Chapter 21

I shower while Ever does, quickly rubbing one out, then I walk with her down to the salon, pretending I didn’t just come imagining her naked body all lathered up, my hands running over the places hers probably were.

Surprisingly, the salon’s on the main floor, behind a door that I’ve passed multiple times but never paid any attention to because it’s always closed.

“I’m gonna be in here a while. Why don’t you take a tour of the manor?”

I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

“Major, there’s nowhere for me to go. Nothing to do. No one to fuck.”

She kinda snarls the last word like I’ve already accused her but that didn’t even cross my mind. I’m in here to watch…and not just her.

“You’re infuriating.”

So are you.

While she gets situated in one of the two height-adjustable chairs, I take my place near the hairstylist.

The tall woman gives me an awkward double glance, so I start to introduce myself.

“I’m—”

“He’s my bodyguard. He takes his job very literal, so be careful pulling on my hair. One wince from me and he’ll shoot you in the head.”

That gross exaggeration hangs in the air for a few moments where both the stylist and makeup artist give each other uncomfortable looks.

It’s not until Ever laughs that the other two women do as well.

I shake my head at Ever in the mirror and she rolls her eyes, putting her feet on the vanity in front of her, her phone between her bent knees with a cheerleading video already playing. From the color of the uniforms, I can tell it isn’t today’s performance. Or even Littoral.

She’s in a silk maroon robe with her initials embroidered in white on the chest. I assumed she was naked underneath but with her legs up, making the material bunch at her hips, I can see her underwear. Lacy white underwear. Simple, elegant, innocent. On anyone else, they’d look virginal. On Ever, they look like a bow I want to pull off with my teeth before doing the unholiest of acts to what’s underneath. There’d be nothing virginal left of Ever when I finished with her.

I rip my eyes off the panties and focus on her head where the stylist is massaging some kind of product into the strands.

Damn. I missed something.

The makeup artist is busy sifting through her giant tackle box of beauty shit, so with a stern expression on my face and my hands behind my back, I mimic the same motions as the hairstylist, scrunching and unscrunching my fingers. I don’t know what she put in Ever’s hair but I can practice the application part.

“You look like you’re constipated,” Ever deadpans, and I shoot her a scowl. Her head is bowed toward her phone, but her eyes are on me through the mirror.

My hands freeze.

“I’m concentrating.”

“I won’t hurt her,” the stylist promises with a sideways peek.

I give her a tight smile, not exactly wanting her to think I’ll shoot her but also not wanting her to pull Ever’s hair.

She timidly returns it, then glances at my scar.

I go to adjust my hat before remembering I didn’t put one on after my shower. I didn’t even put it back on after the festival. I forgot all about it honestly.

Ever snaps, “Go put something else on. You’re not going looking like that.”

I’m her fucking personal protection agent. I’m going regardless.

Both the makeup artist and hairstylist stop what they’re doing to inspect my outfit. And my face.

Damn it.

I tell the brat as calmly as I can, “I’m not wearing this. Whenever you change, I will, too.”

Ever’s own scrutinizing stare now alternating between the two women, she says to me, “We’re gonna be here a long time and I don’t need you up my ass—”

“Three years to be exact,” I say, cutting her off. “And I plan on being up your ass every fucking second of it, so get used to it.”

Azure eyes drill into mine in the mirror again.

The stylist assures me, “It won’t take me that long.”

I return my attention to what’s happening to Ever’s hair but keep my hands still.

After a few minutes, Ever says, “Chloe, can you take a step to the right…”

Is she fucking serious right now? I can’t even stand near another woman?

“…so my bodyguard can see your hands at all times?”

Thankfully, Chloe listens, giving me a better view of what she’s doing.

If Ever knows why I’m really here, why does she have to waste time being such a bitch about it?

She probably can’t help it. Bitches bitch.

I watch as Chloe dries Ever’s hair, noting she uses a brush the whole time as well as downward strokes from roots to ends. I’ve never used a hair dryer before but I’ve caught glimpses of my mom using hers over the years. She didn’t seem to have any technique whatsoever, just random, chaotic movements that blew her hair every which way, including into and all over her face. Not once do any strands touch Ever’s face though, allowing the makeup artist to start on her part.

