Page 27 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

Everyone chuckles, and the sound is comforting, but it doesn’t quite reach the fluttering nerves in my chest.

As the conversation flows around me, I nod and smile automatically, my mind drifting. How do I even start this conversation with Jack? What if he doesn’t feel the same rush, the same pull toward something beyond convenience?

“Marlie?” Jack whispers, leaning close.

I turn toward him, my heart pounding. “Yes?”

“Everything okay?” His concern is genuine, his voice low and intimate.

“Of course.” It’s a lie, and my practiced smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

He seems satisfied, turning back to the laughter and anecdotes being shared, but my gaze lingers on his profile.

Later, when we’re alone, I’ll have to open up, reveal my feelings. But the fear of his reaction clings to me. Will he understand the depth of what I’m feeling, or will he retreat behind the walls of our arrangement?

For now, I focus on family and friends. Yet the question remains, unspoken but heavy in my heart: Where do we go from here?

The laughter from our table is the backdrop to my own internal tempest. Melanie’s words linger in my ears, her playful jabs about my sudden dive into love with Jack a stark contrast to the weight of my unvoiced fears.

“Excuse me for a sec,” I murmur, pushing back my chair.

“Sure thing, honey,” Jack’s mom says, sending me an affectionate smile that I return with a shaky one of my own.

I slip away, the clinking of glasses and the swell of conversation dimming as I make my way through the reception hall. The soft hum of distant chatter replaces the immediate bustle, granting me a momentary relief from the emotional chaos brewing within.

As I turn the corner, my steps slow and my mind’s whirlwind halts abruptly. The sight before me shatters the illusion of safety and celebration.

George Shaw, his features twisted in a grimace of control, has a gun leveled at Diego Alvarez’s head. Diego’s eyes are wide, his posture rigid with fear.

My hand flies to my mouth, stifling the gasp.

I can’t move. Can’t think. All I can do is watch, hidden yet exposed, as the fate of the man we vowed to protect hangs by a thread—a thread held tightly in George Shaw’s unforgiving grip.

My pulse races, pounding in my ears as I stand paralyzed. The metallic scent of fear clings to the air around me.

I’m about to will my feet to backtrack, to unsee the horror unfolding before me, when a voice slices through the silence like a dagger.

“Not so fast.” The words slither over my skin.

I whirl around, the shadows playing tricks on my eyes until they settle on the imposing figure of Patricia. Her gaze locks onto mine, cold and calculating.

“Patricia.” My voice is a strangled whisper as I struggle to understand how she fits into this chilling tableau. “What’s happening?”

She steps closer, her presence enveloping me in an invisible shroud of malice. I glance back toward Diego and George, but it’s as if Patricia’s arrival has erased them from existence.

My focus narrows to the woman before me, her intentions as murky as the darkness that surrounds us.

“Marlie,” she coos, though there’s no warmth in her tone. It’s a warning wrapped in velvet, meant to silence and subdue. “You shouldn’t be here.”

My thoughts scatter. Why would George have a gun? What dark currents have I unwittingly stepped into?

“Please. I don’t understand?—”

“Shhh.” Patricia’s finger presses against her lips, and the simple gesture roots me to the spot. A smoky laugh escapes her, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s better if you don’t.”

The festive glow of the reception, the clinking of glasses, Jack’s warm smile—all seem galaxies away now. In their place, uncertainty coils inside me, a serpent of confusion and terror that tightens with every second.

“Let’s go for a walk, Marlie.” Patricia grips my arm with a force that tells me this is not an invitation but a command. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would we?”

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