Page 28 of The Bodyguard

“We should go,” I say quietly.

“Yeah. We should.”

Ollie squeezes my hand, and he smiles at me, and for a moment it’s just me and him against the world, which is how it always felt when we were kids, before he got sucked into Dad’s world, and pushed me further away.

“Here they are!” Dad smiles and claps his hands together as me and Ollie arrive outside. Mum and Bodie are also there, waiting by the cars that are all ready to whisk us into town, and a dinner I’m not really in the mood for, not this year. But, I go over to my dad, kiss him quickly on the cheek, and give him the kind of smile that tells him I’m fine: that I’m ready, for whatever the hell is coming. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs into my ear, returning my smile as I step back from him, finally turning my attention to Bodie. He’s leaning back against one of the cars, arms folded, dark glasses covering his eyes, but he’s looking at me, I know he is. I can feel the weight of his stare, and it’s doing nothing to lessen the nerves I’m already feeling .

“Are we all set?” Dad asks as Jake opens the passenger door of the first black Lexus before climbing into the driver’s seat. “Bodie, Lena, you’re in the other car. Ollie, you come with me and your mother.”

Dad’s usual driver, Jensen, is behind the wheel of the second car, a man Dad trusts with his life, he’s someone else who’s worked for this family for decades. Another one of the few people my father trusts implicitly. They’re a rare breed.

“Your dad’s right, you know.”

I glance up at Bodie as he steps away from the car and opens the passenger door. “Right about what?”

“You look beautiful.”

I feel heat rise up from my neck, burning my cheeks, am I fucking blushing? Seriously? I mean, I’m a little way off the menopause so, I must be blushing, but –seriously?

I don’t react, I just slide into the back seat of the Lexus and fasten my seatbelt, turning my head to look out of the window as Bodie settles into the space next to me. And he stays silent, but there’s no need for us to be talking right now anyway. Although, maybe weshouldbe talking, about what’s going to happen when we step out of this car. What do we do? How do we act? Or am I just overthinking all of this?

I turn my head slightly, just as Bodie slides his hand under his jacket, pulling it back a touch as he reaches for his phone, revealing his gun hidden neatly underneath. And I knew he was armed, that’s not a surprise. It’s just a stark reminder of the situation I’m in, through no choice of my own.

He catches my eye, but his expression remains impassive as he turns his head away to stare out ahead of him. And despite everything I’m still feeling about his presence here, there’s no denying he looks pretty damn hot tonight. The charcoal-grey suit he’s wearing fits him perfectly, teamed with a black, open-necked shirt, you’d have to be blind not to see how handsome this man is. Which makes this whole pretending to be together charade a lot easier, I can’t lie. But it’s still a charade. And I still wish it weren’t happening.

We spend the entire journey in silence, and I’m actually grateful for that, it gave me time to think, get my head straight, prepare me for what’s to come. And as we pull up outside the hotel where tonight’s charity dinner is being held, I actually feel okay. I’m good, I’m ready, I can do this shit. I can do it.

“You good to go?” Bodie asks, and I nod as he climbs out of the car first, walks around the back and, ever the gentleman, opens the door, holding out his hand for me to take, and I do so without hesitation. I don’t flinch as his fingers curl around mine: as he squeezes my hand and throws me a smile but he’s pretending now. He’s flicked a switch and he’s playing his part. It’s time for me to do the same.

We follow my parents and Ollie inside, into the main foyer where the champagne reception is taking place. And as much as I’m desperate to grab a glass and down it in one to try and settle my nerves, I’m not going to do that. I’m going to try and keep a clear head.

I watch as my parents immediately begin mingling with everyone from local celebrities, wealthy businesspeople, close friends and colleagues, yeah, quite a few of the guests here this evening are the kind you wouldn’t normally want at your party. But they’re regulars at ours.

I let go of Bodie’s hand as a server carrying a tray of drinks passes, and I grab a couple and hand one to Bodie.

“I don’t drink while I’m working,” he reminds me, so I down one flute of champagne and make a start on the other. So much for keeping a clear head. And I don’t miss the look Bodie throws me.

“What?”

“You remember what’s going on here, right?”

“So, me and you pretending to be together, that means I can’t enjoy myself?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I take another sip of champagne. “One or two glasses isn’t going to hurt.”

He leans into me, his hand resting gently on my lower back, it’s that simple yet intimate gesture again, the kind we’re supposed to be displaying from hereon in, but I know that when he speaks it’s going to be to issue another instruction.

“I’m trying to keep you safe, Lena. It’s my job, it’s what your father’s paying me to do, and it would make all of our lives so much easier if you tried to help me out.”

See?

I set the half-empty glass of champagne down on a nearby table and turn to face him, taking hold of his lapels and straightening them, brushing them down, but it takes a moment for me to realise my hands have been resting on his chest for a little longer than was necessary. I don’t seem to be in a hurry to move them, though. And I should, but the thing is, even through his shirt I can feel how hard he is: the muscles that must exist underneath that thin layer of material. And then I snap out of it, drop my hands and step back, or I try to, because before I can go anywhere he reaches out to me, his arm circling my waist, and he pulls me closer: back towards him, until my body touches his and I have no choice but to look at him. Up into piercing blue eyes that stare back into mine. But he’s smirking. Trying to lift the mood, I’m guessing.

“You’re supposed to find me super-hot, remember?”

“Please don’t say things like super-hot.”

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