Chapter 37
KATIE
We burst from warm, beer-scented air into the cool darkness behind the bar. We stalk to the car in silence. My steps are too fast. I feel wild and restless and hyperfocused from the adrenaline.
How could I let this happen? How could I let my guard down like that?
“I’ll drive,” I say shortly.
“You had a drink.”
“I’m not drunk.” My steps tap-tap-tap on the concrete, far too loud in my impractical shoes.
“Katie.” His hand lands on my arm. “It’s okay. I didn’t drink. I’ll drive.”
I blow out air, then nod, and we slide into the quiet interior of the car. No music, just the rumble of the engine. I send a quick message to Nour, then one to Seth, telling him I have to go and apologizing profusely for ditching him.
“Are you okay?”
I startle and look at Tristan. He drums his fingers on the wheel, jaw locked. His full mouth is a tight slash.
“I should be asking you that.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For tonight. For going to a place like that. For lying to you.”
“It’s okay.” I know why he did it. Living the way he does is oppressive.
“It’s not.” His mouth twists. “I’ve seen what fans like that can do. I put you in danger.”
I can’t help the scoff that comes from my mouth. “I did that just fine on my own.” My fingers curl against the fabric of my dress. I know what I need to do. I just don’t want to do it. I straighten my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I fucked up tonight.”
“What?”
We pull up to the stoplight on the corner of Main and Pond Lane. Tristan runs his tongue along his lower lip, like he’s remembering how I taste. I feel like I can’t get enough air as I watch him.
I want more than what we’ve been doing. I fist my hands in my dress. I absolutely cannot have more. The dancing, the kissing, the flirting—I take a short, sharp breath. Tristan is marrying someone else, and I owe him so much more than this.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“You’re sorry?” He sounds like he’s checking the texture of the word, his voice careful.
My face heats in the darkness. “I shouldn’t be kissing you in bars.” I press my forehead to the cool glass. “I should never have started practicing with you. Not like that. Do you know how unethical that is?”
“What?” He hits the brakes too hard at a stop sign, and we jerk forward. “Is this because I’m your boss?”
“No,” I exclaim. “I’m your bodyguard.”
The car behind us honks, and he turns onto Ocean. The silence in the car feels heavy, like Tristan is holding his breath, waiting for me to speak.
My hand opens and closes, folding and smoothing my dress. “Look at tonight. You were out alone, at a bar, and instead of protecting you, I was making out with you. We almost did more.” My voice drops on the word, but I soldier on. “I was distracted.”
“I wasn’t in real danger.”
“But you could have been,” I insist. There’s a wild feeling inside me, pushing under my skin. “You could have been, and if you’d been hurt, it would have been all my fault.”
“Katie,” he starts, but then snaps his mouth shut. We’re at the gates of Crownhaven. It’s silent. Not a paparazzo in sight. “Where is everyone?”
“I alerted Nour to the people following you. We’re on lockdown.”
“Right.” His jaw flexes like he wants to say more.
As we roll through the gates and down the silent gravel drive, it’s a cold dose of reality.
This is why I shouldn’t be out dating and dancing and ignoring my responsibilities. Work comes first. I know that, and tonight I forgot it.
As we pull up to the parking area, Nour comes jogging around the corner of the security center. I slip my heels off in preparation.
“There you are.” The sentence tumbles out of her mouth as soon as my door opens. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Tristan says.
“Unwanted pursuit,” I tell her. “Three people. One pap. They got photos. Videos maybe.”
Nour grimaces. “They follow you?”
“No.” I shake my head. I kept an eye on the cars behind us while Tristan drove.
“Gio will check the perimeter.”
“I’ll help.”
Nour shakes her head. She folds her arms over her chest. “Gio is on it. You’re off tonight, Katie. You might be the boss, but you need breaks.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
She nods and starts for the security center.
“Come on,” Tristan says, starting for the path.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going to go check your house for vulnerabilities and then go to bed early so I can get up early because I want doubles on shift and—”
“For fuck’s sake, Bailey.” He whirls but keeps walking backward on the path. I wait for him to fall, like I do every time. The paving stones are cool against my feet. “I’m not in danger, okay? You need to loosen up.”
I clamp my lips shut and glare at him.
He raises a single brow, which is incredibly irritating, because I’ve never been able to master that ability.
“Follow me.” He drops his guitar on the steps of his house and starts jogging for the ocean.
I sigh and follow. The night is warm and breezy, June already promising a sticky July, and I start to break a sweat as our feet slap the grass.
Cicadas keep us company as we pass the edge of the formal garden, then the tangle of bushes and low scrub pines that signal the edge of the cliffs.
Tristan ducks a branch, and I follow more slowly, picking around the rocks that the moonlight edges in pale light.
