Page 29 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

“Fine,” I say, submitting to her pull.

This quiets her suspicion for a moment. As we approach another corner, I let my hand brush against the brooch, fingers curling around its edges, ready to wrench it free.

The corridor stretches out, endless and silent, but I won’t be. I won’t go down without a fight. I owe that to myself, to Jack, to the life we’ve just started to build.

“Keep moving,” Patricia orders, oblivious to the weapon I’m fashioning from a piece of jewelry.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of stopping.”

And in that moment, as my pulse dances with fear and determination, I promise myself this: I will get out of this. I will see Jack again. And I will never stop fighting for our love.

Chapter Eleven

JACK

I lean against the cool marble of the bar, my gaze sweeping over the sea of guests with practiced subtlety.

The ballroom is a riot, a thousand conversations weaving a tapestry of laughter and music that should feel celebratory, but doesn’t. Not to me.

Something’s off.

“Everything okay, Jack?” a waiter asks as he slides another club soda in front of me.

“Fine,” I lie without looking at him, my attention riveted to the throngs of guests.

My fingers tighten around the cold glass, the fizz of the soda mocking the bubbling tension in my gut. It’s been too long since Marlie slipped away with a smile, promising she’d be right back.

A snapshot of her excuse plays on repeat in my head: “I just need a moment to freshen up.” I watch the door she exited through, willing it to swing open and reveal her safe return.

“Jack, you’re not drinking tonight?” Marlie’s cousin, oblivious to my inner turmoil, claps me on the shoulder as he passes with a tipsy grin.

“Designated driver,” I offer, the words feeling like sandpaper in my throat. They buy it, always do. The stoic bodyguard, ever responsible, ever vigilant. But tonight, vigilance isn’t enough. The faces around me blur into irrelevance as I play out scenarios—each more grim than the last.

It’s unlike Marlie to wander off. Bringing Diego to the reception was supposed to be a way for me to keep an eye on him. Now, both Marlie and Diego haven’t been seen in over half an hour. The logical part of my brain, trained for crises, immediately starts cycling through protocols. Yet, there’s a deeper fear, a part of me that’s genuinely afraid.

I push back my chair and stand, the legs scraping softly against the marble floor. “Be right back,” I say, injecting as much nonchalance into my voice as I can muster.

The table nods collectively, absorbed in their own revelry. They don’t notice the tension coiled tight in my shoulders, the way my eyes dart to the exits once more.

I weave through the clusters of guests, my gaze like a radar sweeping for any sign of Rich Hunt. The festive music and clinking glasses are nothing but white noise as I push past waiters balancing trays of champagne. I can’t shake the feeling that time is slipping through my fingers—every second Marlie and Diego are out of sight, the danger escalates.

“Rich,” I call out lowly as soon as I spot him, summoning him with a subtle tilt of my head. He’s speaking to one of Marlie’s relatives, but he catches my eye and immediately excuses himself.

“What’s up?” he asks. Worried lines crease his brow as he meets me in the shadowed alcove away from the prying eyes of the wedding guests.

“Have you seen Diego?” I ask, my voice tight. I can’t afford to let panic seep through, not when we need to be discreet.

“Since the ceremony? No. Why?”

“He supposed to check in half an hour ago. Marlie’s gone too.”

“Shit,” Rich groans. “They could be together, right? Maybe they wandered off, got...” He trails off, the unspoken scenario hanging heavy between us.

“Or maybe they didn’t wander off willingly,” I finish his thought, my jaw clenching.

“So, what’s our play?” Rich asks. “Do we call in the rest of the team?”

“We can’t risk it. If this is a kidnapping, we don’t want to tip them off. Are your comms on?”

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