Chapter 31
thirty-one
Remember when I said Marco Amir was dangerous?
Well.
I stand on the threshold of his living room, with my mouth hanging open as he takes a phone call. The morning sun shines through the apartment’s picture windows, burnishing the golden skin of his back while he—
Makes tea.
“—understand that. But until I have full confidence that the danger has passed, I’m afraid I must insist.”
I bite down on a goofy grin. Whoever he’s talking to is getting the gruff, no-bullshit Marco who pinned me to the hospital hallway last night. I’m sure they would never know he’s practically naked, in only a snug pair of black boxer-briefs…
Sporting scratch marks on his shoulders.
Oops.
I try my best to quell my embarrassment, but it’s only one item on a pile.
After all, I have no makeup or hair products to fix the effects of our late-night shower.
Not wanting to put my dress back on left me with no choice but to don the clean white T-shirt he left out.
It fits, but the way it hugs my hips, belly, and chest makes me feel a bit more jiggly than I bargained for.
Even though I look like something that got caught in a drain, Marco still grins as he turns toward me, holding out a mug.
“Not as good as yours,” he mouths, then frowns sideways at his phone. “I’m sure it’s not my place to tell you,” he snaps, then rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Tris.”
Tris?
I nearly drop my cup of tea when I balk. Marco tosses his phone onto his island, rolling his shoulders as if my roommate has thoroughly stressed him out.
“What was that about?” I whisper.
“You,” he replies, quiet but easy. He bends to kiss my forehead, nuzzling there. “More specifically, keeping you safe.”
His dark eyes swirl, beaming with intensity.
“It isn’t safe for you to go back to your apartment for now.
We can have the police clear the paparazzi gathered there this afternoon, to allow you some time to grab whatever you need…
but you have to find somewhere else to stay until the media frenzy dies down. ”
There’s more he wants to say—I see it germinating in my mind as he assesses me, weighing my expression. I do my best to breathe through my anxiety, nodding minutely. “A-alright. I suppose I could rent a room with Tris or—maybe stay at Ella’s for a few nights?”
They have space, but I wince at the thought of intruding on my clients in that way. Renting a room for the week would be expensive, though. Not to mention living in one shared space with Tris…
Marco’s brows snap lower. “I thought you might consider staying here. With me.”
It turns out Marco can be very persuasive.
The blend of panty-melting authority and genuine concern bowled me over before I had even finished my tea.
It's a little after noon by the time he gets the call he’s been waiting for—his men have helped the police clear the hordes of paparazzi camped out in front of my apartment, hoping to get a statement from me about the party I didn’t even attend.
They’re keeping the sidewalk cordoned off at either end of the block until we get there and do what we need to do.
Marco drives one of the Stryker & Sons’ company cars, a white Mercedes like the one we used last night.
When he takes me down to his garage—dressed in a pair of rolled-waist joggers and a borrowed hoodie—I see a whole row of vehicles just like it, all in various sizes.
Parked alongside one truly terrifying black sports car.
Thankfully, the ride to my place doesn’t take long. Marco insists on parking and walking me up, intent on securing the whole place himself and finally installing his remote cameras while I pack.
We’re in the midst of another philosophical debate while we climb the stairs, Marco nodding along as I make a point. He suddenly freezes. His eyes snap forward, locking on something I’m not tall enough to see yet.
“Down.”
He hisses the command at the same second he strikes out his arm and pushes me into the wall of the stairwell. Before I can breathe, his body flattens mine, back-to-front. I fight to fill my lungs, choked by shock and the unexpected impact of his broad back.
His protective stance feels severe enough to keep me from asking any questions. My fingers automatically twist in the fabric of his black T-shirt—the same one I slept in.
He moves with practiced efficiency, reaching his right hand to his left hip and drawing a gun I hadn’t realized he had hidden. His other hand dips into his back pocket and extracts a magazine of bullets. In a single smooth motion, he locks it into the handgun and clicks the safety off.
For just one moment, he hesitates. His dark eyes leap from whatever he saw on my landing to the empty stairway behind us and the empty street beyond.
“Damn it,” he mutters quietly. “Alice? You’re going to have to stay behind me. Can you do that?”
I feel like I’ve swallowed my tongue. But I nod.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Hold on to my shirt just like that. If I say ‘down’ again, you hit the floor. Got it?”
With one more bob of my head, he starts to slink up the last flight of stairs. When we reach the landing, I see what all the fuss was about: there is no sign of Tris… but our apartment door hangs open ominously.
Marco moves with capable grace, slipping into the living room without making a sound.
I try to step where he does and keep my breathing shallow while he clears the room, thoroughly checking every corner, behind all the doors, in each closet—even on the other side of our shower curtain.
He finally lowers his gun and flicks the safety back on.
Footsteps angry, he storms to the front door and slams it shut. I finally manage to force some air down my narrow throat, glancing around.
Everything looks normal. Untouched.
Damn it, Tris.
“Maybe the wind blew the door open?” I squeak, embarrassed. “Tris sometimes forgets to lock up.”
Marco stays rooted to his place in the middle of the room, facing away from me. His shoulders rise and fall while he breathes hard, staring straight ahead.
“Marco?”
My voice snaps him out of it. He exhales before he turns and opens his arms, waiting for me. I hug him, letting him wrap his strength around my body. “I reacted on instinct,” he whispers. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I—”
It’s rare for him to lose his words. I lean back, reading his face. He stares down at me, his features full of confusion and worry. “I need you to be safe,” he finishes, fervent. “I always did, but it feels different, now.”
My heart trembles. Will I ever get used to him being so forthright? Saying such beautiful things? I’m still convinced I’ll wake up any minute and find myself on the sidewalk beside Ella’s subway stop with a lump on my skull.
“Okay,” I assure softly. “I’ll be safe.”
He scowls while he looks around my place, as if not totally trusting it. “I’m putting up those cameras. Now. Pack your things, sweet girl. Bring anything you wouldn’t want to lose or have strangers rifle through. Just in case.”
I hide a smile. He’s a bit overprotective. And a touch on the pessimistic side. Though I suppose that’s how he keeps everyone safe.
He really does carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Only he does it so gracefully, I doubt anyone else ever notices. I’m grateful I have.
Stretching up on my toes, I press a kiss to his jaw. “Yes, sir.”