Page 14 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

“First things first,” I begin. “We need to change your safe house. Today if possible. Rich will let his contact at the DEA know.”

Diego nods slowly. “My landlord has some other properties where I could stay.”

“Good.” The less visible he is right now, the better. “The feds will keep a skeleton crew stationed outside the perimeter at all times. But you should know that I won’t be shadowing you every second of every day.”

“Figured as much,” Diego chuckles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile since we’ve ben here. “Word around town is that you just tied the knot.”

“Yeah, it was a low-key thing,” I respond casually, leaning back in the booth and stretching my arms overhead. I find my thoughts drifting to Marlie - to the softness of our shared bed and the warmth of her body against mine.

There’s a strange comfort in knowing she’ll be waiting for me when I get home. It’s a sensation that’s equally foreign and welcome, like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots after years of going barefoot.

I pull out my wallet, leaving enough cash on the table to cover breakfast plus a generous tip. “Alright then,” I say as I rise from the booth, buttoning up my jacket. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

With that, we step outside, and I cast one last glance back at Surfside Diner before steeling myself for what lies ahead.

A few hours later, I’m back at the penthouse. And when I open the door, I pause, momentarily disoriented.

A burst of delicious aromas—garlic, herbs, something savory—fills the air.

Is someone cooking?

Marlie’s voice floats down the hallway. “Jack? Is that you?”

“Hey baby,” I call out, shrugging off my jacket.

When I walk into the kitchen, I see Marlie standing at the stove dipping a spoon into a large pot. Her brown hair is thrown up in a messy bun, and she’s got an apron tied around her waist.

Sneaking up behind her, I wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Smells good,” I murmur, my voice husky. “What are you cooking?”

“Spaghetti,” she replies, glancing over her shoulder at me with a playful smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I plant another kiss on her neck. “Starving.”

Giggling, she gently nudges me away with a shake of her hips. “Well, go wash up so we can eat. I’ll set the table.”

With a peck on her cheek and a promise to be right back, I reluctantly pull away and head towards the bathroom, my heart skipping in an unfamiliar rhythm within my chest.

As the water runs over my hands, I stare at my reflection, seeing the man I am and the one I’m becoming because of her.

My wife, with her macaroons and her easy smile, is doing more than feeding me. She’s giving me a taste of something I didn’t even know I was craving—a slice of normal life.

I’ve never been the kind of guy to expect a woman to cook and clean for me. Equality is the name of the game in my book. But the fact that Marlie chose to cook a meal for me, especially when she could have easily ordered in, means a lot. It’s her way of slowly opening up, letting me in bit by bit.

When I get back to the dining room, I sit down at the table, and Marlie places a steaming plate in front of me. Her movements are graceful, almost dance-like, as she settles across from me with her own plate.

“How was your day?” I ask, breaking the silence. “Looks like you got a lot done while I was gone.”

Marlie smiles, her fork twirling in her spaghetti. “It was good,” she says. “Pretty laid back. I unpacked and took a nap. Then I went to the grocery store.”

“Which one did you go to?”

She doesn’t know it yet, but we Texans are picky about our grocery stores.

“H-E-B,” she replies. “It was packed, but I found everything I needed. I’m still getting used to how fast everyone drives here, though. I’m glad I was able to walk there.”

She laughs lightly, her laughter filling the room with warmth.

Now that she’s taken off her apron, I can see that she’s wearing a simple dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. Seeing her like this, combined with another flashback to last night, triggers a rush of heat that courses through me like wildfire.

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