Callum’s steely blue gaze shifts to me with an assessing look.
“You’re on your way back to Atlanta?” Sera asks.
“Aye.” He stands even straighter, if that’s possible. “Got a month before the next assignment. The phone, lass. I haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, and I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Sera’s mouth wrinkles. “He’s still into the clubs?”
Callum scowls and gives a curt nod.
“Callum gets a lot of celebrity athletes, and one of his regulars likes to party,” she explains to me, and then says to him, “Thanks for coming by to get it.”
She holds out the phone, but Callum doesn’t take it. Instead, he grips her hand in his and turns it over, staring at the rings on her hand.
His frown deepens, brows knitting together. “This is new?” Callum’s eyes flick to me again, and to the band on my left hand. “When?”
“Last night.” Sera says simply.
The air between the three of us thickens for half a second before Callum seems to shake off whatever it is he was going to say, settling for, “Your brother know?”
“Not yet.” She grimaces. “Don’t tell him.”
Callum arches a copper brow. “Not a problem. He’ll most likely shoot the messenger.”
“It won’t be that bad.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
Her brother better not give her shit about this, or he and I are going to have a problem.
The giant man studies her for another beat, that faint softening returning to his face. “You’re different. Smiling.”
Sera scowls, and he chuckles. Or at least I think that’s what that noise was.
“It’s good.” He releases her wrist and slips the phone into the inner pocket of his dark leather jacket. “Need anything else from me?”
“Nope.”
Without another word, Callum turns on his heel and marches toward the exit.
“Is he always so friendly?” I ask.
“Nah. Sometimes he’s cranky.” I raise a brow at the ridiculous statement. “Trust me, that was nice for Callum.” She slips her hand into mine. “Come on, husband. We have a supermodel to fetch.”
33
SERA
The Atelier Florian jewelry store opening is a flashy spectacle crammed into a small, boutique storefront on the hotel's shopping promenade. Crystal chandeliers reflect off the glittering jewels below, and velvet ropes hold back all of the curious tourists outside. Inside the space, it’s too warm, and there are far too many expensive perfumes vying for dominance. I glance at Liev, jealous that his position monitoring the front door means he gets a steady dose of fresh air.
Keke stands at the center of the room, in a black satin column of a dress, the priceless ruby parure a stark contrast against her chest and ears. She’s been subdued since we picked her up earlier. Perhaps potentially losing this brand deal finally got through to her.
The party's been going for two hours now, and people are finally trickling out. Overly tan guests air-kiss each other good-bye and eagerly take the swag bag offered by two young women standing near the front.
It’s probably the last night of this assignment, and I feel torn. I’m happy to be done with the bodyguard work. This assignment let me see that I don’t enjoy field work. But I’ll miss being with Liev.
I rub the emerald on my finger.
You won’t miss him. You’re married to him.
The thought warms my chest, and I grin before—for the first time—it occurs to me to wonder what the day-to-day of a marriage between us will look like.
