Page 21 of The Bodyguard

I stop and fix him with a look that tells him I don’t think we are. “No. They’re very different boats.”

I start to walk away, but I’m stopped by his hand suddenly taking mine, and I look down before slowly raising my gaze, and when he leans into me, his breath catching my skin, I completely, absolutely ignore whatever the hell my stomach’s playing at. Too much alcohol, I swear, I have to stop going out mid-week.

“It’s time, Lena,” he murmurs, and he squeezes my hand and I feel my throat tighten. It must be the dry atmosphere in this place.

I’m not used to having someone like him issue orders like this, a virtual stranger telling me how to live my life. And yet, I don’t try to pull my hand from his, because I know I’m in a situation I can’t get out of. Not yet. Not when I’m still trying to get my head around it all. So I just look at him, and I nod, and he lets go of my hand and we leave the club in silence.

“I’ll get us a cab.”

He strides out into the road, over to the taxi rank, and I take a deep breath before I join him: before he opens the passenger door and I climb inside, turning my head to look out of the window as he slides down onto the seat beside me, his leg briefly touching mine as he clicks his seatbelt into place. And for the first time in my life I feel completely out of my depth. For so many reasons. And I need to work out how to deal with that.

~~~

Dad’s still up when I get home, sitting at the kitchen table doing paperwork. He looks up and smiles as I throw my bag down onto the counter and reach for the bottle of whisky sitting there.

“Good night?” Dad asks, laying his pen down and sitting back in his chair.

“It was okay.”

He frowns. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I take it Bodie’s in the guest cottage?”

He phrases that as a question, and I have no idea why. Of course Bodie’s in the guest cottage. Where the hell else would he be?

“Yes.”

Dad’s eyes narrow slightly. “And you and he are…?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay…”

“Dad, I promise you, everything’s good.” Slight lie, but I need to do this for my dad, so as much as I’d like to express my true feelings, I decide against it. I wasn’t lying when I said I was tired. My days are now a mixture of emotional exhaustion and utter frustration, and that isn’t a good mix, let me tell you.

I take a sip of whisky, and look down into the pale-amber-coloured liquid. “This charade Bodie and I are creating, I think it might actually work.”

“Good. And, how do you feel about that?”

I look up, and frown. “Does it matter?”

My father keeps his eyes on me as he taps the tip of his pen on the edge of the table. “What’s wrong, Lena?”

“This is just – it’s a crazy situation, and I’m trying my hardest to get my head around it.”

“You need to try harder.”

And he isn’t joking. He means that. He’s taking no shit, no excuses, I don’t have the luxury of fighting this any longer.

I finish my whisky and put the empty glass in the dishwasher. I’m too tired to carry on this conversation, it’ll only end up the way they always do – going round and round with no real resolution. I’m not sure I’ll ever know the full extent of my father and Ollie’s business dealings, but I’m becoming more and more aware of the severity of this particular one, even if the details are few and far between.

“I’m going to bed. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Lena?”

I stop in the doorway, and turn back around to face my father.

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