Chapter 11
EDDIE
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rain against our windows. For a moment, I lay in bed trying to process what had happened on our couch—the way Bash had touched me, the sounds I’d made, the intensity of coming apart in his arms. My face heated.
Through the thin wall between the bedroom and living room, I could hear Bash moving around, the familiar sounds of his morning routine.
Except now, instead of simply noting his presence, I wondered if he was thinking about last night too, if his hands remembered the feel of my skin the way mine remembered his.
We’d crossed a line last night—several lines, actually—and I had absolutely no experience with what came next.
Well, I had no experience with any of it, which would’ve probably made me feel like a right idiot if not for the fact that Bash wasn’t exactly a player either.
We were both in unknown waters, so maybe the best approach was to navigate them together?
I also wanted to navigate them with my friends, and so I fired off a quick text to the Prince Pact Updates group.
Me
We kissed. And did more.
Tore
Back up. Who’s ‘we’?
Floris
his bodyguard, of course. Keep up, slow poke
Nils
You hooked up with your bodyguard???
Me
We didn’t hook up.
Unless anything involving an orgasm is considered hooking up. Is it?
Floris
YOU HAD AN ORGASM? Gimme the details.
Tore
same
Nils
cough ’em up, Greg
Me
We kissed and then we frotted until we both came.
Floris
Look at you, using the proper sex terms and everything. Our baby bird is flying the nest…
Me
Screw you
Tore
Oh, I think we all know who you want to be screwing… and it’s not Floris.
Floris
everyone who meets me wants to screw me, so why would Greg be any different
Nils
no, they all want you to go fuck yourself, which is not the same
Me
can we focus on me, please? Floris’s ego needs no stroking.
Nils
True, true
Me
Besides, I don’t want to screw Bash. I want him to screw me.
Floris
*wiping a tear away* Greg made a sex joke. Such a proud moment…
These guys always cracked me up, but I also felt the love and acceptance underneath it all. All joking and teasing aside, they had my back and they always would. It gave me the courage I needed to face the day… and Bash.
I mumbled a quick greeting as I emerged from my bedroom and headed straight for the bathroom. The shower woke me up properly and by the time I was dressed and had my hair done, I felt ready. Mostly.
He was sitting at our small table with coffee and what appeared to be the same textbook he’d been pretending to read yesterday morning. The difference was that now, when our eyes met, neither of us looked away immediately.
“Mornin’,” he said, his voice slightly rough with something that made my stomach flutter.
“Good morning,” I replied, accepting the mug of coffee he’d prepared for me. Our fingers brushed during the exchange—deliberately, I thought—and I felt that same electric connection from the night before.
We sat across from each other, both apparently trying to figure out how to behave like normal people when we’d spent the previous evening learning exactly what sounds the other made when completely undone.
“Sleep well?” Bash asked, and there was something in his tone that suggested he knew the answer. I’d barely slept at all, too wired from everything we’d done to do anything but stare at the ceiling and replay every moment.
“Eventually. You?”
His smile was soft and knowing. “Eventually.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that, Bash’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression immediately shifted to something more serious.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” he said, standing up. “It’s home.”
I nodded and tried to focus on my coffee, but it was impossible not to overhear his side of the conversation. Bash had moved to the far side of the room, but our apartment was small enough that his voice carried.
“Hey, Mama,” he said softly, his accent more pronounced than usual. “How are you feeling?”
There was a long pause while he listened, and I watched his shoulders tense.
“Hmm, didn’t Dr. Patterson say the nausea might be worse this round?” Another pause. “Did you try those crackers Mrs. Willis recommended? She said keeping something in your stomach helps.”
My chest tightened as the pieces clicked together. His mother was sick. Very sick, from the sound of it.
“What about the bills?” Bash was asking now, his voice lower but still audible. “Did insurance not cover the imaging?… Right. Okay. Don’t worry about it, Mama. I’ll take care of it.”
The conversation continued for several more minutes, Bash’s tone alternating between gentle reassurance and barely concealed worry. By the time he hung up, tension radiated from every line of his body.
