Page 12 of The Bodyguard

Chapter Six

Sophia

I can’t stay cooped up in the room all day. I will basically go madder.

I know for a fact Kayne won't let me use my phone to contact Keira and let her know I’m alive. Kidnapped but alive. He confiscated my handbag as soon as he had me trussed up with his handcuffs in the car. The chances of me finding my phone are as slim as me escaping.

I have to try another way out of here.

But I stall because leaving the room would mean I would need to wear one of the ensembles meant for the honeymoon I’m not having. But then my hunger pangs start dictating my actions and I have no choice.

I rummage through the trunk and find the piece with the most fabric, which happens to be a very short nightie made of satin and styled with see-through lace, but at least the matching gown conceals everything the nightie seems determined to showcase.

It’s still short, as short as the skirt I was wearing, but it will have to do.

I slip out of the door before I change my mind.

It’s probably about midday now, and I have no intention of explaining my attire to him, so I ignore him as I step into the kitchen.

I feel his gaze on me for no longer than two seconds. Everywhere he touches with his eyes, glows without my permission. And then he discards me. As if I stir not even an ounce of curiosity in him.

I swallow against the pit of frustration lodged in my throat. What exactly do I want from him? That he look at me? That he look at me like he wants me?

What is exactly wrong with me?

I’m stuck in a cabin in the Strohamden wilderness with my father’s infuriating and emotionless bodyguard, having my virginity protected, so I can marry an English duke’s son, so he can become king of my country. The reason I have to stay a virgin until my wedding night? Well, that’s because the duke doesn’t want his son to be the center of ridicule when my past lovers start showing up, claiming "they’ve lain between my thighs." Those were the duke's very words to me as the three of us—my father, the duke, and myself—sat in my father’s study at the palace.

The duke's aversion to the word "scandal" made me want to start singing the word at the top of my lungs to his face.

Yes, so that’s what’s wrong with me.

Even though he’s not looking at me, I feel awkward. Unsure of what to do. I randomly open a cupboard and find a stack of plates instead. He has his back to me as he stands at the stove.

I sneak a glance at his body. He changed from his suit into a pair of black jogger pants and a T-shirt that doesn’t hide his muscle-sculptured body from my view. His hair is still damp from a shower, and his cologne makes my tummy tug and pull in all the wrong directions.

The smell of grilled cheese reaches my nose and my stomach howls. I hope he didn’t hear it. Maybe he did.

He turns around and hands me a plate with two perfectly toasted sandwiches on it. I usually only ever eat one sandwich, but I take it anyway.

“Thank you,” I say, and the gratefulness in my voice is genuine.

I take my cues from him. He sits at the kitchen table with his own plate. I do the same with my plate. Two glasses filled with orange juice had already been placed on opposite ends of the table. That’s where he wanted me to sit. As far away from him as possible.

What would he do if I moved myself right next to him? What would he do if I took one step right out of decorum and sat on his lap instead? The thought makes me blush so hard, it hurts my face.

He takes a massive bite of one of the many sandwiches stacked on his plate. I do the same to one of my two lone sandwiches.

Nothing has ever tasted better in all my life. I forget I’m a princess, and I’m wolfing down the food like I’ve been starved for years.

I finish mine and Kayne still has one of the four sandwiches left on his plate.

With every inch of superiority I’m worth, I rise from my chair, and with my head held high, I snag his sandwich off his plate, walk back to my chair, and start eating it.

The other me would have died of guilt for doing something as unladylike as stealing someone else’s food. This me doesn’t care.

The silence is deafening, yet I know engaging him in a conversation will prove futile. But the fact that I’m sitting here in lingerie in the middle of the day bothers me.

“They sent the wrong trunk. This one was packed with lingerie. Apparently, for my honeymoon after a wedding I will go through only over my dead body.”

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