by Shandi Boyes
I bite on the inside of my cheek to ward off my smile. When I attempt to roll over to face Marcus, he holds on tightly, refusing my request. I pout, even though the room is so dark he can't see me.
"How did Cameron handle the news of you wanting to fly out again so soon?"
Marcus stiffens for the quickest second before he murmurs, "He is paid well enough he knows his opinion doesn’t count." His reply is nearly drowned out by the sizeable yawn breaking free from my mouth.
“Go to sleep, Cleo,” Marcus demands, his bossy tone sending the thump of my temples to my aching sex.
“I’m not tired,” I lie. I’m so exhausted, I’m finding it hard to keep my eyelids open.
When I grind along Marcus's thickened rod, which is braced against my panty-covered backside, his deep growl rolls through my ears. I yelp when his teeth unexpectedly sink into my earlobe. His bite is soft enough for excitement to cluster in my core, but firm enough to divulge its execution was more for punishment than pleasure.
After lavishing the sting of his teeth with the lash of his tongue, Marcus repeats. “Go to sleep, Cleo, or your disobedience will require punishment. And it won’t be in the way you're hoping.”
Hearing the snip of danger in his warning, I stop grinding against him and nuzzle deeper into his embrace. With his closeness warming both my heart and my body, mere seconds pass before I fall blissfully asleep.
Several hours later, I wake up startled, disoriented, and confused. As one of my hands rubs the sleep from my eyes, my other creeps along the warm bedding in search of Marcus. I sigh when my exploration comes up empty. The bed is void of another soul. I scoot up the mattress to rest my back on the headboard, muted with confusion. Marcus was here last night, wasn’t he?
Leaning over, I switch on the lamp on the bedside table. Once the room illuminates with unnatural lighting, I scan my eyes over the expansive space, ensuring I am alone. It's a replica of how it was left hours ago. The only difference is I'm tucked under the comforter instead of sleeping on top of it. That isn't unusual for me. As a child, I often fell asleep on the floor only to awake hours later in my bed. I assumed it was my dad moving me, but I guess now that isn't the case.
Baffled by the empty room, I snag the pillow next to me and lift it to my face. I inhale deeply, relishing the scent of Marcus's skin on the pillow. There is no doubt he was here. His scrumptious smell is too fresh and invigorating to have been left days ago.
Squealing with excitement, I fling off my comforter and race into the bathroom to get ready. I'm so eager to see Marcus again, I throw my hair into a messy bun on top of my head as I frantically scrub my teeth and gums with a toothbrush. Happy my breath is minty-fresh, I exit the bathroom. Although my pace is brisk, it isn't fast enough to miss a small card tucked into the edge of the last vanity mirror. As my brows stitch with suspicion, I pace toward the card and pluck it from its inconspicuous hiding place.
My eyes lift to scan the room, certain that card wasn’t there when I showered last night. Everything in the bathroom is meticulously in place—as expected for any residence in Marcus’s realm. Ignoring the rattle of my hands, I drop my eyes to the rectangular card. My breath snags halfway to my lungs when I read the handwritten note.
The most beautiful smiles hide the deepest secrets;
the most dazzling eyes hide the number of tears they have shed,
and the kindest heart is usually the most broken.
Actions always prove why words mean nothing.
* * *
I flip the card over, seeking any indication as to whom the message is from. Although my heart swears the note is from Marcus, receiving this card the morning following Lexi receiving one has my worry intensifying. There are no identifiable markings on the postcard. It seems as if it magically appeared, thwarting my panic at the same time it triggers it.
Seeking answers, I push off my feet and exit the bathroom. I gallop down the stairs two at a time, not stopping until I crash into a wall of hardness—literally.
“Whoa, Cleo, slow down. Did you take too many vitamins this morning?”
Lifting my eyes from the ground, I'm met with the twinkling gaze of Brodie. He has a mug of steamy hot coffee in his hands and is sporting a set of tired bags under his eyes, which is surprising since he went to bed hours before me. The suspicion tainting my blood grows when I notice how rumpled his clothing is. I swear that's the same outfit he was wearing last night. Has he not showered since yesterday?