He stood there for a moment with his back to me, shoulders rigid. I wanted to offer comfort but would it be welcome? We’d been physically intimate, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d want emotional support from me.
“Everything alright?” I asked carefully when he rejoined me at the table.
Bash was quiet for a long moment, staring into his coffee cup. “My mom has lung cancer,” he said finally. “She had surgery and is now in the middle of her second round of chemo, and it’s not easy.”
The simple words carried so much weight that I felt something twist in my chest. “I’m so sorry, Bash. Is the treatment helping?”
“Doctors say it is, but it’s hard to tell sometimes.
She tries to stay positive for Dad and me, but I can hear how tired she is.
” He looked up at me, and I could see the worry he’d been trying to hide.
“And the financial worries don’t exactly help either.
The medical bills are substantial, and she’s nowhere near done yet.
She had surgery, radiation and now chemotherapy, plus all the scans and tests and whatnot.
Insurance only covers part of it, and it’s more than my parents can afford.
I’m doing what I can to help financially, but we’re talking tens of thousands of dollars. ”
That was a problem I was not familiar with.
I had excellent insurance, obviously, but in general, medical debt was not a thing in the UK.
We had the NHS, the National Health Service, which might not be perfect and definitely not always efficient or fast, but one did not end up having to declare financial bankruptcy from bills.
Having to worry about how to pay for the life-saving treatment one needed was a cruel reality Americans had to deal with that was completely foreign to most of the world.
Understanding hit me. This assignment of protecting me wasn’t just about Bash’s career.
It was about his mother’s life, his family’s financial survival.
The extra salary he received for this was helping to pay for her ongoing treatment.
The weight of that responsibility, the pressure he must be under, made my chest ache with sympathy.
“That’s why this assignment is so important.”
Bash nodded. “It’s enough to cover her treatment and then some. After this contract, my parents would be debt free.”
The implications of what he was saying settled between us. If our relationship complicated things, if I got him fired or caused problems with his professional reputation, it wouldn’t merely affect his career. It would affect his mother’s access to life-saving treatment.
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine, not caring about the professional implications anymore. Right now, he wasn’t my bodyguard. He was someone I cared about who was dealing with an impossible situation. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Bash’s smile was grateful but sad. “Don’t get yourself kidnapped or killed on my watch. That would really complicate things.”
His attempt at humor didn’t hide the very real fear underneath. I squeezed his hand, wishing desperately that I could do something more substantial. That I could write a check or make some calls or use my ridiculous inherited wealth to actually help someone who deserved it.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I said instead, trying to inject some lightness into my voice. “I promise to be the most boringly well-behaved protectee you’ve ever had.”
We fell back into our routine after that, attending classes, then getting lunch.
After lunch, we headed to a study room in the library to meet Jessica and Tom for our International Relations group project.
The assignment was straightforward enough—research and present on a specific diplomatic approach—but we hadn’t settled on a topic yet.
We found Jessica and Tom surrounded by an impressive array of textbooks and what appeared to be the remnants of several coffee runs.
“Finally!” Jessica exclaimed as we approached. “We were starting to think you two had gotten distracted.”
My cheeks heated, but Bash grinned and settled into the chair next to me with easy confidence. “Just running a bit late. What did we miss?”
“Endless debate about what angle to take,” Tom said, gesturing at his notebook which was covered in crossed-out ideas. “We’ve considered economic diplomacy, cultural exchange, military deterrence, but none of them feel particularly inspired.”
“Plus, everyone’s going to do economic diplomacy,” Jessica added. “It’s the obvious choice.”
She was absolutely correct. We needed something original, something that would offer a wholly fresh perspective. What was something unique that I had come across in my readings? An idea popped into my head. “What about humor in diplomacy?”
“Humor?” Tom repeated, sounding skeptical. “Like, making jokes during peace negotiations?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Some of the most successful diplomatic breakthroughs have involved moments of levity that broke through formal barriers and allowed negotiators to connect as human beings rather than just representatives of opposing interests.”
