Chapter Three
ROME
Drunk Bec was a new version of Bec I hadn’t been expecting. I was furious she had gone out without proper security, but her current state was rather hilarious to witness.
I've been working for Bly Enterprises for three months now. In those three months, Bec had smiled at me twice, rolled her eyes at me two hundred and seventeen times, and blatantly ignored a comment of mine sixty-two times.
Tonight was the first time she was singing at the top of her lungs.
I navigated the busy streets to her building as she sang along to the radio, flipping through various stations.
I was lucky I could grab one of the company cars, so we were at least maintaining appearances.
I didn’t think Bec would have appreciated being driven around in Livia’s neon yellow, ancient Beetle.
Though it would have been justifiable revenge for her behavior tonight.
I was beginning to understand why Bec went into business and not the performing arts. Her singing abilities were questionable, to say the least. If there was a pitch, she couldn’t find it.
I pulled the car into the underground garage of her building. It was a less direct route to her penthouse, but it avoided any more press and unwanted photos circulating tomorrow. The photos of me dragging her out of the club were more than enough for the evening… and her reputation.
“Bec?” I asked as I put the car in park and turned off the engine.
She turned to me, at least acknowledging my presence, but continued to sing.
We were currently on a fantastic rendition of ‘Don’t You Want Me’.
It seemed she had a soft spot for eighties pop.
I held back a chuckle, “Can you walk yourself inside, or do I need to carry you?”
She hummed as she thought over the question.
“I can walk,” she answered with a shrug and started to climb out of the passenger seat, resembling a baby deer learning to walk for the first time.
It took a concerning amount of effort, but we managed to get her out of the car and across the parking garage into the elevator. It was a longer ride to the top of the building, but she was filling the time, now singing her own mashups of Cindi Lauper songs.
“I’ve never seen you so laid back,” I remarked, mostly to myself. The Bec I had grown used to was always perfectly put together, never showing any weakness or emotion.
She swayed slightly, “I can’t let go. I need to be perfect.” Her face turned stern, and she seemed to be mimicking someone as her voice dropped an octave, “Nothing less than perfection is acceptable, Rebecca. We are Bly’s.”
She snorted at herself and leaned against me. It was the closest we had been to one another. Bec was a head shorter than me, but I rarely noticed as her persona was larger than life. She often resembled an untouchable statue. But tonight… she was human.
“Who said that to you?” I asked quietly.
“My dad.” She explained as the doors opened to her penthouse. “He’s kind of the worst.”
Twinkling city lights sprawled in the distance… the city that never slept was bright as usual. It was a unique sight from this high up. The sounds and smells were nonexistent, leaving only the glorified version of New York City in its wake. It held its own kind of filtered beauty.
“Come on,” I lifted Bec in a bridal hold and walked her into the bathroom just off the primary bedroom. At the rate she was going, it would be another hour to get her into bed. She squealed as I picked her up, but didn’t protest, resting her head on my shoulder.
The penthouse was two levels, and I was thanking God her room was on the main floor.
I received a copy of the floorplans when I took the position as her bodyguard, and was grateful to have taken the time to study them.
I navigated through her room into the en-suite bathroom, where I set her down on the counter, leaving her facing me.
I had only been in her living room and home office in the past, but her room and bathroom matched the rest of the penthouse.
Namely, there was no color. Not in photos, not in books on the shelves.
Even the counter I had just set her on was what looked to be black marble.
There was no life within these walls. Everything was furnished in black and wood tones.
“Do you have something against color?” I asked as I began unstrapping her heels from her feet, which was proving difficult as she tried to swing her legs back and forth. I imagined this was how parents of toddlers felt when trying to rein them in.
Bec shook her head, her hair swooshing along her back from the exaggerated movement, “Color is great. But color and I don’t get along.”
I chuckled, “I think you’re drunker than I realized.”
She booped my nose just as I got the second shoe unstrapped. “I’m perfectly fine. Completely in control of all my facilities.”
“Faculties,” I corrected.
She nodded and trained her gaze on her red painted fingernails, “Everyone has color in them. You have…” She paused and scrutinized me. “You have red in you. Like fire.” She then raised her hand to me, “Like my nails!”
I laughed harder this time and began rummaging through her drawers, which were perfectly organized, with every product having its own place. Bec was truly the definition of type A. “You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning.”
“Probably not,” she acceded with a nod of her head, “You have red. My brother, Will… you know my brother, right? Dark hair, always grumpy?”
