She shimmies the dress onto her body, showing off her little waist and pretty hips. My mouth goes dry. My hands start to shake. I get lightheaded. No one should look this beautiful.
I lift up my camera and take a picture.
Ten
Briar
?
On the day of the charity gala, I wake up feeling gross. I sit up slowly, rubbing my thudding head. My sheets are soaked and twisted around me, and my blood is fizzing with adrenaline.
I had another nightmare. It’s already fading from my mind, but they’re always the same: a tall, faceless, bone-white figure chasing me down a maze of endless corridors. No matter how fast I run or which direction I take, he’s always right on my heels. Breathing down my neck.
I sigh, forcing myself out of bed and opening the curtains. Bright sunlight streams into my bedroom, hurting my eyes. I put my cheek against the cool windowpane, looking down at the street outside. It’s an ordinary summer day in London. The sky is cloudless and blue. Trees ruffle in the breeze. I watch a bird hop onto a nearby streetlight, warbling.
I’m too exhausted to enjoy any of it.
I know I should go for a jog, but I can’t stand the thought of it. Just like I can’t stand the thought of eating breakfast, or working, or showering. My mental health has been steadily nose-diving since the break-in, and it’s getting harder and harder to cope with. I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I sigh, dragging myself to the wardrobe to shimmy into a bikini and grab a cover-up. Some fresh air and sunshine is better than hibernating in my bed feeling sorry for myself. As I step out into the hallway, I silently pray that I won’t bump into any of the men on my way to the pool.
I can barely look at them anymore. On top of my weird foursome fantasy, ever since Matt walked in on me jacking off, my brain has developed an incredibly stupid, ill-advised, nonsensical crush on the man. When he was helping Michel at my fitting, gently touching me all over, it was all I could do not to moan out loud. I spent the entire car ride home in damp underwear.
Then, when I did arrive back home, I was greeted by Glen and Kenta. Who I swear get more attractive every day.
I don’t know if the stress of my potential stalker has driven me to the brink, but I’ve decided it’s probably safer that I just stay out of the guys’ ways as much as possible. Which is difficult, when they’re literally hired to watch me 24-7.
Luckily, when I step into the kitchen, it’s blissfully empty. I stumble over to the coffeemaker and start brewing up a cup. Just as the machine starts to steam, I spot movement outside the glass patio doors. I look up to see Matt swimming lengths in my pool.
The pool is my pride and joy: almost full-sized, lined with turquoise tiles inlaid with little blue glass gems. It’s set in a mosaic patio surrounded with lush greenery, overlooked by a couple of sun loungers. I watch Matt’s muscled body effortlessly cutting through the water, barely making a splash, then decide to pour another cup of coffee. Using my tablet as a tray, I carry them both out onto the patio.
Matt notices me and swims over, straightening. His whole body shines slick and wet under the sun. I do not look at the water dripping through his hair and down the hard, rigid lines of his abs.
“Problem?” He asks as I approach.
I shake my head. “I saw you out here and thought you might want a coffee. I don’t know how you take it.” I put the mug on the edge of the pool.
He looks at it warily. “Black, without cyanide, if possible.”
“Are you accusing me of poisoning you?”
“Wouldn’t put it past you, princess.”
“Well, why don’t you use your incredible observational skills to find out?”
Narrowing his eyes, Matt picks up the mug and takes a tentative sip. I watch his throat move as he swallows. “It’s good,” he says, his voice deeper than usual. “Thank you.”
I nod and head to a nearby sun lounger, setting down my drink and tablet.
“You’re not swimming?” He asks behind me. “I can get out if you want to do some lengths.”
I give the pool a longing look. The water ripples, reflecting shimmers of light onto the high garden walls. “Can’t. Not before events. Chlorine might damage my hair.”
“God forbid,” he drawls.
I stretch out on the lounger. “You can keep going. I don’t mind.”
He nods, taking a couple more gulps of hot coffee, then dives back into the cold water. I settle back and turn on my tablet, flicking through some emails. It’s surprisingly hard to concentrate when a man with about ten abs is wet and half-naked in front of you. More than once, I find my eyes flicking up to track Matt as he swims. The sun beats down over me, soaking into my skin as I watch the blue water roll off his tanned, muscled body.Every five lengths, he stops and turns to check in on me.
