Monica edges closer to me, her earlier panic fading into fascination. "Colletta," she whispers, her voice awed. "Where did you find him?"
"It's a long story," I murmur, unable to look away from Kruk's hands as they smooth a final layer of frosting over a repaired seam.
"He's incredible."
"Yeah." The word comes out softer than I intended, carrying more weight than a simple agreement. "He really is."
Kruk steps back, surveying his work with a critical eye. The cake stands tall again, all five tiers perfectly aligned, the frosting smooth and pristine. If you didn't know it had collapsed an hour ago, you would never guess.
He wipes his hands on a damp towel, leaving streaks of ivory buttercream on the white fabric. Then he turns to Monica.
"The structural integrity has been restored," he reports, his tone formal, professional. "I recommend reducing the ambient temperature by two degrees to prevent further softening. The cake will hold until the reception."
Monica stares at him for three full seconds. Then she bursts into tears again, but this time she's smiling, and she throws her arms around his waist in a hug that doesn't even reach his chest.
"Thank you," she sobs into his sternum. "Thank you, thank you, oh my God, you saved my wedding."
Kruk goes rigid, his arms held awkwardly at his sides, his eyes finding mine over Monica's head in a silent plea for extraction protocols.
I bite back a laugh and step forward, gently prying my sister off him. "Okay, okay, let the man breathe. You have a rehearsal dinner to get ready for, remember?"
Monica pulls back, wiping her eyes, her smile watery but genuine. "Right. Yes. Oh God, I need to fix my makeup." She squeezes Kruk's arm, or tries to, her hand not making it even halfway around his bicep. "You're amazing. Both of you. I'm so glad you're here."
She hurries away, the coordinator trailing after her with the clipboard. The crowd begins to disperse, conversations buzzing with excitement over the cake resurrection they just witnessed.
I look up at Kruk, this massive, tattooed warrior with buttercream on his cheek and satisfaction in his eyes.
"That was..." I trail off, searching for words adequate to describe what I just saw. "You were incredible."
He grunts, wiping the frosting from his face with the back of his hand. "The structure was sound. It only required reinforcement and patience."
"Still." I reach up without thinking, catching a smear of ivory he missed near his jaw. My thumb brushes across his skin, rough with stubble, warm beneath my touch. "Thank you. For doing that. You didn't have to."
His eyes lock on mine, dark and intent, and the air between us shifts the way it did in the gazebo before Monica's scream interrupted us.
"The mission parameters include maintaining the deception," he says quietly, but there's something underneath the words, something that makes my pulse kick up. "Your sister's distress threatened operational effectiveness."
"Right. The mission." My hand is still on his face. I should move it. I don't move it. "Kruk, can we... Can we talk? Somewhere private?"
His jaw flexes beneath my palm, tension rippling through him. "Yes."
We walk through the vineyard as the sun begins its descent toward the hills, painting the sky in shades of peach and deep, burning gold. The air has cooled slightly, carrying the scent of grapes and earth and the faint sweetness of wildflowers growing between the rows.
Kruk walks beside me, silent, his presence a solid anchor in the gathering dusk. Our shoulders brush with each step, his hand occasionally steadying me when I stumble on the uneven ground.
I need to tell him. The truth. All of it.
That I didn't hire a neurosurgeon. That I was drunk and heartbroken and Derek's smug face on the wedding invitation made me want to prove I had moved on, that I was fine, that I didn't need him.
I found Kruk's security services listing at two in the morning and thought hiring a terrifying bodyguard to pretend to be my boyfriend was the best idea I'd ever had.
That somewhere between the tuxedo t-shirt and the tactical social analysis and the way he fixed my sister's cake with the same intensity most people reserve for defusing bombs, this stopped being fake.
"Kruk." I stop walking, turning to face him. The sunset gilds his features, catches on the gold caps of his tusks, makes his dark eyes look almost soft. "I need to tell you something."
He goes still, that predator stillness that makes the air feel heavier. "You are terminating the contract."
"What? No." I shake my head quickly, surprised by how much the idea hurts. "No, that's not... I just need to be honest with you about why I hired you."
