Page 9 of Another Round
“So you’re divorced?”
“Widowed.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
That admission quiets her down after her whispered condolences. I should be grateful for her silence so I can actually breathe. But I’m not. I hate the pity on her face. The discomfort between us. The anger flaring along with the debilitating grief aching in my chest at Madeline for hurting me in the worst possible way imaginable before she passed.
“You worked for my Dad before.”
More of a declaration than a question. She’s figured out the history Nick and I must have for him to trust me to protect her. “I guarded your mum when her regular bodyguard Max had some personal stuff going on.”
This time she glances at me. An expression I can’t decipher on her face until she lifts her hands, curling her fingers into air quotes. “Max—my uncle.”
“I like and respect Max.” Uncertain if I have to defend him to her or not because the mockery seems to be directed more to his faux title, since he’s her father’s best friend and not his brother, rather than against him. But I refuse to let her slight him. “He’s a good man.”
The wistful smile growing on her lips confirms she agrees. Which gratifies me. I’d be disappointed in her if she didn’t appreciate him in the way he deserves because I know what he’s done—the sacrifices he’s made—for her. “I miss him. All of them actually. I didn’t know I’d be so homesick already. I guess that’s kind of pathetic.”
A pink tinge runs up her cheeks that isn’t from exertion. Unlike the blaze burning on my face since I’m about ready to collapse. “Not pathetic at all. They’re your family. Nothing wrong with missing them.”
This absolution seems to please her. Encouraging her to continue. “My grandmother…” More air quotes as she nods conspiratorially since I know the truth. “…Marta hasn’t been doing well. We thought we were going to lose her twice…” A hard swallow contracts in her slender throat overcome with emotion that I completely understand. “…luckily she keeps pulling through. I’m scared though she won’t the next time.”
I nod in agreement with her whisper. If my math is correct, Marta has to be at least ninety. The housekeeper’s always been a resilient lady, so I’m not surprised she’s still going. Hopefully continues to for a lot longer.
“That’s why I’m so frustrated with my dad. He wants me to have this big, life-altering journey but the only life I really want is back at home with my family.”
Her voice cracks for the second time, and she shakes her head. Seemingly aggravated at herself for sounding weak. But I don’t think she’s weak at all. Nor do I blame her. I miss my family too.
“I guess I’m just not used to being alone. Even when I was in school, I lived with my cousin Theo. He wasn’t my bodyguard, but he acted like he was. He always looked out for me even if I didn’t ask him to.”
Her tone’s more indulgent than exasperated with Max’s son. That’s how those men are—they protect their women regardless if they’re actually related or not. If you’re in, then you’re in all the way.
“If he’s like his Dad, then I’m sure he’s meticulous to a fault taking care of you.”
“They all are.” Her nod contradicts with the frown pulling down her lips. “When everything happened with Caleb, my Dad told me about what my Mom did when she thought she needed to save him. That’s why he’s so overprotective of her and me. It freaked me out that she almost died, and I promised him I wouldn’t take any more risks. But of course, he didn’t believe me. So that’s why I’m here and you’re stuck babysitting me.”
Another dramatic eye roll, but she doesn’t really mean the aggravation she feigns. She knows she’s loved. She knows she’s lucky and blessed.
Pervasive and persistent agony creeps in from the thought. From the relentless torture that gives me too many sleepless nights. Insomnia from wondering if Aiden knew all of those things before he was gone. I’ve driven myself almost insane questioning if my son knew how much I loved him before he died.
“Hey.” Her delicate fingertips brush my forearm. Concern frowning her forehead. “Are you okay?”
The worry in her touch jerks me out of my contemplation, and I focus on our location again. Needing to get my shit together and protect her the way I’m supposed to. The way I want to. “I’m fine, love. Thanks.”
I force myself to be fine. I concentrate on her and the uneven concrete leading to the wooden bridge and the four men about thirty yards ahead jogging toward us. All of them seeming to take interest in her. That’s the crap shoot when you guard an exquisite woman like her. Ambiguous as to whether they’re interested in her because she’s beautiful, or because she’s going to be used as the pawn to bring a crime lord to his knees.
She keeps her head down when they pass by. A defensive mechanism she probably doesn’t even realize she employs to keep from encouraging more of their unwanted attention. Hopefully grateful too for the clothes I made her wear. At least I am, even though I was an arse about convincing her. Which I need to rectify.
Only one bloke looks back once they are behind us. Smarmy but harmless. I could down all of them easily, without much effort. Luckily, I don’t have to for her sake. I don’t want to frighten her any more than I already have today. “By the way, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have been such a wanker about you wearing a tee shirt.”
A giggle bubbles through her. Not at all the reaction I was expecting from my sincere apology. “Something funny?”
“What the hell is a wanker?”
“Me, apparently.”
Her turn to wink at me. “Only sometimes.”
We round the end of the path, curving past the old corn mill they restored last year, with the ease between us finally returning. So of course, I’m the idiot to ruin the harmony. She needs to know I’m aware of what she did and how stupid and dangerous it was. “And you too…sometimes. Like with Caleb.”