I splay my hands across my cocked hip. “Why are you wearing the same clothes you had on last night?”
My rigid stance eases when Brodie replies, "Lucy had a fever last night. Although I couldn't be there in the physical sense, I could morally. I stayed up with her, retelling her favorite fairytales." His last handful of words are muffled by a massive yawn.
“Oh. . .” I’d like to say more, but guilt has stolen my words.
“Is she okay now?” I ask once I’ve regained the ability to talk.
Brodie’s hand scrubs his tired eyes as he nods. “Yeah, probably just a virus of some sorts. Kids are full of germs.”
Smiling at his screwed-up expression, I say, “I can only imagine.”
My hand splayed on my hip slithers to my back when Brodie nudges his head to the card I’m clutching. “What’s that?” he asks with interest.
“Umm . . .” I graze my teeth over my bottom lip as I contemplate a reply. It’s a very long minute.
Realizing Brodie could aid in un-riddling my confusion, I pull the card out from my back and hand it to him. I watch him in silence, categorizing every expression that crosses his face as he reads the small message scripted on the card. His eyes blaze with a similar range of emotions I felt while reading the card for the first time.
Brodie connects his eyes with mine. “Who gave you this?”
I answer his question with a shrug.
“Do you recognize the handwriting? Is it Marcus’s?” he continues to interrogate, his words hurried.
Concerned by the worry in his tone, I once again shrug.
“You need to give me more than shrugs as answers, Cleo,” Brodie chastises, his tone void of any amusement. “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”
“I don’t know who it’s from. I woke up to it lodged in the bathroom mirror.” Ignoring the apprehension in Brodie’s eyes which has exploded to full-blown worry, I add on, “I believe it's from Marcus, though.”
“Why?” Brodie snaps, shocking me with his curt tone.
“Who else would it be from?”
Brodie glares at me, his stare anything but pleasant.
"Marcus came home last night. He snuck into my bed around 2 AM. Putting two and two together, it's pretty obvious who the message is from. Let alone your disheveled appearance.” I mumble my last sentence under my breath, but the look crossing Brodie’s face tells me he heard it.
Acknowledging I can’t dig my hole any deeper than it is, I ask, “Was Lucy really sick last night? Or was a pedantic rock star the real cause of your tiredness?”
Not taking the time to absorb my snippy comment, Brodie says, “Meet me in the foyer in five minutes.” His curt tone ensures I can’t mistake his demand as a question.
“But I want to see Marcus.”
“I just finished sweeping the house. Marcus isn’t here. Five minutes, Cleo.”
Snubbing my slack-jawed expression, he takes the stairs two at a time, disappearing before I have the chance to articulate one of the many gripes running through my brain.
Nearly two hours later, Brodie pulls into a cute little double story house in a community east of New York. He hasn’t even clambered halfway out of his car when the cutest little squeak of, “Daddy!” roars through my ears. I recognize the flurry of blonde galloping down the stairs from the photos Brodie showed me Saturday night. It's his daughter, Lucy.
Excited squeals bellow out of Lucy’s mouth when their meeting halfway down the painted sidewalk results in her being twirled into the air. Her
gleeful giggles make fond memories of my dad greeting Lexi and me the same way rush to the forefront of my mind. God, I miss my family.
Lexi must be feeling the same sentiment, as the angry mask she’s been wearing since I begrudgingly dragged her out of bed clears away the longer she watches Brodie and Lucy interact. Nothing can compare to the love a parent has for their child. You can love someone with every ounce of yourself, and it still wouldn't represent the love parents have for their children. The love from a parent isn't the same as the love you crave from a spouse. They are unique and special in their own right.
At Brodie’s request, Lexi and I unlatch our seatbelts and climb out of his car. The frigid breeze rattling my bones does nothing to lessen my excitement when Lucy greets me by wrapping her tiny arms around my thighs and squeezing me tightly. When she releases her death-like grip, I bob down to face her eye to eye.
