Page 25 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

“Are you still planning on bringing Diego to the wedding?” Marlie’s question pulls me from my internal musings.

“Yeah,” I reply without hesitation.

The stiffening of her body is immediate and unmistakable.

“What’s wrong?” I turn her fully toward me now.

“I don’t know...” She hesitates. “It just feels like we’re inviting danger or something by having him there... But maybe I’m being silly.”

The sweet scent of strawberries wafts up from her hair, and I bury my nose into it and pull her closer into an embrace.

Her worries are not unfounded—our situation is far from ideal—but there’s no room for fear here.

“I promise, baby,” I murmur against her hair, feeling the tension gradually seep out of her body at my reassurance. “Nothing is going to happen to you. You’re safe with me.”

Marlie snuggles deeper into my chest, her body warm and soft against mine. Her voice is a gentle murmur against my skin. “I like this.”

“What?” I ask, the words a low rumble in my throat.

“This. Us.”

Her words are so quiet they’re almost lost in the silence of the balcony. My heart hammers in response as I pull her closer, my arms tightening around her.

“Me too, baby.”

The admission slips out before I can stop it, and our world narrows down to just us two.

Her next words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Thanks for being a great fake husband.”

Fuck.

I swallow hard, fighting back the rush of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. “You’re welcome,” I manage to reply, hoping she doesn’t hear the strain in my voice.

Inside me rages a storm—love for Marlie that’s so strong it scares me sometimes, pain at her casual reminder of our arrangement, confusion about why I haven’t confessed how I feel yet.

Maybe it’s because of past experiences, or maybe because I’m just an idiot when it comes to matters of the heart.

I hope with all that’s left in me that she’s testing the waters—trying to see if there’s more between us than this sham of a marriage. Because I never want this to end.

Marlie breaks the silence first. “I should probably get back to my macaroons.”

“Yeah, good idea,” I agree reluctantly, pushing myself up out of the chair.

Marlie follows suit, but there’s a frown etched on her face.

Before she can make her way back inside, I reach out and grab her hand. The surprised look in her eyes makes me hesitate briefly before I finally blurt it out.

“I think... after tomorrow... we should talk.”

Her frown deepens, and she pulls her hand away. “Is something wrong?”

"No," I assure her quickly. "Nothing's wrong. We'll talk tomorrow."

Her eyes widen just a fraction, searching mine for a clue. But I give nothing away. Not yet. She needs to hear it all, not just bits and pieces.

"Okay," she replies, her voice is neutral, but I can hear the question mark at the end of it.

In the charged space between us, there's an acknowledgment of something looming. Something that might change everything. I tuck away the image of her right now—the way she looks under the warm glow of the kitchen lights, dusted with flour and full of life.

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