Chapter 16
I ease open the door between my room and Crue’s. It’s after three, so he should be asleep. Already adjusted to the dark, my eyes seek him out, finding his still form on the bed. On his stomach, his face is angled this way, his eyes closed, those full lips slightly parted.
I grin as I gently close the door behind me. Built into the wall to connect the two rooms, the door hasn’t been used in years. While my mother enjoyed a few of the more fun aspects of parenting, nighttime feedings and diaper changes did not fall under “fun.” My mother’s disinterest in her newborn evident during those first few days in the hospital, my father moved my nanny into this room before I was even released. He had the disappearing door put in so Winnie could promptly see to my needs throughout the night without disturbing the rest of the manor. She was responsible for all of my care, but wasn’t necessarily allowed to care for me, not like a mother would her own child. Or a nanny raising a child basically alone for eighteen years.
As soon as I entered elementary school, my father made Winnie close the door for good, banning both of us from using it again. I didn’t understand his decision at the time. I was so young, and the manor was huge and dark and cold, everybody in it like a stranger, even my own parents. It’s not like he wanted me to climb into his bed after a nightmare. Why did it matter to him if cuddling my nanny soothed me?
But now, after everything that’s happened, I do understand. He didn’t want any attachments made, no bonds formed, no love exchanged.
My father’s a smart man. Extremely intelligent in how both motorcycles and businesses operate. But when it comes to humans, and what they require, he’s clueless.
I already loved Winnie. A sudden lack of access to her when I was scared didn’t stop that. He could’ve moved her out to the pool house and I still would’ve loved her. She was my main, and sometimes only, mother figure.
Time has no effect either because all these years later, I still yearn for someone to protect me.
Since meeting Crue Brantley, I want that someone to be him.
But he doesn’t want to. He has to, just like Winnie had to. And when my father decides Crue’s job is done, he’ll be forced to abandon me, too.
Crue twists his head toward the door to the hallway, then rolls to his side, giving me his back. I don’t move a single muscle until I hear his breathing return to that same steady cadence I walked in on, then I tiptoe over to the bed. With him in only a pair of boxer briefs, I can study Crue in his entirety, my hand moving in the air like I’m sketching him. Practice, for later. I had it all wrong—what I envisioned under his costume. I practically made him a pristine doll, an unrealistic version of the man I met five months ago. This man before me is no doll. He is muscled, scarred, tattooed, and…real. So real I can reach out and touch him.
My drawing hand slowly gravitates toward Crue’s shoulder to do just that. An inch away from his skin, I trail a finger over the blade, to the space I dream about hiding behind. I would disappear into Crue Brantley if I could.
But I can’t.
I withdraw my hand and twist to leave.
This is exactly why I didn’t want him sleeping in this room. Now that I know I’m not meant to have any connections, I shouldn’t want them either. Why bother when I know they’ll just be broken anyway?
Pausing, I gaze down at Crue again.
I guess the same reason a caterpillar becomes a butterfly despite the short lifespan—persistence.
I wasn’t as persistent at five. I was obedient. Timid. Never even considered breaking my father’s rules.
I’m not the same girl I was then. I’m not the same girl I was six months ago.
I could disappear into Crue…like this. As long as I’m careful, no one will ever find out. My father’s obviously forgotten about the hidden door connecting these rooms, otherwise he never would’ve allowed Crue to stay here.
Moving as slow as a sloth, I lie down on the mattress, draping my body alongside Crue’s without physically touching him. On my left side as well, I stare at that patch of smooth skin between his shoulder blades, wishing I could rest my forehead there again, this time without the barriers. Instead, I inhale, submerging myself in his outdoorsy scent. Tears prick my eyes as I replay the same questions I’ve been asking myself since my father declared he was my new bodyguard. Why? Why him?
It’s like I manifested him right off the pages of my sketchbooks. I put so much energy, so much focus on Crue, that the universe had no choice but to deliver him to my front door…just not in the manner I was hoping for. I never wanted Crue as my bodyguard. I only wanted him as mine.
I can’t even blame moldavite for the twist that feels almost cosmic but crueler because I don’t own any. Literally formed from a meteorite hitting Earth millions of years ago, moldavite is believed to be one of the most powerful gemstones in existence. It’s supposed to accelerate transformation at a quantum leap-type speed, bringing you your desires in unexpected ways. The one time I held a piece, I got so nauseous I had to leave the crystal shop, and I’ve been too terrified to go near the tektite ever since.
No, this was my own doing. The last thought I had that night was look for me . Now that’s Crue’s main priority, to look for me.
And for the next month, that’s exactly what he’ll be expected to do, by my father, for a hefty price.
A couple hours later, I leave my room with butterflies in my stomach all aflutter. As per our new usual, Crue’s waiting for me in the hallway. The sight of him gives the butterflies a shot of espresso, I swear. I was just lying next to him, my body almost against his, and he has no idea. Nobody does. Major Danger’s back to being one of my coveted secrets.
