Finally, I doze, though I don’t entirely fall asleep. There are no more dreams, just a sumptuous few hours where I don’t have to worry about danger or time. I don’t see him leave, but when I finally wake, I’m holding a pillow instead.
I can’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, I can’t ask him to sleep with me if all we’re going to do is sleep. He’s a man. I know he’s got needs. But I really enjoyed cuddling him. It chased all the demons away and allowed me to drift between reality andsleep in a way I hadn’t before. I wonder if I can find a way to work that chore into our agreement. Maybe some language like:Francisco will make himself available as a pillow whenever Marlena wants to go to bed.
I laugh at myself. To most people, Francisco is as threatening as the man wielding the knife in my nightmare. I know he’s not a teddy bear. But for me, he’s pulling out all the stops, and that’s impressive.
I stretch and climb out of bed. Grabbing a robe, I tie it tight around my waist. It’s not one of mine; Francisco has given it to me with the room. It’s silk and feels expensive. I think I look like a mafia wife with my hair down as I pad through my living room and out into the hall.
My bodyguard is there, sitting next to the door. I’m not sure how long he’s been there, hopefully not overnight. I experience a momentary surge of pity for the man, having obviously drawn the short straw to get stuck sitting outside my door all the time. But I guess that’s his job.
I smile at him, and he gets up to follow me down the hall. I don’t even mind my shadow. It feels like a warm blanket, not one that holds me down but one that keeps me safe. I appreciate all the lengths that Francisco is going to on my behalf. He doesn’t have to marry me. He’s doing it in part to help me move past my father’s murder.
I’ve been on the run so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be home. This place, this mansion, even though I haven’t been here for very long, feels like mine. The bathrobe helps. I’m the queen of the castle, the one woman who’s allowed to walk around like she owns the place. And I’m going to take advantage of that.
I go to the kitchen and find one of Francisco’s soldiers nosing through the refrigerator. He looks up, a little bit startled. I give him a nod, and he backs off. My bodyguard takes a seat at the island, content to stay as long as I want him to.
I decide that coffee is in order. There’s a pot already brewed, so I pour myself a cup. I could get used to this. I might even want a muffin or some pancakes. I wonder if there are ingredients to make such things, or if the assembled delicacies are just going to appear like the coffee did.
“Can I help you find anything, ma’am?” Francisco’s soldier asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I say. I don’t want to interfere with their duties. I’m sure Francisco keeps them on a tight leash.
“We’ve got orange juice and muffins in here,” the man says, pulling the items out of the fridge to demonstrate.
I shake my head in disbelief. I was just thinking about a muffin and there they are, materialized as if I willed them into being. I take one and sit down opposite my bodyguard. This is one of the most decadent breakfasts I’ve had in a while.
“Where is Francisco?” I ask the man who was digging in the fridge.
“In his office,” the man answers.
I sip my coffee and nibble on the muffin, content to let things stay that way. I can always thank Francisco for coming to my rescue later. I don’t have a job to go to or any responsibilities ahead of me. I think maybe I’ll explore the house a little further. I could play a game of pool in the billiard room, or take a look at the books in the library. It feels like a magical place full of interesting activities, and I’m excited to browse them all.
But then my phone rings. I look down at the caller ID and I see that it’s Brandon. Swallowing the bite of muffin I was working on, I hold the phone to my ear.
“Brandon,” I say cheerfully. I can’t wait to fill him in on everything that’s been going on. With all the excitement, I haven’t told him what Francisco agreed to. I hope Brandon will be okay with his own bodyguard. I’m getting used to mine fairly quickly, but I’m not a college student. It’s likely that some of Brandon’s friends might wonder why he needs a bodyguard, but I tell myself we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. What matters is that Brandon is safe.
Yet as soon as my brother speaks, I know that isn’t the case.
“Marlena!” he screams.
I drop my coffee mug, sending a rush of brown liquid across the counter. “Brandon?”
“Marlena! Help!” my brother shouts.
In the background, I can hear feet pounding the pavement. Brandon is out of breath, and I think that means he’s running. I hear a car horn blast and a passerby shouting. And then the call cuts off, and I’m left with a dead phone in my hand.
Frantically, I try to call him back, but the call goes straight to voicemail. I glance up at my bodyguard. He’s looking at the coffee, probably wondering if we should clean it up. But then he sees my face and realizes that’s not important.
I don’t even tell him what’s going on. Instead, I turn and dash through the house until I come to Francisco’s office door.
CHAPTER 22
FRANCISCO
I’m trying to iron this thing out with the mayor before I lose my patience. I managed to get him to reconsider my bid, and to get the process moving on the wind turbine project. We are deep into a videoconference that is entirely aboveboard. Some of the city planners are on the call, and there’s no talk about reciprocal actions or anything that smells of crime. I’m just a business owner going after a project that the city needs done.
“The unions have demanded better pay,” I explain. “That’s why the employee budget is so high. But I promise you these are good men, and they’ll get the job done.”
The mayor seems pleased. He’s just as anxious as I am to see me get the contract. It’s up to both of us to make sure that everyone else gets on board, and that’s most of what this meeting is about.