“Hi, Lucy,” I greet while running my hand down her hair to smooth the pieces floating in the wind from Brodie’s robust twirls. “It's a pleasure to meet you. Are you feeling better?”
Lucy nods her adorable head. “Yes, thank you.” Her words are so undeveloped, I swear she said, “Spank you” not thank you.
Shocked by my disturbing thoughts, I stand from my crouched position so I can watch Lucy greet Lexi in the same manner. Smiling, I accept the hand Lucy is holding out, then follow her into the quaint home where I stay for the next three hours, learning all aspects of Brodie’s life.
I’d like to say the stories shared were full of rainbows and lollipops, but unfortunately, that isn’t the case. Brodie’s wife, Caroline, passed away when Lucy was six months old. Although Caroline has a large family, as far as Brodie is concerned, Lucy is the only family he has. With Brodie’s hours being sporadic, he has a live-in nanny who aids in raising Lucy. Ms. Mitchell has a heart of gold, and her fondness for Lucy is unmissable. Her children are grown, but she is not yet a grandmother, so she has plenty of time to devote her motherly attentiveness to Lucy. It's the perfect predicament. One I hope will last for many years to come.
After bidding farewell to Ms. Mitchell with a kiss on the cheek and promising Lucy we'll come back to visit soon, Lexi and I shadow Brodie to his car. Heat blooms across my chest when I see the indecisiveness in Brodie's eyes. I can see how much he hates leaving Lucy without a word needing to spill from his hard-lined lips.
“Why do you do it?” I latch my belt.
Brodie starts his ignition and reverses from the driveway of his family home before locking his eyes with mine. “Do what?”
“This.” I gesture my hand around his car, hovering more on Lexi and me. “There are plenty of positions that wouldn’t require overnight stays, so why do it?”
Brodie takes his time configuring a response. I don't know whether he is stumped or doesn’t appreciate me analyzing his choices. I'm not at all judging his parenting. I saw him interact with Lucy; she is a well-adapted four-year-old who is well-taken care of and loved. I'm just trying to understand why he'd work in a field where they are forced to be apart.
My eyes lift from my intertwined hands when Brodie says, “I did consider a change in career when Caroline passed away. I even took an extended leave of absence from my position, but this type of industry is hard to give up. Once it’s in your veins, you can never fully remove it.”
His response seems more heartfelt than one you'd expect from a bodyguard. Don't get me wrong, I've always believed in having pride in your position, but his response seems more than just pride. His job is important to him.
Before any more interrogating questions can filter from my mouth, the shrill of a cellphone rings through my ears. Brodie taps on the device in his ear before saying, “Shian, did you find anything?”
My suspicion piques when Brodie continues with his conversation. If I’m not mistaken by the snippets of his reply, he didn’t introduce Lexi and me to Lucy to prove she was unwell; he needed us out of Marcus’s residence. The only thing I can’t fathom is why.
My silent questions are answered when Brodie disconnects his call and locks his eyes with mine. "The card you found in the bathroom wasn't from Marcus." The swirling of my stomach doubles when he says, "The handwriting matches the card Lexi received yesterday. Whoever broke into your house yesterday was in Marcus's house last night."
“But you said Andy is in custody,” Lexi interjects, leaning forward to join our conversation.
“He is.” Brodie nods.
“Then who sent the card?” Shock is in my tone.
Brodie shrugs. "I don't know, but until we find out, you’re going to become well accustomed to this space." He gestures his hand between the small portion of air sitting between us. "I've just become your new best friend, Cleo."
He wasn’t joking. He did precisely that for the next four days.
13
My eyes lift from an article on the rapid advancement of technology’s effects on diversity when a commotion at the door gains my attention. Lexi has her shoulder propped up on the entrance of Marcus's office. Her lips are facing down, and her eyes are dull.
"If I spend another moment cooped up inside, I’ll go bonkers," she mutters, her words enunciated with an exaggerated huff.
I peer at her over the screen of Marcus’s laptop when she moseys into the room, her steps sloth-like. “I thought you were studying?”