With everyone’s focus finally off me, I repeat slow, measured rolls of my wrists behind my back until the hair’s dry and we move on to the next process.

An hour and a half later, Ever’s hair and makeup are just about done when I’m shooed from the room so she can get her dress on.

Only needing my suit, I hustle upstairs and put it on. I secure my fancier watch, too. Since I don’t know how to tie a bowtie, I take that down with me, letting it hang loose around my neck. Ever did say she’d teach me how to tie one.

Except when I enter the salon, she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Where is—”

“Oh, she’s in the bathroom,” Chloe explains, filling a rolling suitcase with all the stuff she brought even though she didn’t really need anything. This salon is stocked. But her tools are her tools.

Speaking of…

Approaching her, I ask quietly, “Is there a way to practice on hair when you don’t have any?”

She arches an eyebrow. “About how long?”

I gesture to where Ever’s stops.

“Is that what you were doing the whole time?”

I nod and shrug.

“But why can’t you just—”

My head’s already shaking. “I don’t… Because she’s… We don’t really…”

“Get along.” This is said with zero doubt and earns another noncommittal gesture. It is what it is and it is evident. Ever and I don’t like each other. For the most part. We’ve had our moments over the last couple days but they were just that—moments.

“I need to learn how to do her hair just…without…her.”

Chloe chuckles. “You need a mannequin. I have one you could probably use.”

I shoot a glance at the closed bathroom door. “Uh…”

“Not here. I’ll have to cut some length off first, but I can drop it off while you guys are gone.”

“All right, yeah. I’d appreciate that. Just tell me how much you want for it and—”

“It’s nothing fancy. Trust me. It’s just the one I used in beauty school. I don’t even know why I still have it.”

“But it’ll work?”

“It’ll work.”

She gives me some recommendations for online tutorials to check out, then asks, “Do you need some help with your bowtie?”

Without waiting for an answer, the hairdresser comes at me, but I’m quick to step out of reach, saying, “No, that’s okay.”

The last thing I need is for Ever to come out and see another woman in my face.

“I was going to wait—”

The bathroom door opens.

“For…”

Ever comes out, causing me to forget what I was talking about.

“Um…”

“Uh-huh. I see.” Chloe chuckles again, and my eyes briefly flick to her, registering her amused expression before returning to Ever.

See? What does she see?

All I see is Ever.

I saw her hair. Some of the pieces in the front are pulled back and twisted to look like a braid or a crown—I’m not sure because Chloe didn’t specify—while the rest of the midnight strands are in soft curls.

And I saw her makeup. A brown smoky eye—a term I did pick up on—with a touch of shimmer on the inner corners, and mink lashes—heard that one, too—that make her light eyes pop even more.

But I didn’t see her dress. Ball gown? It’s a ball gown. White and lacy as well, except nothing virginal like her panties. With a low plunging neckline and no straps, the top is a transparent corset with delicate flowers covering her tits and cascading all the way down the full-length, flowy skirt.

And I sure as hell didn’t see the look in its entirety. Ever looks like a bride about to walk down the aisle to the luckiest man on earth.

Staring at me, she asks, “You need help?”

My lips part but nothing comes out, not even a puff of air. She’s taken every single ounce of it because she’s literally breathtaking. There’s no other way to describe her. Earlier, when I said the same thing, that wasn’t breathtaking. That was breath-disrupting. This is breathtaking.

“Say yes,” I hear whispered beside me, and blink. Was I not blinking before? “Your bowtie. Say yes.”

“Yes,” I croak out.

Ever’s lightly glossed lips quirk…

Until something nudges my arm. Then those lips turn into the most beautiful frown.

The woman next to me… I think she elbowed me. What’s her name again? Who even is she? It doesn’t matter. Not to me.

But definitely matters to my protectee, who looks like she’s about to go on a rampage.

I start walking toward Ever, away from her next victim, fighting to keep her eyes the entire time.

