Close Protection

Chapter 13 Daphne

13 Daphne

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘I’ve really got all day, Mr Petrov,’ I sigh, opening the cupboard door and taking my car keys off the hook.

‘You’re not going,’ he replies, finality in his tone as he snatches the keys from my hand and walks towards the kitchen.

‘I need an outfit for the charity gala in a few weeks, and you definitely need to be fitted for a suit if you insist on joining me.’ I pout, following him into the kitchen. ‘Plus, I haven’t left this house in an age.’

I’m not normally a whiner but, hey, desperate times.

‘I don’t care if you’ve been in this house since birth, you’re not going,’ he says, sliding my keys into his back pocket and heading for the fridge.

‘But why not? You’re okay with me going to the gala in two weeks but not this?’

The Greenway Group hosts an annual summer charity gala, supporting a different cause every year. It’s invite-only and is one of the highlights of my summer. Everyone dresses in extravagant ballgowns and tuxedos, there’s great food and I get to meet up with a lot of my family and friends that I don’t see when I’m away at school. This year the Greenway Group are supporting the British Deaf Association.

‘The gala has tight, well-monitored security, an exclusive guestlist and well-vetted staff. Whereas the mall has hundreds of unknowns, thousands of people and no screening process.’

‘Well, I think…’ I turn at the sound of Daddy’s voice as he enters the kitchen from his study. We haven’t spoken since dinner last night and on instinct I tense up, ready to call it a day and head back up to my room to avoid another argument. ‘… you should go.’

‘I’m sorry, what?’ I say, not bothering to hide the surprise in my voice. Normally when my father and I have a disagreement we have a cooling-off period then go back to normal. But whatever’s been happening recently has caused that cooling-off period to lengthen. It continues to be extended with every new disagreement we have. And lately, that’s been a lot.

‘I think you and Milosh should go out. You’ve been through a lot recently and it’s only fair you have a little fun.’ He comes to stand on the other side of the island to where Milosh and I are. Facing me, but still keeping his distance, with a conflicted look on his face.

‘Daphne, darling, I’m really sorry about the way I’ve been acting lately,’ he continues. ‘First in your room, and then last night. This whole break-in thing has caused me so much stress and I’ve really taken it out on the wrong people… well, person. I don’t want to cause a rift between us, especially at a time like this. You don’t have to forgive me now, or at all, but I just wanted to get that off my chest.’ He looks everywhere but at me, fiddling with his hands like someone just gave them to him.

‘Oh,’ he adds, ‘if it helps, shopping is on me.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, handing me his credit card.

‘Daddy, shopping was always going to be on you, but thank you for the gesture,’ I say, meeting his eyes and giving him a small smile. ‘And thank you for your apology, I appreciate it.’

He retreats to his study with a hesitant small nod, and I turn my attention back to Milosh who’s been leaning against the counter silently watching the scene unfold.

‘See, Daddy says we can go.’ I hold up the card, walking over to stand in front of him. ‘He even sponsored the event.’

‘No, Daphne.’

It’s really hard to be annoyed at him when he says my name like that.

Deep, gruff and strong.

I move closer to him, settling my hand on his forearm to draw his full attention to me. ‘Please, Milosh, only for a couple of hours?’ I blink up at him as he slowly takes a gulp of his water, eyes never leaving mine.

I hold his eyes, running my nails up his arm ever-so gently, making gentle patterns against his skin.

‘Two hours. That’s all you get.’

My eyes light up at his answer and I give his arm a gentle squeeze. ‘Thank you!’ I swipe the bottle from his hands. ‘You can drink that in the car, come on.’

Milosh follows me out of the door that leads to the garage. ‘Which one’s yours?’ he asks, gesturing to the line of cars that fills the space. Most of the staff who drive to work park along the private street, so the cars in here belong to either Amelia and Henry, me or my father.

In front of us right now are Amelia and Henry’s Audi, my light-pink custom-made Sharpay Evans-inspired Greenway Motors estate, two of Daddy’s sports cars – one Greenway Motors and the other McLaren – the Bentley our driver uses and the family Rolls.

Yes, my Uncle Jonathan runs the Greenway Motors side of the Greenway Group, but that doesn’t mean all of our cars have to be Greenways.

