“I’ll be there.”
Nate moves to the kitchen to pour a glass of water as I end the call and put the phone in my pocket. I’d like to bealone for a few minutes to process all of this, but he’s going to want to know what’s happening. Joining him at the island, I slide onto a stool. To my surprise, he sets the water in front of me.
“I might need something stronger than water,” I tell him.
He nods and goes into the next room, quickly returning with two shot glasses and a bottle of scotch.
“What’s going on?” he asks, setting the shot glasses down and filling them.
So far, I haven’t really needed the bodyguard that Nate hired to follow me around. I was afraid paparazzi might have the studio staked out, waiting for me, but none popped out of the bushes when I gave Eliza a tour and taught her some basic ballet movements. My hopes that the paps had moved on to someone else are dashed now that the trial date has been moved up.
“I’m going to need that bodyguard twenty-four-seven now. My father’s trial starts next week.”
Jaw clenching, he tosses back his shot and then immediately refills his glass.
“That’s going to be a media frenzy.” He sighs, then shakes his head. “From now on, Sven will take you everywhere. You’re not to take any cabs or Ubers or go out walking without him. I especially don’t want the media finding out that you live here, or the circus will end up on my front lawn.”
Honestly, I’m surprised the paps haven’t followed me here already. I start to feel guilty about dragging Nate into all this, but then I remember that he knew what was going on in my life when he made this arrangement with me. Itwas only a matter of time before the drama seeped into his life.
Taking out his phone, he hits a button and puts the cell to his ear, turns and walks out of the room. I hear him say Sven’s name before his voice disappears down the hallway.
God. I never dreamed of the day that I’d need a bodyguard, but I’m glad that I have access to one now. I’ve only met Sven formally once, and he was just as intimidating as I’d expect. He’s a little older than I had imagined, probably early fifties if I had to guess by the gray around his temples and the deep lines cutting along his eyes. But he’s solidly built and wears a resting bitch face better than most women I know. Nate assured me Sven had been part of some elite European militia or private military or something and was more than qualified to scare away a few paparazzi.
I guess we’ll put that to the test soon enough.
Eyeing the drink Nate gave me, I grab the shot glass and drink it down. It burns, but I don’t cough. Scotch isn’t my go-to, but I can handle my liquor thanks to my freshman year of college.
My mind wanders back to my relationship with Nate. Honestly, I’ve been obsessing about it ever since Eliza left. Things have just been so comfortable between Nate and me. We go about our day-to-day routines together as if we’ve been an actual couple long enough to function as a single unit. He hasn’t said anything about it, but hasn’t he noticed how good we are together?
I have, and it scares me. Ever since his sister left, I feel…different. More invested, more attached. More unable to convince myself that this relationship couldn’t actually work.
Will the possible intrusion of the media into his life ruin things between us? He might start to resent ever making a deal with me. He might tell me to move out. Fuck. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I’m scared my father’s trial is going to mess it up.
Nate strides back into the kitchen, no tie, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a triangle of chest. My eyes track over his rock-hard body, and when I catch a whiff of his cologne as he passes by, my body instantly responds. Heat flushes my skin and I nearly slide off the stool to go after him.
“Sven will be here before daylight and post outside the house until you’re ready to go somewhere. He has his orders, and you have yours. Do not go anywhere outside of this house without him. Understood?”
“Yes. And thank you.”
He pulls two plates from the cupboard and sets them on the counter. “You don’t have to thank me. Taking care of you is part of our arrangement. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”
That’s what I am to him. A responsibility. Nothing more.
But then why hasn’t he asked me to move back into the apartment?
The doorbell rings and he leaves to answer it, returning a minute later with two bags from my favorite Thai restaurant. How did he know?
Setting the food down, he begins taking to-go containers from the bags and spreading them out on the counter. I smell the rich tamarind sauce of my absolute favorite pad Thai and momentarily forget my problems.
“How did you know this is my favorite restaurant?”
He arches a brow. “Is it?”
“Yes, and my favorite meal.” I gesture to the containers of panang curry and papaya salad. “This is more than a coincidence.”
Opening the pad Thai, he gives me the entire container. No reason to bother with a plate when I plan to inhale it.
“Eliza may have mentioned it,” he admits. “You were pointing out all the good restaurants after the dance studio tour, apparently.”
