Page 4 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

More like lies. Anything to make me feel like I am not groveling at his feet, waiting to be chosen by him. I have never known Fabio to take a step back when he wants something. He always has a way of making things work. If he is indecisive about this, about me, about us, if there is an us, then it only means one thing.

He does not want any of it. He doesn’t want me.

“You have it all wrong,” he grits, his jawline turning razor-sharp. It surely doesn’t help that he is what dream men are made of. It doesn’t help that his beauty smites and keeps one smitten for life. From hair to dress shoes, “I am not…” I lift a finger and he nods, grinding his teeth.

“I don’t care for anything you have to say,” I shrug. I have had my fair share of rejection this morning and I will not stand here for more, “I don’t care about the marriage and now seems like the best time to let you know I have a boyfriend.”

Aha!

His eyes. My tell-tale. He doesn’t like this information. And I getwhat I needed from the way his eyes fold and open gently to hinder the slipping of emotions behind them.

“Hmm,” he scoffs. I was expecting that one. His go-to answer for all things Eva.

“Yes, hmm,” I step away so the truth behind my own eyes does not call my bluff. I don’t have a boyfriend. I have never even thought about having one.

I have felt… satisfied with my life. Like I had everything I needed. Everyone I needed. But now they are forcing my hand to lie. Lie and pretend to be the typical college girl who is somehow mixed up with some… God, I hate this.

I strut to my desk and tap on it, my other hand stuffed halfway into the back pocket of my pants.

“Who is he?” He gruffs.

“A human,” I shrug.

“Does he have a name?” He is moving, coming closer to me and my heart is spinning, making me dizzy.

“He does have a name,” I puff, keeping my tone light-hearted.

“What is his name?” I could have guessed his next question.

“It’s Nunya.”

“Nunya?”

“Nunyabusiness,” I drop my head to the side to smile at him as he stops behind me. If I can lean in, just a little, not so much, just… I take pull head back, pushing down the urge.

“What does he do? How did you meet him? Who’s his family? Do you have a picture of him?” He prances to one wall to stare at a picture of a model I had taken recently. He is shirtless, holding a surfboard and smiling at the camera like it’s a wave, “Is that him?” He flips to face me. Is that jealousy I hear, or is he just being the overprotective Fabio I have always known him to be? “Answer me, Eva,” he growls.

“Why should I?” I strut carelessly to the armchair behind my desk and throw myself on it.

“Because it is important that I know,” he grits back at me, placing both hands flat on my desk.

I sit upright, squaring him up, “Why?”

“I need to know if he is worthy of you.”

“Worthy of me?” If the air wasn’t charged with both fervor and annoyance, I would have laughed so hard.

“Is he?” He bites out.

“That is yet to be seen, and why should I worry about it whatsoever anyway?” I pick up my camera, “Love doesn’t need any of that. We are young and in love,” I take hold of my camera and begin to fidget by adjusting the lens back and forth.

“I will find him,” he stands straight and takes one step back, then another. He breaks off the stare as he gets to the door, spinning and plucking himself out of my studio.

Good luck with finding the mystery man.

It appears that we will both be searching for my boyfriend.

I puff, drop my camera gently on the desk, put my glasses back on, and sink into my seat.

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