‘Take a wild guess, Mr Petrov.’ I smirk. His unimpressed expression amuses me as he unlocks the car, slipping into the driver’s seat. I don’t argue because honestly, I hate driving, and I slip into the passenger seat beside him. I watch as he buckles his seatbelt, mirroring his actions as I soften my voice.

‘Thank you for agreeing to this, by the way,’ I say sincerely. He studies me for a second before nodding curtly and starting the car. ‘I really do appreciate it,’ I finish, placing my hand gently on his as he puts the car into drive.

‘It’s no problem, Miss Green. Let’s just get in and out quickly. I’m guessing you want to go to the Greenway mall?’ I nod and lift my hand off his, as we pull out of the driveway.

My grandfather, Hezekiah Green, founded the Greenway Group when he was a teen. Since then it’s grown into a pretty large conglomerate, splitting off into four groups, each with one of his children in charge. Daddy runs Greenway Discoveries, Uncle Leo runs the Greenway Hotel Group and Properties, Uncle Jonathan runs Greenway Motors and Auntie Emily runs Greenway Aviation. There’s recently been talk between the cousins about a fifth Greenway sector opening up, but nothing’s been confirmed. All of the grandchildren – me included – have been groomed since birth to take over their parents’ sectors and while some of us love it and are eager for it, others aren’t. I’m in the latter category. I’ve decided to go a different route and study Midwifery.

Now that’s a real sore point for my father, so I bring it up as little as possible.

Bored of the silence, I ask the question that’s been bugging me since Milosh arrived.

‘What exactly are you, Mr Petrov?’

‘What?’

‘Where are you from?’ I specify. ‘I know you lived in America, but your voice and your surname suggest you started out somewhere else.’

He glances over at me, catching my eye, a look of conflict passing through his own for a split second before he responds, ‘Bulgaria. I moved to America when I was ten.’

‘Why did you move?’

‘Because I had to,’ he states blankly. I look back at him and consider his odd, vague response, noting the tight grip he now has on the steering wheel. I know his past is a bit of a touchy subject yet I can’t help wanting to know more. He has such a hard exterior but I know that there’s something softer under that. I’ve seen glimpses of it over the last few weeks.

Pink boxing gloves.

Waking me from my nightmare.

Standing up to my father for me.

The fact that he didn’t raise his voice with me just now, even though he was clearly uncomfortable, speaks volumes.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just wanted to know a little more about you,’ I say, as we reach a red light. He looks at me with hair-raising intensity, scanning my features as if he’s trying to commit them to memory.

‘I moved to America to live with my aunt after my parents were killed. I lived with her for a year, learning English slowly, before she died. Then, I moved to a children’s home where I stayed until I was sixteen, when I joined the military.’

Ah.

So that’s why he doesn’t like to talk about his past.

‘I thought you had to be seventeen to join the military in the US?’

‘You do, but I saved a boy who was getting beaten up, and it turned out he was the son of a lieutenant and an admissions officer so they let me in early as a favour.’

‘Did you only join the military to get away from your children’s home?’ Now he’s actually letting me in, I can’t help but keep asking questions. This is the most he’s opened up since I met him, so yes, I’m going to ask until I can’t ask any more.

‘Yes and no. I hated that home, but it taught me some valuable lessons. I joined the military because I wanted to help people.’

‘That’s why you started doing close protection work too?’

He goes silent for a moment. I look at him but his eyes are focused on the road. ‘Something like that.’

I don’t know what happened, but there’s a distinct shift in the air. Attempting to keep the mood light, I continue. ‘Thank you for sharing that with me. You didn’t have to but you chose to anyway and I appreciate that.’ I look over at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road, only dipping his head in acknowledgement.

‘Since you’ve shared something, is there anything you’d like to know about me?’ I suggest, rolling down my window, closing my eyes as I revel in the warm breeze against my skin. Milosh stays quiet for a moment, and I assume he just doesn’t want to know anything more about me, until he shocks me by speaking again.

‘Your nightmares.’ I can hear the hesitation in his voice, but I keep my eyes closed, waiting to hear where he’s going with this. ‘You had one the first day I got here, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ I answer weakly. I know I told Milosh to ask me anything but I’d rather eat my left big toe than go through this with him.