I take a moment to scan my bodyguard from his shoes up, noting how delectable he looks in one of his new outfits consisting of a tight black t-shirt tucked into dark pants. Both items accentuate his muscles nicely. Unfortunately, the hat hiding half his face isn’t accentuating anything.
He opens his mouth, not to say “I’m sorry for my behavior last night. I’ll never do it again,” but to order, “Grab your dirty dishes.” Then, to add insult to injury, he tosses something at me before stalking right past, giving me another glimpse of his back as he leaves me.
I get ahold of myself to question, “What the hell is that?”
“Your cunt cream.”
My what?
I eye the mangled box at my feet. For my “yeast infection.”
Feeling my body flush with irritation, I send the overcaffeinated butterflies away in a swarm as I kick the box into my room, then grab the bowl and spoon from last night off my nightstand.
I can’t believe I was ready to forgive him. Just because he was asleep and quiet and perfect?
But now he’s awake and saying the wrong things and doing the wrong things and just…
Ugh!
Why is he mad? I’m the only one here with a valid reason for being mad. He’s my bodyguard, not Eighmey’s. Why was he even entertaining her?
I take it all back. I’m not forgiving anybody.
He can kiss my ass. And Eighmey? She can eat it like the bottom feeder she is.
“What’s the hurry? Is Eighmey downstairs, waiting for you?” I sneer after locking my door.
Without warning, Crue spins around to face me, his arms out wide.
“It was two seconds!”
“What was? That infamous ‘stamina’ of yours?”
“Eighmey’s flips.”
Maybe it was. I didn’t time her. All I could think about was how torturous it was to watch. For the last five months, I haven’t been able to forget a single thing about Crue and all it took was “two seconds” for him to forget my entire existence.
“Your fit last night lasted longer,” he accuses.
“Fit?” Scoffing a little too hard, my free hand goes to my hip as I cock it to one side. “I was practicing my reflexes. It’s not my fault your sensors were in the way.”
“Do you have any idea how immature you sound right now?”
Yes.
“We both know you were throwing a ball at the sensors to punish me for giving another girl attention.”
Not just attention. Praise. Affection. Crue clapped for her. He high-fived her. He held her close to him. He probably showered her with compliments. And he did it all with a smile on his face, not because he was being paid to, but because he wanted to.
I have never, ever felt such white-hot jealousy as I did last night. Not at my competitions when all of my teammates’ parents showed up and mine couldn’t be bothered to. Not when everyone else got to have birthday parties with friends but the only people to ever attend mine were on my father’s payroll. Not when I got asked to every school dance but was never allowed to even attend one. All of those things pale in comparison to seeing Crue admire Eighmey for those two fucking seconds.
“The part I can’t figure out is why do you even care who ‘the help’—”
“Excuse me. You are not ‘the help.’” I stroll toward him, one foot in front of the other until I’m only a few feet away. “You are my help. My bodyguard. Mine .”
“You dress me up like one of you.” Crue’s upper lip hitches as he gives me a once-over. “But don’t want me to act like it. If I even try, you’re quick to remind everyone, including me, of my station. So…what? Am I just a prop?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” With a disappointed shake of my head, I rasp, “You’re my prop.”
Those moss-green eyes darken but don’t blink.
I tear the hat off his head and toss it back down the hall, causing him to more than blink as he snarls, “Fucking brat. Why do you keep doing that?”
“Hats make you look common.”
“I am fucking common,” he practically spits before jerking back, his gaze above my head.
“Are you sure I’m the one reminding you of your station?”
“Pretty fucking sure.” His voice lacks any real heat, at least not toward me. He’s upset with himself for that little revelation.
I tug my sleeve down past my wrist, realizing I forgot to put on a bracelet. I could go back and get one, but then Crue might follow me and pick up his hat. I don’t want him wearing that hat anymore. I don’t want him wearing anything that obstructs his face. His scar is nothing to be ashamed of. Let people stare. They’re going to anyway. Humans will always look for flaws in other humans, no matter what lengths you go to hide them. The more you own your flaws, the less they can be weaponized against you.
“Then be common with your head held high. Munreauxs don’t look at the ground.” Whatever pulls his head out of the shadows and into the light.
Finally, he meets my eyes. “I’m not a Munreaux.”
“You represent one, and there’s nothing common about him.”
Before he can even try to retrieve his hat, I go down to the kitchen where my father and Chef Ryan are too busy talking to notice our arrival. The sight of my father engaging the chef in conversation makes me lose my appetite. It’s bad enough he lets him sleep in the house, now he’s being friendly with him, too.
My stomach threatens to forcibly eject those butterflies from earlier.