Look at me, Ever Munreaux. All I see is you. All. I. See. Is. You.

If my own mother was in the room right now, I wouldn’t know it. The most famous celebrity could walk in and I wouldn’t even notice. An atomic bomb could detonate, and still , I doubt I’d be able to take my eyes off Ever. The moment she came out of that bathroom, everything and everyone ceased to exist.

All…

Except…

Her.

“I do,” I rasp.

Something foreign infiltrates her eyes as they oscillate between mine. It looks kind of like uncertainty but Ever Munreaux’s all arrogance, all the time.

“You do?”

I nod. “Yeah. I…” I lift the ends of the bowtie. “I need help with this.”

The unidentifiable emotion disappears as she closes the distance between us.

My hands aching to reach out and grab her, I ball them into fists at my sides.

With her face less than a foot away from mine, I let my gaze roam every feature, memorizing each one. Forget her wet underwear. This is the memory I want to carry with me to the grave. Whoever gets to stand across from her, promising to love and protect her for as long as they both shall live, is in for the biggest challenge. Ever’s a pain in the ass—as well as every other body part—but damn, going to bed next to her every night would make it all worth it.

While she’s tying, a pop of color enters my vision. It’s so jarring, I’m forced to scrape my eyes off her face to investigate.

It’s a bracelet on her wrist, one of those beaded ones again, but purple this time. I don’t need to know anything about fashion to know it clashes with her current attire.

“Another protection bracelet?”

I already told her she doesn’t need that shit around me.

“No. Amethyst promotes peace.”

“What’s stressful about tonight? You worn out from the show?”

“Not that show, no,” she says enigmatically.

“What other show was there?” I ask just as she finishes with my bowtie.

Instead of pulling away, she presses her hands to my chest, her fingertips drumming over my collarbones. Eyes on her hands, she says, “The one tonight. This is a very important night for my father, for Munreaux Motorcycles.”

She must really need the bracelet if she’s willing to jeopardize her dad’s idea of perfection for it.

“How close do the rocks need to be to you to work?”

“My crystals ? Preferably on my person, but the closer the better.”

That’s what I was hoping she’d say.

Trapping her forearm against my pec, I roll the bracelet off her wrist.

“No. Don’t.”

She removes her free hand, making me miss it instantly, but I keep hold of the other one, even as she tugs harder to free herself.

“Crue. Not this one.”

“It ruins your aesthetic.” I never thought I’d use those words unironically, but it’s true, they do.

“I don’t care.”

“But your father might.” And I can’t have him raising his voice at Ever again.

I awkwardly fit my own hand through the bracelet, my fingers spread like a starfish to get it in place on my wrist single-handedly.

“They ruin your aesthetic, too.”

“I don’t have an aesthetic.”

“Yes, you do. A dangerous one.”

That makes me smile. “To who?”

“Everybody.”

I have no idea what she means by that. Is it the scar? Does it make me look dangerous?

“Your rocks will be out of sight but still close,” I tell her.

“You can’t be that close to me the whole time.”

“Yes, I can.”

She stills and looks at me with a desperation I’ve never seen her wear as she whispers, “Promise?”

Finally giving in, I grab her just above the swell of her ass.

“I fucking swear.”

I hear someone say, “The limo just pulled in,” a second before two sets of hands are fussing over Ever’s appearance.

Hairstylist. Makeup artist. People other than Ever…they do still exist.

I let go of Ever, but just barely, keeping less than a foot between us, until her shoes are brought out, then I drop to a knee, telling everybody, “I got those.”

Without any straps to fasten, I help ease her feet into the high heels.

Finished, I look up at her, finding her gazing down at me through those mink lashes.

It’s a good thing other people are in the room with us or I’d probably do something stupid like bring her forward, lift her skirt just enough for me to fit under, then dive. It’d be hours before I resurfaced…if I did at all.

“Ready?” I ask, and she nods.

Getting to my feet has never physically pained me before, but right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than on my knees.

A million dollars, a million dollars, a million dollars. No one tastes better than a million dollars.

That’d be a hell of a lot easier to believe if my protectee didn’t look like she might right now.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.