Chapter 8
Several hours later, I’m still hibernating.
When Natalie got home, she must have sensed something was wrong because she came up to see how I was.
I told her I have a headache, and she accepted that as an explanation.
No one has bothered me since.
Tomorrow I’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. It was a weird aberration, and I’ll be myself again in the morning. I don’t know why I still feel shaky about it.
Nothing happened.
Nothing.
I hear a knock on the front door of the cottage, but Natalie will get it. She’ll tell whoever’s there that I have a headache and I’m not to be bothered.
So I don’t worry about it until I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
“I have a headache!” I call out.
“So I’ve heard.”
Shit, it’s Wes. What on earth is he doing here?
“I don’t want company.” I try one more time.
“I don’t care. I’m here anyway.” He’s made it up the stairs and is standing in the loft, staring down at me in the bed.
I don’t like getting under the covers until it’s actually bedtime, so I’m lying on top of my comforter instead, bundled up in a soft, oversized throw blanket. I changed out of my dress and into a T-shirt and lounge pants. I’m not wearing a bra.
I glare at him since he’s the last person I want to see. “I said I have a headache. Whatever it is, we can talk about it later.”
“Dad told me.”
I stiffen. “What? I asked him not to.”
“I know, but he did anyway. He was worried.”
“So everyone knows?”
“No. Just me and him.”
I relax slightly. I really don’t want all my sisters to know I overreacted like that. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s obviously a big deal if you’re up here hiding from the world like this.” He walks around to the other side of the bed and sits down without invitation. After toeing off his shoes, he stretches out beside me.
I should mind. I should be annoyed. But I’m not.
I’m kind of glad he’s here.
“It wasn’t really anything big. I just… blew it out of proportion.”
He ignores that. His voice is soft and mild as he asks, “Can you tell me what happened? Dad only knows what he saw.”
With a sigh, I tell the whole story, making sure to clarify that I wasn’t harmed in any way, but I was outnumbered and trapped, which was why I got scared.
“I think…” My voice breaks, so I give my head a shake as if the gesture can unload the excess emotion. “I think if I could’ve just spoken up louder and with more authority, I could have gotten them to back off.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I give him a quick look to see if he’s judging me, but his expression is gentle. Questioning but gentle. “I… I tried. I’m just not a… not a loud person. There’s always this block in my throat when I’m nervous. I can’t seem to break through it. I’m sorry. I ended up making a crisis out of nothing.”
He sucks in a slightly raspy breath and looks at me.
“If you have something to say, you can just say it.”
“Okay. Two things. No, three things. One, nothing that happened is your fault. You’re not responsible for other people’s bad behavior, so stop apologizing for it.”
I frown up at him. “Fine.”
“Two, I don’t think you’re alone in feeling like that when you’re scared.
A lot of people clam up like that. I can—” He cuts himself off and rephrases.
“If it’s something you want to work on, there are strategies for learning how to react more directly.
So you don’t have to feel so helpless when faced with a threat. ”
“It wasn’t really a threat.” I say that because I’m oddly touched by Wes’s careful approach.
“Not this time. But maybe one day it will be a threat. Sometimes shouting is the best self-defense.”
“I know.” I clear my throat. “Maybe… I wouldn’t be opposed to working on it.”
“Okay.” He scoots down so he’s at the same level against the pillows as I am.
“What’s the third thing?”
“I don’t think what happened is nothing. It was wrong. It never should have happened.”
I try to respond, but emotion is blocking my throat. I sniff instead.
“Dad is worried, and so am I. Maybe we should just end this.”
“What?”
“We’re inviting thousands of strangers into our lives. Worse than this could happen. So maybe we should stop. You should get away for a while. Maybe one of Grace’s friends in Paris or London can have you stay for a few weeks until all the notoriety dies down. This is a lot.”
“It’s not that much, and you’re dealing with it too.”
“Yeah, but no one really recognizes me when I’m by myself. I’m just a regular guy who looks like any other guy. You’re beautiful with a distinct, recognizable look, so you get noticed a lot more than me. That’s why I think getting away for a while is the way to go for you.”
“I don’t want to get away. This is saving us, and I want to take advantage of it for as long as it lasts.
It won’t be for long. Things like this have a short shelf life.
It’s working, and I don’t want to give up until we get everything we can out of the situation.
I’m not going to run away because I got irrationally scared for a few minutes. I’m not going to do that.”
He sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“I’m not going to let Blossom Park go down if there’s anything I can do to save it. It’s my f—” Realizing what I was about to say, I cut it off abruptly.
Wes turns his head to look at me, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “It’s your what?”
“It’s my family.” Miraculously, I stumble on a suitable replacement for the word I was about to say. “I’m not giving up on this, Wes.”
“Okay.” He sounds resigned but not disappointed. He knows me, so he must have predicted my response. “Well, Dad and I talked, and we’re going to reassign Stew.”
“Stew? What for?” I know Stew. He’s a big, muscular guy who graduated high school last year and has been working as a security guard at Blossom Park since then.
“Dad’s going to assign him to you.”
“As a bodyguard or something?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need—”
“I don’t care what you think you need. Stew’s going to be following you around for the time being. We’re in the public eye for right now, and there’s no telling what crazy people might do. You’re not to go anywhere by yourself until all this is over.”
“You’re not really the boss of me, you know.”
“I don’t care. I get to make my own decisions about things, and I’m telling you right now, if you don’t agree to Stew, I’m pulling out of The Plan. I won’t do it anymore.”
I stare at him, my heart hammering and a pulse throbbing in my throat so intensely I can feel it.
Wes means it. He’s going to dig in his heels about this.
And the truth is, although it makes me uncomfortable, I don’t hate the idea of having someone as big and strong as Stew around for emergencies.
He’s a nice, laid-back man. He won’t get on my nerves like someone else might.
If it means we can continue capitalizing on our temporary notoriety, it will be worth it.
“Okay. That… that will be fine. I appreciate Jake thinking about me that way.” I swallow hard. “And you too.”
He huffs. “I guess being a reluctant afterthought is better than nothing.” He gazes at me quietly from the pillows on his side. “So are you really okay?”
“Yes, I’m f—” Once more, my throat closes, this time with a surge of emotion prompted by Wes’s unexpected sensitivity.
I can’t swallow the emotion back this time. I make a silly whimpering sound and start to shake.
“Shit,” Wes breathes, reaching over to pull me toward him.
He wraps his arms around me and holds me as I shudder and gasp and try not to cry for real.
Nothing I can remember has been as comforting as the feel of his warm, solid body against mine. Like he’s strong enough to hold back the rest of the world. Like he’s unmoving enough to keep me safe.
I only break down for a couple of minutes. Then I lie limply in his embrace, waiting for him to pull his arms away.
He doesn’t. He keeps holding me, and neither of us say a word for several minutes.
“Thank you,” I say at last. “Sorry about the dramatics.”
“Those are the least dramatic dramatics I’ve ever witnessed.”
I huff in amusement at his dry tone, the laughter immediately making me feel better and more like myself.
I still don’t want to, but I make myself pull away and move back to my own side of the bed. “Okay. I’m really okay now.”
“Good.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, dropping my eyes. “For helping.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but you’ve always been tougher than anyone else—including you—realizes.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
We smile at each other.
I’m not sure what else we might have said or done, but Natalie calls up to the loft just then. “How’s the headache? Is Wes making it worse?”
“No. It’s better now.”
“Good. Grace just texted and said she’s made baked pasta if we want to go over there to eat with them. Wes is invited too.”
Wes sits up, his expression brightening.
I laugh and sit up too. “Okay. We’re coming down.”