hiding when something is bothering you. I hate to tell you that, but it’s true.”

“Is this a performance review all of a sudden?”

I have to fight like hell to keep from lashing out at him. He knows just how to push my buttons, doesn’t he? “If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to start a fight. Even though I haven’t done anything worth fighting about except being concerned for you.”

All that does is make him snicker. “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

Goose bumps race up the length of my arms. “What’s that mean? Who should I worry about?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He leans his back against the counter opposite the island, facing me. Looking at me, finally. “I’m not trying to worry you or scare you. I’m just saying, I’m not worth you worrying about.”

“That’s not true.” When his brows pinch together again, I add, “You’re a human being. That alone makes you worth it.” Oh, smooth. He won’t think I’ve caught feelings for him at all, will he? I’m in so far over my head that I don’t know what to do about it.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. That’s all I mean. I can handle myself.” He lifts his chin, eyes narrowing. “You’re the one I should be worrying about. I’m here to take care of you, to look after you. And I’m starting to wonder if I’ve lost focus along the way.”

So that’s what this is about. I don’t know if I’m relieved or annoyed or both. “It doesn’t have to be complicated, you know. Just the fact that you’re here, physically present with me, is enough. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all paranoid like Dad has.” I try to laugh it off and make out like it’s a joke, but he doesn’t join me. Now, it’s not just the marble that feels cold. I’m starting to feel cold inside, too.

Does he know something I don’t?

“You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If there was a reason for me to be concerned?”

There’s looking somebody in the eye because you’re telling the truth, and there’s forcing yourself to look somebody in the eye so they think you’re telling the truth. I should know. I’m pretty skilled when it comes to both. The fact that he doesn’t blink or even breathe as he holds my gaze tells me it’s the latter. “If there was something you needed to know, I would tell you.”

“That’s not an answer, and we both know it. But nice try,” I add, shaking my head. He only chuckles and shakes his head right back.

“That’s the truth.” He tries harder to convince me this time, staring at me for a long time. Like he’s daring me to argue. “I mean it.”

“Okay. I believe you,” I lie. Is this how it’s going to always be? Tiptoeing around each other, practically speaking in code? I’ve never been one to back down from a fight—he should know that by now—but I don’t want to fight with him anymore. I want things to go back to the way they were last week, when we both seemed, if not happy, at least content with the way things were for the time being. I had something to look forward to, something to be excited about when I opened my eyes in the morning. Just being with him, being able to touch him freely, to indulge the way I’ve wanted to for so long.

To see him smile. A real, true smile. He was starting to finally come out of his shell and share real, true things with me. And now that’s gone, too. Like a turtle retreating back into his shell, and I don’t know how to coax him out again.

“Well, if I’m going to stay awake through class, I think we should both try to get a little more sleep.”

“I told you—”

“Fine, then I’ll try to get more sleep. I’m not going to be able to if I’m worried about you sitting out on the balcony in the dark.” Alone, I want to add, but I don’t. He doesn’t need to think I care more than I should. It would only make things worse.

I can tell he’s getting annoyed and doesn’t want to show it. His face is actually very expressive when he’s not putting on a front for the outside world. Probably more than he realizes. “Fine. I’ll go to bed, but I can’t promise I’ll sleep.”

“See? Was it that hard to compromise?” That gets a real grin from him, anyway, even if it doesn’t last long. It makes me think back to that first week, to the night he spanked me and opened up an entirely new world for my overactive imagination. The night we tried to compromise.

He strips down to his underwear before joining me in bed, both of us on our right sides the way we normally sleep. It makes me happier than it should when he wraps an arm around me and pulls me in close. I was almost afraid he wouldn’t want to be near me, and it kills me that I was afraid. I don’t want to care. I really don’t. I’m only going to end up hurting myself in the end.