Page 1 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

CHAPTER ONE

FABIO

“Are you drunk, Eva?”

“Would that make my request viable?”

I have had my few moments of idiocy here and there, but that particular one haunts me to this day. It inhabits my sleep and crawls under my skin when I am wide awake.

Like a fucking blood-hungry predator, its talons dig mindlessly, close to ripping away every shred of sanity I have left. It also doesn't help that I have to see my tormentor every day, since, much like oxygen,she is unavoidable.

It hurts to be around her, yet there is no greater pain than not being around her.

“Eva, I am not kissing you.”

“But you want to. I know you do.”

Her words were the beginning of my downfall. Because I did fucking want to. But limiting myself to just wanting to would have been better.

Because then, I could have just lived with wanting to kiss a girl that I had watched grow into a woman. Not that this would have made me feel any less guilty. But wanting to kiss her would have been better than what I did next.

I kissed her.

She was eighteen. Yet, my desire for her was unbearable. Like a dog with a bone, I jumped at the slightest opportunity to taste her. One fucking kiss and here I am years later, unable to fill up the indentation of that moment.

I clear my throat as I glimpse her off in the distance, her camera around her neck andher thick glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her pitch-black hair twisted to resemble a doughnut on her head, her baggy black cargo pants, and her strappy lemon-green crop top.

I occupy my mind with the task of adjusting my suit as each of her steps brings her closer to me. Perhaps I am nervous. An emotion that only Eva has been capable of evoking in me without even trying.

I struggle not to fidgetand scowl whileglancing at the vibrant yellow garden aroundher studio. It stands in stark contrast to the impending darkness I feel within. Just like she is a contrast to that part of me.

She is pure. Something about her always makes the world feel a lot better, the damn sun shine brighter, and even the fucking wind feel more soothing on the skin.

An angel. My angel… No, no, she is just an angel. Not mine. So innocent, but yet so devious. An innocent sinner. She reminds me of Eden, of Paradise, but I am afraid I am already a man doomed for hell.

This will be harder than I had envisioned. It’s meant to be a talk. A quick talk.

“You look like you will hate this session,” her voice is like a soothing balm, her smile like toppings on ice cream, “You didn’t have to agree to it,” she stops before me. So dainty and crushable that I want to wrap a fragile label all over her.

“Hmm,” is all I say, and the fact that I am known not to be much of a talker is good in this case since, around Eva, I am mostly fucking lost for words.

“Hmm?” She snorts dryly, “Want to get on with it then? I take it you have zero seconds to waste.” She is not far from the truth. The longer I stay around her, the hazier the lines begin to look.

The pattern of torture has always been the same. I want to be near her, but I need to fucking maintain some distance between us. I have so much I want to say, but I also have to keep quiet around her so I don't utter things I can never be heard speaking. It's amazing how my tongue feels numbwhen I see her—notout of cowardice, but because I am mesmerized.

“My studio is behind you,” she points with her chin and I slant, giving her access to the door, “For the record, I wanted my father,” she chews the inside of her mouth. “He, at least, never looks like I am holding a gun to his head when I ask him to be my model,” she takes a step towards the door, “And I didn’t even ask you,” she spins, the proximity too fucking close and I do us both a good.

I step back.

She didn’t ask and everyone was surprised I had, in fact, offered. Her father didn’t give much thought to it. But Vittoria, her stepmother, that conniving matchmaker… well, she seemed pleased by the idea. The truth is, I offered because I needed Eva’s attention for a quick while, and I wanted it to be just the both of us.

They might have misinterpreted it as me coming around to accepting what Emanuele has tagged as inevitable, which is me getting married to her in order to become part of the Teso clan. I wonder what he would think of me and my fucking honor that he keeps babbling aboutif he knew that I kissed her on her eighteenth birthday.

“After you,” I take another unnecessary step back.

“He can talk,” she laughs softly, but as she reaches to push the door open, I step forward and help her with that. Old habits die hard, “I can open my door, Fabio,” she professes, and I nod, not budging. I want to hold it for her and she is going to fucking let me.

She swings her head from side to side as if considering it, then walks in. That’s more like it.

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