Marco sits, but maintains careful distance between us. Within twenty minutes, I've gradually migrated closer, until my head is resting against his shoulder. His body is tense beneath me, coiled like a spring.
"This okay?" I murmur, tilting my face up to look at him.
His jaw is tight. "Fine."
But it's not fine, and we both know it. The air between us is charged with the same electricity that led to our kiss three nights ago. Marco's hand hovers near my hair like he wants to touch it, then drops to his side.
"Elena," he says quietly.
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing?"
I let my eyes go wide and innocent. "Watching a movie with you. Unless you'd rather I sit somewhere else?"
"That's not what I meant."
I sit up slightly, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his green eyes. "Then what did you mean?"
For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me again. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel that familiar tug low in my belly. But then his phone buzzes, breaking the spell.
He checks the message and his expression hardens. "I need to take this."
He gets up and walks toward the kitchen, phone already pressed to his ear. I catch fragments of his conversation—something about surveillance and locations—before he steps out onto the fire escape for privacy.
While he's gone, I tidy up the living room, fluffing couch cushions and watering my new plants. By the time he comes back inside, I'm in the kitchen starting to prepare tomorrow's lunch.
"Working late?" I ask without looking up from the sandwich I'm wrapping.
"Something like that."
His tone is clipped, professional. Whatever that call was about, it's put him back in bodyguard mode.
I finish with the sandwich and wash my hands, very aware of Marco watching my every movement. When I turn around, he's leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, studying me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve.
"You've been different lately," he says.
"Different how?"
"Compliant. Domestic. It's not like you."
I laugh, and it sounds genuinely amused even to my own ears. "Maybe this is just what I'm like when I'm not fighting for my life every day. Maybe you're finally seeing the real me."
"The real you set a man's car on fire when you were sixteen."
My eyebrows lift. "You've been reading my juvenile record? How thorough of you."
"The real you escaped from a locked bathroom window and disappeared for six hours last month."
"The real me also just spent all day picking out plants and cooking you dinner," I counter. "People are complicated, Marco. We contain multitudes."
He pushes off from the counter and moves closer, backing me against the sink. "What's your game, Elena?"
"No game. Maybe I'm just tired of fighting with you all the time." I meet his stare steadily. "Maybe I decided I'd rather enjoy your company instead of battling you every step of the way."
"And I'm supposed to believe you just... gave up? That you're suddenly okay with being watched twenty-four seven?"
I reach up and straighten his collar, letting my fingers linger against the warm skin of his throat. "I'm okay with being watched by you."
