Triple-Duty Bodyguards

by Lily Gold

No. If I want someone to melt into a red carpet, I’m going to have to go with the chiselled white guy. Great.

You’ll give me a hand with the pinning, won’t you, Briar? I think we’ll need to tailor something from scratch to get around that ass.”

have a theory: I don’t think she’s rude or bitchy at all. I think she’s just a very private, intelligent woman who is playing the media like a fucking violin.

In just the past week, she’s criticised a supermodel for advertising dangerous weight loss drugs; a director for underpaying his female actors; a rapper for getting handsy with his staff.

You were so beautiful. And it was so ugly down there. Some guys had girlfriends, or kids, or families that they were fighting for, but I didn’t have any of that shit. But I could look at that picture of you and remember that beautiful things still existed in the world. Sunshine, and ice cream, and happy girls on beaches wearing floppy hats. It reminded me that that’s what I was putting myself through hell for. So that stuff could still exist.”

“This isn’t about you, it’s about me. You’re right. Seeing you have a nightmare was so traumatic I need comforting. So do it.”

“Don’t apologise. I think it’s kind of cute.” I tuck into him. “We have matching unhealthy coping mechanisms. How adorable is that?”

I smile against his skin. “Well then,” I say casually. “I guess you must just care about me.” He scoffs. “I do not.” “No? What other explanation do you have?” I nuzzle into his collar. “I think you do. I think you care about me.” “No.” I nudge his throat with my nose. “I think you like me.” I feel his jaw flex as he grits his teeth. “You’re a job. That’s it.” “Yeah? You got very angry, earlier.” I thread my fingers through his hair. “Almost like you’re emotionally invested.” “It would look bad if you got murdered by your stalker. You’re very high profile; I’d never live it down.” I run my hand down to his collar, fiddling with the buttons. “I think the thought of me getting hurt kills you,” I mutter. He doesn’t say anything, watching as I slowly pop the button on his collar. “Because, no matter how much you call me bossy,” I undo the next button, exposing a triangle of hard, tanned skin, “—or spoiled,” the next button goes, “—or a diva,” I slide my hand slowly under the thin fabric of his shirt, and watch a shudder roll through him. “I think you actually really like me,” I whisper. He reaches out suddenly, grabbing my hand. I look down at our linked fingers, my heart starting to pound. “It does,” he says, his voice rasping. His eyes burn into mine. “It kills me to think of you getting hurt, Briar.” Something in me softens. I flatten my hand across his bare chest. “I’ll try to stay out of trouble. Promise.” He snorts. “You couldn’t stay out of trouble if your lif...

Then he sinks his hands in my hair and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before.

“I’m not the one she sleeps with every night like a goddamn teddy bear, Smith. You’re what she needs, right now.”

“Because maybe if I have the scars, you’ll finally get it through your thick head that I’m in love with you!”

“I’m sick of it, Glen, I’m done with you acting like you’re not worthy of me just because of some goddamn collagen! I’m sick of you hiding from photographers to save my image. I’m sick of you hiding your face from me. I adore your face! I love it so much! I want to see it every day for the rest of my life!” Her chest hitches with a sob. I can barely breathe. “I thought you might be dead when that bomb went off. Do you think it would have hurt me less, because of your scars?” “It’s not like that—” I protest. She’s having none of it. “It’s exactly like that. You think you’re worth less than me.” She reaches up and brushes my cheek, and I have to fight the urge to pull away. Her lips purse. “These don’t make you worth less than any other man. If anything, they show how much better you are than most people. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. And maybe I’m selfish, but that’s why I want you, all for myself.”

“‘Cause it’s ridiculous, you dipshit.” I twist in his lap so we’re face to face. “Me loving you is not dependent on you ‘getting better.’ It never was. I didn’t want you to go to therapy for me. I wanted it for you.” I lift my hand, running my fingers over his stubbly cheek. “Because I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness. You deserve love. And,” I press my lips to his neck, feeling his pulse thrum under his skin, “you deserve a really hot, talented, smart wife. So gimme the ring, please.”