Dropping my dishes on the silver wave marble counter with a loud clang brings their chat to a screeching halt. As usual, I skip the pleasantries and get right to the point, telling the chef, “We’ll take our breakfast to go.”
Chef Ryan rigidly twists to face me and gives a nod before scurrying to the other side of the island.
His eyes on the sea, my father says, “Join me for a moment, Never.”
“Sincerest apologies, Father…” I start heading for the door on the opposite side of the kitchen. “But I have an appointment this morning.”
“Sit. Down.”
Backtracking, I lower myself into my seat. When Crue tries to do the same on Father’s left though, he tells him, “Get the food and go wait outside. I want to have a private discussion with my daughter.”
Crue follows instructions without delay.
“Leave us,” my father demands, and the next sounds are from Ryan’s foam shoes as he exits the kitchen as well.
The moment we’re alone, he reaches over and pinches the side of my hip. I try to squirm away but he just presses his fingers together harder until I whimper.
“Tell me something,” he says after releasing my skin. “When you’re married, do you think your husband will enjoy you interrupting him?”
I put a shaky finger up to my chin, pretending to think about it before settling on a sarcastic yet honest, “Since I haven’t met him yet, I have no idea what he’ll enjoy.”
Another pinch in the exact same spot makes my skin scream and my blood simmer—in agony, in anger, in desperation to get the hell out of here.
Satisfied when a lone tear rolls down my cheek, Father releases me.
Damn it. I didn’t want to cry this early in the morning, especially not because of him .
“That was rhetorical. No man wants a wife who talks over him. Your mother knew her place and—”
“Knowing one’s place and liking one’s place are two different things. My mother may have known her place but—”
“Never,” my father warns. Unfortunately for him, five months ago I decided I’d rather endure thousands of his pinches than bite my tongue one more time. He’s better off making good on his promise to sew my lips shut because hurting me where nobody’s going to see the evidence hasn’t stopped me from talking back. I’m already compliant in his demands. If he wants me quiet as well, he’s going to have to cut out my fucking tongue.
“She wasn’t happy in it because happy people don’t throw themselves off the back of a yacht in the middle of the night!”
His fists slam down onto the table, making both his utensils and my shoulders jump.
“You were young,” he says way too calmly. “You don’t remember that night accurately. Your mother had too much to drink aboard the Burning Rudder , slipped, and accidently fell into shark-infested waters.”
“Shark-infested? That’s their habitat.”
He pins me with a glare for so long I think he’s going to escalate to something worse than a pinch.
My body instinctively shrinks back in my chair.
“Regardless, it was a tragic accident,” is all he says.
I wasn’t too young. I know exactly what happened and it was no accident. My mother was miserable for as long as I can remember, nearly catatonic the year leading up to her death. If she really did slip off our yacht, she did so intentionally.
And honestly, I don’t blame her.
“Too bad you didn’t hire a bodyguard to watch her every move.”
“Mmm,” my father agrees as he sips from his coffee. “Which reminds me… You’ve been going around, starting a rumor that I have a stalker to explain your executive protection agent.”
“People are taking an interest in my new twenty-four-hour shadow.” Some of them too much interest. “Would you prefer I tell them the truth about my bodyguard?”
We have ourselves another stare-off.
“Do you know what our annual revenue was last year?”
I slowly shake my head. What does that have to do with anything?
“Five billion one hundred thirty-six million.”
“Congratulations?” Like, why is he telling me this right now?
“The year before that, our annual revenue was six billion nine hundred seventy-five million. And this year, we’re on track to take an even bigger hit.”
“Yikes,” I deadpan. “Maybe we should make some cuts of our own. Reduce some costs around here. I can think of two salaries that can go right now.”
“The chef and the executive protection agent are essential, and like I’ve said before, non-negotiable.”
The pools in my eyes spill over.
Everything with him is non-negotiable. Maybe that’s why my mother didn’t interrupt him, because it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference anyway.
“This next month will be the most important month in Munreaux Motorcycles’ history. What you say, how you behave, could affect the future of thousands of lives, not just ours.” Hinging forward like a robot, my father places his hand on my hip again, his thumb bent and ready for my rebellion. “Do you want to see our family’s legacy run into the ground?”
Kind of.
When I don’t reply quick enough for him, his fingers begin gripping the material of my skirt.
“No, Father,” I rush out, more as a plea than an answer to his question, but he accepts it as one anyway, letting his hand fall away while straightening in his chair.
“Then act accordingly.” He picks up his fork to pierce a roasted cherry tomato. “Close your legs, shut your mouth, and reconcile yourself for this next phase of your life.”
“Phase?” I scoff, unable to stop myself. “You mean the rest of my fucking life?”
His fork clatters to his plate but I’m out of my seat and backed up several strides before he can grab hold of me.
“I’m going to be late,” I mumble as I rush through the door Crue and I entered, wiping angrily at my cheeks.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“I need to grab something.”