Jessica looked intrigued. “Can you give us some examples?”
“Absolutely.” I leaned forward. “There’s a story of an American diplomat meeting his counterpart from North Korea.
Obviously, the relationship was tense at best since they had no formal diplomatic relationship, but then the North Korean diplomat claimed he’d met with President Bush.
The Americans were stunned because that was absolutely impossible.
But then the North Korean pulled out his wallet, took out a picture, and showed a photo of himself with his arm around a cardboard figure of a smiling President Bush in front of the White House.
The ensuing laughter relaxed the whole room and made some small headway possible. ”
“That’s actually brilliant,” Tom said, making notes. “What else?”
“Well, there’s the famous ‘Make Chai Not War’ Tour, where the US Embassy in India sponsored a tour of three Indian-American comedians who performed in some of India’s biggest cities, poking fun at religious intolerance and sharing some positive experiences about growing up in the States.
It was all about breaking down prejudices, and it worked well. ”
“I love that,” Jessica said. “We should definitely do this.”
“But isn’t humor also incredibly cultural?” Bash brought up. “I can imagine that attempts at humor can also backfire when the humor doesn’t translate or comes across as offensive in another culture.”
He must’ve received some kind of training in this, having served in the Marines on multiple tours.
I immediately nodded. “Absolutely. One only has to consider the difference in humor between Americans and the British. Plenty of opportunity for misunderstandings or even offense there.”
Bash grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
And then he winked at me, and my stomach made a weird somersault it had never done before. I looked away, swallowing and forcing myself to concentrate on the topic at hand. “Right. We can also show how effective humor can be as a communication tool when attempting to influence public opinion.”
“How would that work?” Tom asked.
“Oh, Twitter is a great example. In August 2014, when Russian paratroopers were captured in Crimea, a Russian official stated that the soldiers had simply gotten lost and crossed the border by accident. In response, the Joint Delegation of Canada to NATO tweeted a map below to help soldiers distinguish between Russia and ‘not Russia’. It showed how ludicrous Russia’s response was. ”
“Okay, that’s definitely our angle,” Tom declared. “This is unique, it’s interesting, and apparently, Eddie has enough material to fill three presentations.”
“But how do we structure it academically?” Jessica asked, ever practical. “I mean, it’s great material, but we need theoretical framework too.”
I considered this. “We could examine it through the lens of psychological diplomacy—how shared laughter releases tension, creates in-group bonding, and establishes common ground that transcends political differences. There’s actually quite a bit of academic literature on humor as a social bonding mechanism. ”
“And we could look at specific techniques,” Bash added. “Like self-deprecating humor versus observational comedy, timing, cultural sensitivity…”
“Plus case studies of when humor backfired, like you brought up, Bash,” Jessica said excitedly. “You know, times when jokes were misunderstood or culturally inappropriate and made diplomatic situations worse.”
Well, I had certainly plenty of examples of that, many involving British politicians, but I’d keep that to myself for now.
Tom was scribbling notes frantically. “This is perfect. We’ve got historical examples, theoretical framework, analysis of both successes and failures…”
“And it’s actually fun to research,” Jessica added. “I was dreading another dry presentation on trade agreements.”
We spent the next hour outlining our presentation, dividing up research responsibilities and scheduling follow-up meetings.
I truly enjoyed the academic collaboration, especially watching Bash contribute in ways that showed he was much more thoughtful about International Relations than he gave himself credit for.
He might lack the theoretical framework, but he definitely had plenty of practical insights.
“You know,” Jessica said as we were packing up, “you two work really well together. Very complementary skill sets.”
I glanced at Bash, who was smiling in a way that made my stomach flutter. “We make a good team,” he agreed, and something in his tone made the simple words feel weighted with deeper meaning, or was I imagining that?
No, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t weigh his every word, consider whether he meant more than he was saying, or attach deeper meanings to his statements.
We were exploring, using this opportunity to give in to the attraction between us. That was all it was: attraction. It was already complicated enough without me throwing feelings into the mix.
And if I kept telling myself that often enough, I might even believe it.