6. Anastasia
Anastasia
W hoever is pounding at my door is asking for my wrath. It only amplifies my splitting headache. I groan, calling out for them to enter, ready to unleash my irritation.
When Rhett appears, my composure dissolves.
Shit. Last night. I was embarrassingly drunk.
My sober self is mortified as I recall the patchy events of getting home with him. What did we talk about? What did I say to him? Oh fuck, I don’t want to ask.
He’s carrying a bottle of water and something else in his hand.
“Your father needs to see us,” Rhett says tightly. Something is wrong. He’s almost angry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, rubbing my eyes as I push myself up.
He comes over to my bed and I hug the covers to my chest, aware of how little I wore with a creeping heat over my body.
While my hair is a tangled mess from the ponytail I pulled out in my sleep and my makeup is smudged—I must look a hideous sight—he’s nothing short of devastatingly put together. It’s easy to admire him in a plain black T-shirt and black pants. No color.
Only now I discover Rhett has a tattoo. Something part of a bigger picture––a smoke-like texture and the body of a snake, perhaps––that begins at his elbow and coils around well-defined muscle before disappearing under his short sleeve.
Though more casual than I saw him yesterday, he still radiates authority.
Setting down the water, aspirin, and a cereal bar, he barely looks at me before heading out.
Did I do something really wrong last night? What if I made a move on him?
“Thanks,” I call as he meets the door.
He pauses only to force a smile.
I flop back down for a moment, becoming riddled with all kinds of anxious thoughts about what could have caused his tense mood around me.
Not wanting to piss him off even more, I drag myself out of bed and head for a quick shower.
Today is certainly one for leggings and an oversize jumper.
The freshen-up does wonders for me. I eat the cereal bar, take the meds, and swipe the water with me, leaving my hair in long, damp waves that reach my waist.
It’s not often I head to my father’s office with unsettled nerves. He can be strict and firm, and he has all the qualities to make a great leader, but with me he’s always so soft, letting me get away with more than he probably should sometimes. Our relationship is solid.
I’m not uneasy about facing his wrath for sneaking out last night ... but have I succeeded in forcing Rhett to transfer already?
I shouldn’t care. Once he leaves I’ll forget him quickly, but I realize if I have to have a personal guard, maybe I don’t mind it being him over someone else who might give me the creeps like Victor.
Rhett is already in the office, looking concerned and not at all pleased to see me.
“Have fun last night, my dear?” Dad asks. It’s delivered with sarcasm and disappointment.
I wouldn’t usually regret being rebellious, but something causes the air to hang thick with tension. Mom stands by my father too, her delicate brow pinched at what he’s holding.
This can’t be good.
“I’m sorry. It’s my last year at the university and I didn’t want to miss anything,” I try pathetically.
“I hope it was worth it,” Dad sighs. He lays the tabloid down.
I approach, making out two vague figures in a dark photograph.
My heart speeds up when the recognition comes to me along with a fuzzy memory.
I pick it up, trying to see something other than what is blatantly obvious.
Me and Rhett, intimately close, his arm around me.
I shiver remembering the warmth of his breath across my ear after I got out of the car.
The heading slackens my jaw.
It goes on to speculate who Rhett is. Why they haven’t seen him before. How good we look together. When to expect to see us again next.
I’m going to be sick.
“One photo and they come up with this ?” I cry, outraged.
Shit. This is bad. Really bad.
“I warned you, we’re under a microscope right now. They’re looking for anything to fill the papers with regarding our family and my running.” My father sighs.
“This is my life!” I throw my hands out, pacing as I pick at the skin becoming raw around my thumb. “And that is not true. He was merely helping me out the damned car.”
I scowl at the paper. Though it’s a small white lie about why he got so close, these vultures have twisted an innocent interaction into something wildly outlandish.
“I know. Agent Kaiser explained. But you have to understand it’s out of my control how they’ve made this look,” my father says, pained.
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll see he’s just my bodyguard soon enough, and that their speculations were grossly off the mark.”
It will all be fine. I try to breathe and tame my heart, barely able to look at Rhett, for now his distance this morning makes sense. He’s angry with me for risking his job.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” my father says, apology written in his voice.
My mom comforts him with a hand on his shoulder, giving me a wince of a smile.
“What do you mean?” I dread to ask.
“We had a meeting with our press team on how best to approach this rumor the moment they flagged the tabloid. I’m afraid if Agent Kaiser continues as your personal guard as planned, it will only make this situation a scandal rather than an innocent new relationship.”
I catch on to his meaning. “That I’m sleeping with my guard?”
The room is suddenly too small. I hate the speculation, that my name is no longer my own, but rather it belongs to tabloids who will do with it what they want.
“So my only solution is to let him go. A shame considering he’s the best in line for the role and the closest in age to fit in with you and your peers. Or ...” My father trails off, hesitating. I’ve never seen him almost afraid of giving me the alternative.
“What?” I all but snap, not meaning to, but I’m trembling with anxiety.
My gaze slips to Rhett, who doesn’t look so angry and firm anymore. He’s looking at me with something else—a softer care. He keeps scanning me from my hands to my face, and it’s he who delivers the alternative with a straight face.
“I pose as your boyfriend while being undercover as your guard.”
