“Fine,” she sighs, staying put as I round the car to open the door for her. I grab her bag and follow her up the steps.The doors open before she can unlock the door, and we’re met by the stoic face of a tall thin scarecrow of a man with eyes that have seen far too much. The butler’s face looks at me in quick dismissal before turning to Elena.
“Miss Marino,” he says in a measured tone. “Your parents are expecting you in your father’s office.”
“Thanks, Thornton,” she says, stepping in when he moves aside. I step forward to follow her when Thornton steps in my way, his long nose high and those dark eyes dismissive as he stops me from following Elena.
“Only the girl is requested to go to her father’s office,” he says in a voice that makes me want to punch him in the face. “You can wait here or leave, if you wish.”
He closes the door and hurries to usher Elena away, but not before I see her shocked face. My stomach twists with a sense of dread, and I consider following her. The butler could try to stop me, but I don’t want Elena to see me beating down her family’s staff. I don’t want to upset the gorgeous girl who owns my heart.
No, it wouldn’t take much effort to grab her and take her away from here, and then what? I’m supposed to be her bodyguard and nothing else. Hands clenched by my side, I force myself to calm the beast roaring for her.
So, I wait.
Chapter Three
Elena
“This way, Miss Marino.”
I tear my eyes from the closed door and turn to Thornton, who has worked for my family for as long as I can remember. His face is often etched with lines of a thousand silent judgments, but never more so than it is in this moment. For a moment, I question if all my secrets are written on my face.
Can he tell what I did last night with my bodyguard? Does it show on my face?
No, whatever the case, he has no right to treat Roarke this way. I firm my mouth, my eyes darting back to the door. “It’s rude to leave my bodyguard standing in the foyer.”
“Your father asked that he meet you alone, without your constant shadow.” The last word is muttered in a sneer that raises my hackles.
“Surely Roarke can wait in the lounge or somewhere more comfortable in this massive home. He doesn’t need—”
“Elena!”
I wince at my mother’s shrill voice, slowly turning around to face her. A former runway model, my mother has always beenstunning. Her brown hair is pulled back from her face, not a strand out of place, and reveals a stunning face that she was gracious enough to lend to her daughters. She has on red lipstick that matches those red nails she keeps long. Her beautiful siren-green eyes carry not one ounce of warmth.
“Your father and I have been waiting all morning,” she says, running her eyes disapprovingly over my outfit. She and my sister, Sofia, have always been the fashion-forward and wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but designer clothes and impeccably done makeup. Even now, at noon, when it’s clear she doesn’t plan on going anywhere, her makeup is fully done, and her body is adorned in expensive jewelry. “Come on now, you’ve kept us waiting long enough.”
“Mama, I was just asking Thornton to let Roarke in—”
“That man is not a guest, so he can wait by the door until we’re finished,” she raises her perfectly manicured hand to stop me when I start to speak. “We have very important things to discuss. Come.”
She turns and walks away, leaving me no choice but to follow. I glance back at the Roarke and bite my lip, feeling unsettled by my family’s treatment of the man who has been protecting me for weeks. Still, I decide the sooner I hear what my parents want, the faster I can get back to him.
And then what?
I’ve been avoiding the man all morning. The memory of his lips on my body is burned in my brain, and I can’t get it out. Even more unsettling is the fact that I want him, despite the way he left last night—so sudden, almost cruel. I can’t help that my body craves his touch.
“Elena, take a seat.”
My father’s voice booms when I walk into his office to find him seated behind a large mahogany desk. A position of power and authority, and I’ve always found it interesting that he assumes it even when addressing his children.
I don’t speak as I walk to join my mother on the sofa, sitting properly and folding my hands on my lap. My mother’s dark floral scent hits me when I settle in. A signature of hers. It’s the scent of control and cold beauty—everything she values and everything I’ve learned not to mimic. I knew as a child that seeking comfort and affection from her would get me nowhere.
Silent, I wait for one of them to address me. This is clearly some kind of intervention, and I learned from them to never speak first, so I sit quietly and wait.
“Cara,” It’s my mother who breaks the silence. “Your father and I called you here because we wanted to discuss your future. Now that your sister is married, it’s your turn to settle down and start a family.”
I shake my head, suddenly confused about why everyone is dead set on pairing me with someone. They married off my sister just a few months ago, and I figured I had some time before my parents brought up marriage again.
“Mama, you know I’m working on my doctorate—”