“I do know your brother.” I nodded and pulled out the makeup wipes I had been looking for, then stepped closer to Bec. “I’m going to take your makeup off, okay?”
She closed her eyes and jutted her chin out in acceptance, but continued to talk, making the job a touch harder.
“My brother has green in him. Dark green… like your hoodie.” She grabbed at the drawstrings of the hood, unintentionally pulling me closer.
That or she was attempting to choke me. With the state of our working relationship, either was a possibility.
“You look good in this. I can see why Andi has a crush.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes grew wide, “I didn’t tell you that. ”
I laughed and peeled my drawstrings out of her hand before she did choke me. “It’s fine, I already knew.”
She sighed in relief, “Oh, thank God! That would have been horrible of me. What was I talking about?”
“Colors, your brother is apparently dark green.”
She snapped a finger at me, “Yes! Exactly! I think so too. It got brighter when he met his wife. His wife is yellow, like sunshine. He needed sunshine out there in the woods all by himself.”
I wiped off her makeup carefully, revealing her ivory, bare skin. “And what color are you?”
“I don’t have one,” she answered resolutely.
I took a step back. The stop in motion prompted her to slightly open her eyes, probably out of confusion. “What do you mean you don’t have a color?” I asked her. Her steel blue eyes were still half closed, as the alcohol made its way through her system.
She just shrugged her shoulders, “I think I’m missing something in me, you know? Everyone else seems to have this light in them, and I… I just don’t.”
I motioned for her to turn, and she listened, facing the mirror, her legs crossed underneath her. “Why do you think that?” I asked as I pulled out her hairbrush.
“I don’t know how to connect with anyone.
Apparently, I’m cold… distant. I’m not even connected with myself,” she explained, and I carefully brushed through her hair, freeing it of any tangles and knots.
“I have nothing to complain about. I have everything… but sometimes I wonder if… if I’m broken. ”
She wasn’t sad as she explained. She spoke the words as if they were an obvious truth.
“I think we’re all a bit broken,” I mumbled.
She looked at me through the mirror, her eyes meeting mine with a level of clarity I hadn’t seen all night. “Do you think we can be fixed?”
I sighed as I thought about it. I wanted to believe we could be fixed, but if you were broken by your own doing, did you deserve to be fixed? I shook the thoughts away and refocused on Bec, “Yeah, you can be fixed.”
She hummed in response, her eyes falling closed again. I could feel her fading quickly, so I braided her hair down her back and helped her off the counter. I had accepted that she would be sleeping in her dress, as she stumbled out of the bathroom and into her room, collapsing onto her bed.
“Thanks for picking me up, Rome,” she mumbled into a pillow that she was now cradling in her arms. “You’re nice sometimes, but I didn’t tell you that.”
I laughed quietly and pulled a blanket over her, “You’re very welcome, Bec. Have sweet dreams.”
She fell asleep before she could hear me. I took a moment to stare at her, trying to figure out where this version of Bec had come from. Maybe it was a part of her that she hid from the world to protect herself.
I couldn’t fault her. We were all guilty of it–hiding the parts of ourselves that we didn’t deem worthy. The parts we were worried would be criticized.
I did the same every day. Where she masked it with indifference, I masked my insecurities with humor. She and I were more alike than I had ever realized.
I stared at her for a moment more. Her face was soft and relaxed, free from the worries of her everyday life and responsibilities.
“This is probably creepy,” I mumbled to myself as I left her room, closing the door softly behind me. “Don’t stare at your boss while she sleeps.”
I was exhausted after a full day of work, an evening with my family attempting to make sourdough, and then chasing down Bec through the streets of New York City.
I squinted at the clock she had in her living room. 3 am. Lovely. I had to be back here in only five hours. It would take forty-five minutes to get home and another two hours to finally fall asleep. However, my dreams would soon be interrupted, as they always are.
I was a professional at putting on a mask of happiness, but at night, when the world slept and while I was alone, the truth I had worked hard to suppress always came out. The failures that circled my mind, that I desperately tried to push away, were front and center in my dreams.
I sighed and stared out the window once more, embracing the city lights.
I knew I needed to talk to someone about all that circled through my mind, but who?
My family saw me as fun-loving Rome, and my friends assumed I was fine because I always had a smile on my face.
How long would it take for someone to finally see past the facade?
To see the demons in my soul? The failures that haunted me?