I clutch the towel tighter and move to the window, carefully peering through the curtain.
The door clicks open behind me and I whirl around, nearly losing my towel in the process.
Cristian steps in, carrying a plastic bag. "I found a convenience store that also had burner phones and—” He stops, noticing my expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I lie, relief washing over me. "I just… thought you might not come back."
Irritation flashes across his face. “I told you, I would always protect?—”
“I know. I’m sorry. Just being alone, my mind…”
He sets the bag down and crosses to me, his hand gentle on my cheek. "I'm not going anywhere.”
When I nod, he kisses me on the forehead, which feels like a reminder that we’re back to bodyguard and Mafia princess, despite the fact that I’m in a barely-there towel.
I dress as he sets up the meal of turkey sandwiches, chips, candy bar, and soda.
We talk about nothing important, favorite movies, childhood memories that don't involve the family business.
He doesn't mention my forged note or the trouble it's caused, which I’m grateful for.
In this dingy hotel room, sharing junk food with a man I can never truly have, I feel something I haven't felt in months. Safe.
When it gets late, I slide into bed, feeling exhausted and yet, I’m not sure I can sleep.
I was nearly killed and then later had the most pleasurable night of my life.
I’ve felt the two most opposite emotions tonight, terror and bliss.
He checks the windows and door for the umpteenth time. His broad shoulders are tense, jaw set in that serious expression he wears when he's in protection mode.
"Come to bed.” I pat the mattress beside me.
He doesn't look at me as he grabs the chair and moves it next to the window. "I need to keep watch."
I bite my lip, wanting to ask for more of what we shared earlier.
My body still hums with the memory of his touch, and I ache to feel that connection again.
Especially knowing this is the only night we’ll have together.
"We could…" I trail off.
Cristian's eyes flick to me, and I see the same hunger there that I feel. But he shakes his head. "You should sleep."
He turns away again, and while I can see him, I feel alone.
I pull the covers up and watch him through half-closed eyes.
He sits in the chair by the window, gun resting on his thigh, eyes trained on the parking lot below.
I drift off eventually, lulled by the strange sense of safety his vigilance provides.
When I wake, the digital clock reads 3:17 AM.
Cristian hasn't moved from his post, though I notice his posture has slumped slightly.
I slip out of bed and pad across the cold floor to him.