“It was Agent Kaiser’s idea,” my father adds. “And, I must say, the more favorable option. Not only does it mean we can keep the most competent man for the job, but this way your classmates don’t have to know of your guard. That’s what you wanted.”
They can’t be serious.
I look at Rhett, but he gives nothing away.
His face is tight like he doesn’t enjoy the idea any more than I do, but there isn’t another option.
I wanted him gone, but this facade is his idea, and now I’m twisted with guilt that maybe he needs this job.
The pay or whatever. If I choose to let him go I’ll only be assigned someone else.
There’s no telling how much less I’ll want their company.
“It’s only for six months,” my father goes on, coaxing me. “But it is your choice.”
He’ll take whatever decision I make, but the opinion of the room leans heavily toward the boyfriend ruse.
“Whatever,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not like I have a third choice to abandon the need for a guard altogether.”
This has gone from bad to so much fucking worse.
I don’t need protecting. I can damn well do that myself.
Leaving without another word, I head to change into my sportswear of a crop top and high-waisted leggings.
In the gym I start on the treadmill to warm up, putting in my AirPods and blasting music until the world fades away.
I run faster, past the burn screaming at me to stop.
After fifteen minutes I slip into boxing gloves and take out my frustration on the punching bag.
I’m not na?ve or weak or incapable of looking out for myself. I don’t need some tall, muscular, stupidly attractive guy posing as my boyfriend to protect me from invisible threats.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I gasp with fright before I land my next punch. Rhett has managed to sneak around me, holding the punching bag as if he’s waiting for me to continue so I can pretend it’s him I’m taking my anger out on.
Removing the gloves, I pluck my AirPods out and scowl.
“We’re about to be forced together for four to six hours of the day—the least we can do is enjoy our own space and time while we can,” I say bitterly.
Rhett has changed his attire too, and I don’t dare rake my gaze over him in black sweatpants.
“Or ... we can put a little effort into how we’re going to make this thing believable,” he says.
“If you’re suggesting I sleep with you?—”
“That’s not going to happen,” he says sharply.
I pressed an unexpected nerve. Most guys would jump at the chance. What would a harmless fling do? I’m back to swimming through pitiful, insecure thoughts in my mind. Perhaps I’m not his type at all.
“Good,” I say coldly.
I wander over to the mats, beginning to stretch my aching muscles.
“It’s just a performance, that’s all,” he says, watching me attentively.
“Are you sure you can handle that? You barely want to touch me as it is. What a jackass boyfriend you’ll seem. Should make our ‘breakup’ in six months very believable, I guess.”
He comes around the mat after removing his shoes. My stomach tightens in anticipation.
“Lie down,” he instructs.
I want to tell him to leave me alone, but it seems he’s trying painstakingly to be nice to me. So I do as he asks.
“Not going back on your word already, are you?”
This earns the largest part of a smile I’ve seen from him so far.
“Lift your leg as high as it can go.”
With growing concern about where this is going, I do so hesitantly.
“Do you trust me?” he asks before inching forward on his knees.
“I think I should ask you the same thing,” I say, observing how tense he looks at being so close.
He sighs, attempting to relax, before his hands wrap around my calf and he leans into me gently. I’m pretty flexible, and if I’d known what he was going to do I might have protested, but he keeps testing me, and my knee comes close to my chest, which brings him close to my chest.
“Like I said, unexpected,” he says. The gravel of his quiet voice pools warmth in my lower belly.
He isn’t even trying to be seductive. He’s so close I think he might feel the hard thump against my ribs soon. The curls of his silvery hair tip over his eyes with the lean, and I want to reach up and trace the scar that strokes like lightning down the right side of his face.
“How did you get that?” I ask quietly.
Rhett releases the tension on my leg, sitting back on his knees. I think he’s going to retreat from me entirely—it’s like he’s always holding a shield ready to use against anything that might make him vulnerable. Instead his hand curls around my other leg, guiding me to stretch in the same manner.
“It’s a reminder I was helpless once, and that I’ll never be again,” he admits.
Our faces come intimately close again, and I’m greedy to take in the details at the opportunity.
How striking his blue irises are, the darkness of his brows in beautiful contrast to the silver-blond tone of his hair.
His cheekbones, which are high and sharp.
Another scar, far more faint, which runs across the corner of his mouth, and I wonder if they would feel as soft as they look.
Rhett lets me go again, and I shoot up with the inappropriate thoughts that flush my body.
“I’m done here,” I say, swiping up my water bottle.
“Ana,” he calls as I make to leave. “We should get to know each other—just enough to have a story and make this believable. It’s not ideal, and I shouldn’t have gotten close to you like that for them to have had the opportunity to take the photo.”
He’s taking the blame? Now I’m battling guilt. I was the poor drunk who could hardly walk straight. I was the one who pushed him about his job.
“That’s a good idea,” I agree.
“Join me for dinner this time?”
“Here?”
He debates for a short pause.
“Let’s go somewhere else.”
“Not a date though,” I tease.
It seems to lighten the mood. “Of course not.”
Maybe this can work. If we can find a friendship after the rocky start to our meeting, perhaps the time will fly by for both of us, and this way my father is right: there’ll be no gossip around the university about the precious senator’s daughter needing a full-time bodyguard.
My mood brightens as I head out to change, growing giddy at the idea of dinner with Rhett.