Page 64 of Roaming Holiday

“Don’t kill him,” I chide. “He was nice.”

“I have a habit of breaking the wrists of men who put their hands on you,” he says, his voice gruff.

I roll my eyes. He’s referring to the men at the club and the one who tried to pickpocket me. It’s no lie that the men who mistreated me walked out of the situation in a much worse state than I did.

Damn. I really needed a bodyguard after all.

“Well, he was respectful,” I reply. “I promise.”

He keeps quiet as we walk, but I can feel the tension. Ten minutes pass, and I start recognizing landmarks and come across the rock I set in the middle of the path. I kick it back to its place.

“Why didn’t you wake me up if you wanted to go out?” Wesley asks.

To tell the truth, I hadn’t even considered him. I jumped out of bed, got dressed, and left. With a shrug, I say, “Didn’t think about it.”

“Wake me up,” he insists. “I don’t care what time it is or what I’m doing. If you want to go somewhere, tell me so I can do my job.”

I roll my eyes again in spite of the sinking stone in my gut. Why am I foolish enough to get disappointed with every reminder that this is his job? I shake my head free of the thoughts. “I just—I wanted to be away from all this royal stuff for a minute. I wanted to feel normal again.”

This summer came at me fast. One day I was panicking about paying off my student loan. The next, I inherit a country. I wanted a break from the adjustments.

“Even then, you need to tell me.”

By now, I recognize our street and don’t need his help anymore. I shake my head. “You still don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly, but I only care about keeping you safe. Leaving in the middle of the night without saying anything stops me from doing that. If anything happened?—”

I whirl toward him. “It’d be my fault?”

He stops, leveling a glare at me. “You know that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Give me just a little credit,” I groan. “Nothing happened. I’m fine. I’m not some fragile little?—”

“You got lost, Nina!” Wesley shouts, and I flinch. “You’ve never been here before and you snuck out without even thinking about what?—”

I shove his chest, anger simmering inside me as I lift my chin. “Don’t fucking patronize me. I don’t need to tell you shit. I went because I wanted to. I wanted a break from my fucking tornado of a life and I could forget how everyone feels sorry for me now. Including you.”

He closes his mouth, his brows creased and shoulders falling.

“See?” I press. “You can’t even deny it.”

My heart breaks as the silence continues. More than anything, I want him to say that he’s not just my bodyguard. I want him to touch my waist the same way he did the night we danced together, to kiss me with such vigor I can’t think straight.

I want him to want me this bad, too.

But he stands in front of me, mouth agape in a most uncharacteristic fashion as he struggles to find words. Yes, he’s a quiet person, but not because he has nothing to say. His silence has always been by choice. Not tonight.

Finally, I break the moment and head up the hill toward the house. Exhaustion starts slipping into my bones, weighing my limbs down.

“I’ve thought of a hundred ways to kill Anton Robert—the man who attacked you,” Wesley admits, and I halt just outside the reach of a streetlight. His voice cuts through the darkness, wrapping around my stomach as he walks closer with a solemn face. Out of the dozens of things he could’ve said, I hadn’t thought that would make the cut. “I… I already can’t forgive myself for letting him lay a finger on you.” He looks down, tilting his head as if struggling to allow himself to say it. He sucks his teeth. “There are a lot of emotions I feel because of you, angel. Pity is not one of them.”

Well, when you put it like that.

Wesley has never raised his voice at me before today. As grumpy as he can be, he’s not an angry man. He’s frustrated. I clear my throat. “I don’t blame you for?—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says softly.

No one is around to see us. If we stand here in this quaint street with barely illuminated lampposts for hours, anything could happen. But the mere thought of being rejected by him is terrifying enough to silence me. I can’t offer more of myself tonight if he doesn’t, and he shows no sign of budging. The night’s emotions rush through me, and unless I let it out in anger, I’ll end up in tears within seconds. I inhale a breath, forcing back the sting in my eyes.

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