Page 17 of Stained Protector

That’s where my unease stems from.

I don’t want her to meet Levi. My knee-jerk response to her sharing the news through the phone was to hang up, but I didn’t and quietly listened to the grand plans she had for a new chapter.

What if she lays scavenging eyes on him and tags him?Dibs, she calls them. It’s an unbreakable childish tendency to claim men. It’s as if without men, she’d burst into sea foam like a mermaid.

My mind defends Levi’s character, fussing over the things he’s done for me and the way he treats me differently from others. An exception, special treatment, and the conflated whisper of selfishness.

I’m embarrassed to put myself on a pedestal, projecting self-importance when he’s simply being kind.

A mutually beneficial business relationship. An offer of shelter as an unspoken apology for not stepping in sooner to stop the assailant. An unearned title—husband, a dizzy voice drones—that’s saving my life.

He seems naïve when the facts are laid out.

He’s not, and he’s one of the smartest people I know. There are trails, a few articles, and court documents of his name being associated with a big corporation. He watered the talents and fostered them in order to expand his firm, then he quickly sold it, giving me whiplash even though I wasn't the one affected.

I’m not one to judge people’s choices. They don’t affect me, and I don’t know them personally. I don’t even do it to my sister, who steps on broken glass for an ill-fated heartbreak.

Maybe Levi had a reason to justify it, or maybe he didn’t and just wanted to.

I don’t know him well enough to judge, to evaluate if his character aligns with mine to stay in my life.

It sounds conceited when it’s said like that. Many friends go separate ways when opinions and fundamental beliefs don’t match. It causes too much conflict and long walks on eggshells.

“Anya?”

For a split second, I thought it was my sister’s voice. Visceral irritation pulls at my lips, and it takes a tense twist for me to turn around.

Levi raises a brow, his eyes drawn to the trembling paintbrush in my hand. He puts the scuffed red basket in his other arm and reaches over to press the back of his hand on my forehead. A frown mars his face, furrowed brows knitting slowly as he rechecks the temperature.

“I’m fine,” I croak and laugh sheepishly. “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

Slipping the paintbrush back to the shelf, I peer into the basket to see what he’s buying. A lot of expensive art supplies.

When I woke up this morning to him leaning on the counter with a bag filled with old supplies, he suggested using today to restock. Levi usually does the groceries on his own, and they favor my taste instead of his.

He came ready, knowing I’d argue, and convinced me that it was the least he could do when he occupied most of my days.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it’s my job as his assistant to help him in the studio where he stays until dark. Now that I think about it, he stayed overnight a handful of times to finish his projects.

This is crossing many professional boundaries. I brought it to his attention, and I’ve never seen so much hurt trying to curl in on itself through his eyes.

I’m helping a friend, he said. And at that moment, I was the century’s villain.

He forgives easily; all it takes is a mortified apology and a promise to treat him as a friend. Although bosses and employees don’t hold hands, some friends do. We’re doing it for show to make the kidnapper lose interest in me.

What’s a more permanent partner than a husband? A big, strong, and thoughtful husband who can be very scary at times. He keeps strangers at a distance with a candid stare, and women immediately deflate when he smiles at me so warmly.

I’ll drown in this blissful trap if I’m not careful.

When this is over, I might become a mirror image of my sister. Obsessed, blinded, and greedy to the core. I can see it from a mile away, the disappointed feeling when he lets go, and I plummet deeper into this fabled experience.

He’s a drug, an addiction, and withdrawal symptoms are expected, but I’m not confident I’ll succeed.

Something is broken in me. This situation is inexplicable, coercing me to endure waves of unfamiliar emotions with doses of adrenaline.

I could get kidnapped, and life would still be shoving a fairy tale down my throat.

One step at a time. These thoughts are too much for a day of leisure. Sucking in a volatile breath, I redirect my focus to the supplies and consider what else he needs to buy.

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