“I am; I did; I conquered. Can we please do something more invigorating today? I’m bored out of my fucking mind.”
Lexi and my eyes missile to the door in sync when the distinct rumble of Aubrey sounds over the quiet. Although there are a good dozen or so feet between us and the cookie-smelling room Aubrey is baking in, I'm confident she heard Lexi's curse word. Just like Marcus, Aubrey is not a fan of derogatory comments, sneered words, or any mention of God's name attached that isn’t a prayer.
Over the past four days, Lexi has been learning the hard way that swearing isn't acceptable in this residence. Although her punishment hasn't been as spine-tinglingly delicious as the course I endured last week, she is quickly learning disobedience limits rewards, whereas obedience doubles them.
“Great, there goes my afternoon snack,” Lexi grumbles under her breath.
She props her backside onto Marcus's flimsy desk before dropping her eyes to the document on my screen. "What are you working on?" Although she is asking a question, she keeps talking, foiling my reply. "Snoozefest. Why are you writing about that? Magazine articles are no different than novels. If you want to sell stories, write what you read."
“I like reading about this stuff; it’s interesting,” I argue with an immature roll of my eyes.
Lexi makes snoring noises, cutting off any further replies I was planning to give.
“Oh, is that Chains?” she asks when an email notification pops up on the screen.
My pulse quickens as I drop my eyes to the monitor. Although Marcus’s messages have been more sporadic than usual the past three days, I still cherish every one I get. His messages and phone calls are brief but sweet enough to cause a toothache.
Not wanting Lexi to snoop on my private conversation, I minimize the screen on my laptop and click on the email. Realizing it's a message from the security company Marcus hired to install a state-of-the-art security system in my home in Montclair, I return the screen to its original position.
Lexi tries to hide it, but I see the quickest flare of excitement blaze in her eyes when it dawns on her she is mere hours away from returning home. Although I’ve pleaded and begged for her to stay with me at Marcus’s house until the culprit of the notes is apprehended, she is refusing my requests. She is siding with Jackson, believing both notes were delivered before Andy was arrested, and my poor eyesight is the cause for me not noticing it earlier. Considering we haven’t had any dilemmas the past four days, my apprehensions are beginning to swing in the opposite direction as they did days ago.
“So can we go out?” Lexi drags my focus back to the present.
Confused by her q
uestion, my brows furrow. “Go where, exactly?”
“To lunch,” Lexi questions as her legs swing wildly in the air.
I eye her suspiciously, shocked by her blasé response. She usually only acts skittish when she is hiding something.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lexi,” I say, unable to read the prompts her eyes are relaying.
Lexi drops her bottom lip and gives me the biggest puppy dog eyes she’s ever issued. “Please, Cleo. Why can’t we go out?” Her whiny voice makes her sound more like a teenager than a twenty-one-year-old woman. “Shian said Andy’s bail hearing isn’t until Monday, so there is no reason for us to hide out. Please…. I really really really want to get out of this house.”
Her whining stops when my cell phone buzzes and vibrates on Marcus's desk. Like every time it dings announcing a message, my hopes kick into overdrive that it's from Marcus. Unfortunately, my dreams are left for dust when the screen displays the message:
Unknown number: What’s a girl got to do to get a lunch date around here?
If I hadn't recognized the tone of the message, the shit-eating grin on Lexi's face would have disclosed my caller's identity either way.
“Are you and Serenity conspiring against me?” I ask Lexi, swiveling the screen of my phone to face her.
“No,” Lexi lies, nodding.
I try to hide my smile from her double-meaning reply. It's a hard-fought battle. “Yes or no, Lexi; which one is it?”
“We aren’t conspiring against you. We’re just colluding so you’ll join us for lunch,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Conspiring and colluding are the same thing,” I mumble, laughter in my tone.
Lexi crosses her arms in front of her chest as she shakes her head. "No, it isn't. Conspiring is when you're doing something evil. Colluding is when you work together for the greater good."
My eyes roll skywards. Her excuse is as weak as the one Marcus used when arguing that negotiating and comprising are separate entities. They are the same damn thing.