We clatter down the steps to the old dock in silence.
Tristan’s hands go to the hem of his shirt. He drops it as we reach the dock. I suck in a hard breath that I hope he doesn’t hear. I am continually stunned that he looks like this. Broad and lean at the same time, with dimples at the base of his spine.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” I hiss.
“Bailey.” He turns, hand on the button of his jeans. The moonlight turns the planes of his chest into peaks and valleys that my fingers itch to explore. “I think you need to lighten the fuck up.”
“Don’t hold back,” I mutter.
“Okay,” he says lightly. “I won’t.” He drops his pants on the dock, then his boxers.
I get a peek at the taut curve of his butt before he executes a perfect arcing dive into the ocean.
I settle on the edge, feet skimming the water.
It’s still cold. Colder than I’m sure he wants, but he’s not complaining.
He surfaces, treading water easily, because each of the Prince siblings can swim like a fish, but especially Tristan.
“I see you,” he says.
My feet stop kicking. “What are friends for?”
“Don’t try my own tactics on me,” he growls.
“Even off duty, I see how tightly you hold yourself. I see you position yourself between the door and the table when we’re out getting breakfast, and I see you move to the outside of me when we’re walking on the street.
So you can better get hit by a car, not me. ” His voice is bitter.
I open my mouth, but he shakes his head before he treads closer to the dock. His face is drawn in harsh lines, half lit in the moonlight, half agony in the shadow.
“I’ve had bodyguards before, Katie. None of them do what you do. None of them have been so vigilant.” His words are clipped, his breaths fast. “I hate it.”
“What?” There’s a pit in my stomach.
“You think I want that?” He slicks his hair back in one jerky, sharp movement. “I would rather die than watch you be hurt.”
“Tristan—”
“Don’t.” He bites the word out. “Don’t say it’s your job. It’s not your job. It’s not—fuck, Katie.” His throat is working in hard swallows. I’ve never seen him like this. Raw, none of his sharp edges made more palatable with humor.
“Do you remember the first birthday you celebrated at Crownhaven?”
“Yes.” My words are a mere breath.
“Me too.”
“I was a mess. It was my first birthday after losing David. I hate that you saw me like that.”
He scoffs. “I’m glad I saw you like that.
” His eyes are wild and he treads water in short, angry strokes.
“What I saw was a girl who holds herself so tightly, even though she doesn’t want to.
I gave you a present, and you hesitated.
You reached for it, before you snatched your hand back, and it broke my heart, Katie. ”
His words are harsh and clipped, like he’s barely getting them out. Like this feeling has been a storm brewing inside him for a long time.
I swallow, feeling that same storm chasing through my chest. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to be like that, but I can’t help it. I’m sixteen control issues in a trench coat, Tristan.” My voice breaks.
“I know,” he says gently. “I like you anyway.”
That storm is ebbing, but the warmth that follows feels like it’s choking me, pressing words from my chest before I can think about them.
“I know it’s not my job to be this way. I know I could do less. I could keep my distance. I tried, you know. Initially. You badgered me into being your friend.” I give him a rueful smile.
His mouth lifts. “Didn’t have to badger you that hard.”
“You didn’t.” I sigh, tracing the wood grain of the dock, trying to shape my loneliness into words. Instead, what comes out is “You were the first person after David to pick me. The second person ever.”
My chest tightens as we stare at each other. The moonlight silvers his hair as he floats closer. Even the water seems quieter as he waits for me to keep going.
“You’ve made me feel like I am enough for you at every turn.
Like you’d never change a thing.” I soldier on, even as my words seem to swell in my mouth and my breath quickens.
“Even from the first day we met, you were special. You almost knocked me off that ladder and demanded we be friends, and I never stood a chance.” My heart is drumming in my chest. Can hearts grow? Is that what this thick feeling is?
Tristan’s gaze is luminous. He floats closer and rests his chin and arms on the dock. His shoulders bunch in the moonlight, broad enough to carry all my problems.
“There was a you-shaped hole in my life until you arrived. I don’t need you to change.” His smile hitches upward. “You fit it exactly how you are.”
“You are my favorite person in the whole world, Tristan Prince. Out of everyone I’ve ever met.” My voice nearly shakes with conviction.
His eyes flare wide, meeting mine in a flash of startled silver green.
“Everyone?”
I nod. “Everyone. You are the only person who has never made me question where I stand. Even if it wasn’t my job, even if I weren’t a fucked-up perfectionist with an overabundance of paranoia, I’d still put myself between you and danger, because a world without you isn’t one I want to live in.”
His throat works. “I don’t think I deserve you.”
“Don’t even start,” I growl.
His smile is lopsided and small. “Get in the fucking water.”