‘Do you eat blueberries after every bad dream?’

‘Yeah.’ I scoff lightly. If there’s one thing about Milosh Petrov, it’s that he’s a heck of an observant guy.

‘Do you get them often?’

‘They started when I was young, and would come once a week roughly. They stopped when I was at school, but as soon as I came back home for the holidays they would start up again. Since the break-in, they’ve got worse, though, coming more frequently and vividly. But it’s always the same dream over and over. That never seems to change.’

We turn into the shopping centre car park and pull into a space. Killing the engine, Milosh turns to look at me. ‘Thank you for sharing that with me.’

One thing I’ve come to appreciate about Milosh is that even though he’s rough and assertive with his words, he always speaks to me with respect and relative kindness whether he’s irritated with me or not.

‘You help me, I help you.’ I smile gently, shrugging as he gets out of his side, coming around to open the door for me.

We walk towards the entrance in comfortable silence for a moment before Milosh changes the subject to the task at hand. ‘When you go shopping, do you often see people you know?’

‘Most of my friends live in other countries so I never really see them here, but some of my extended family live nearby, so I’ve run into them on occasion.’ I hear a car door slamming in the distance and I flinch, letting out a sharp gasp. Milosh looks down at me with a puzzled expression as he presses the button to call the lift.

‘I’ve been a little jumpy since the break-in,’ I explain.

Understatement of the century.

I’ve not just been jumpy but paranoid too. Since the break-in, I haven’t been able to go downstairs at night and even got scared of the wind lightly tapping on my bedroom window as I got ready this morning.

After the break-in, all Henry told me was that the man was looking for something to do with Daddy’s work and he hurt me so he could escape without any problems. But I just don’t understand what he could be working on that’s so important someone would strangle me to get their hands on it. Nothing has been normal since I got back from school so I need to make this shopping trip count. Because until they catch the man that guy was working for, I still remain at risk.

‘On the off-chance we see anyone you know,’ Milosh says, taking me out of my head and back into the conversation, ‘they ideally shouldn’t know I’m your… bodyguard.’

‘Why?’

‘Because normally when you let someone know that you – a regular person – have a bodyguard, people start to worry, then they start to ask questions. Questions that neither of us want to answer. So it’s easier if you introduce me as your friend or something.’

‘Mr Petrov.’ I gaze over at him. ‘I mean this in the nicest way possible. No one would believe that you and I are friends.’ It’s not that I don’t have male friends. It’s that I have no male friends that look or act remotely like him. Where Milosh Petrov is sharp, rough and direct, my male friends are preppy, book-smart and not athletic in the least.

‘Fine, then introduce me as your boyfriend instead.’ He sighs.

‘Okay, if no one would believe you’re my friend, why would they believe you’re my boyfriend? Have you seen the way you dress, Mr Petrov?’ He looks at me with the most bored expression a person could make as we walk into the lift.

I step back and try to look at him objectively, as if I were one of my friends seeing him for the first time. I take in the combat-style boots, black cargos and black T-shirt. The dark hair and the sharply structured facial features. He stands with authority and dominance, physically and metaphorically taking up the space he enters. ‘You’re a literal walking Pinterest board for the bodyguard aesthetic. The whole army brat thing is not the look I traditionally go for.’

‘And what is? Cable knits and dickies?’ Amusement dances in his eyes as he presses the button for the first floor.

‘No, I’m more of a quarter-zip and gilet kinda girl.’ I try to picture him in the outfit of a man I would typically go for.

Yeah, no, I can definitely work with that.

‘Okay, so if we’re really gonna sell this we’re gonna need to get you some new clothes.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Mr Petrov, you said that I shouldn’t tell people you’re my bodyguard, but I won’t have to if you’re wearing that.’ I gesture to his ensemble. ‘So if you’re going to play the boyfriend role, you need to look the part.’

‘Believe me, Miss Green.’ He dips his head until his mouth is hovering over my earlobe. ‘If I’m playing the role of boyfriend , it’s not the clothes that will convince them.’ I shake off the involuntary shiver that runs through my body and focus. ‘But it’s your shopping day, so I’ll humour you. Where to first?’