Chapter - 4

RHYS POV...

Bridget and I arrived in Athenberg, Eldorra’s capital, four days

after my no-more-walking decree opened a second front in our

ongoing cold war. The plane ride had been chillier than a winter

dip in a Russian river, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t need her to like me to do my job.

I scanned the city’s near-empty National Cemetery, listening to

the eerie howl of the wind whistle through the bare trees. A deep

chill swept through the cemetery, burrowing past my layers of

clothing and sinking deep into my bones.

Today was the first semi-free day on Bridget’s schedule since

we landed, and she’d shocked the hell out of me when she

insisted on spending it at the cemetery.

When I saw why, though, I understood.

I

maintained a respectful distance from where she kneeled

before two tombstones, but I was still close enough to see the

names engraved on them.

Josefine von Ascheberg. Frederik von Ascheberg.

Her parents.

I’d been ten when Crown Princess Josefine died during

childbirth. I remembered seeing photos of the late princess

splashed across magazines and TV screens for weeks. Prince

Frederik had died a few years later in a car crash.

Bridget and I weren’t friends. Hell, we weren’t even friendly

most of the time. That didn’t stop the strange tug at my heart

when I saw the sadness on her face as she murmured something

to her parents’ graves.

Bridget brushed a strand of hair out of her face, her sad

expression melting into a small smile as she said something else.

I rarely gave a damn what people did and said in their personal

lives, but I almost wished I were close enough to hear what made

her smile.

My phone pinged, and I welcomed the distraction from my

unsettling thoughts until I saw the message.

Christian: I can get you the name in less than ten minutes.

Me: No. Drop it.

Another message popped up, but I pocketed my phone without

reading it.

Irritation spiked through me.

Christian was a persistent bastard who reveled in digging into

the skeletons of other people’s pasts. He’d been bugging me

since he found out I was spending the holidays in Eldorra—he

knew my hang-ups about the country—and if he weren’t my boss

and the closest thing I had to a friend, his face would’ve met my

fist by now.

I told him I didn’t want the name, and I meant it. I’d survived

thirty-one years without knowing. I could survive thirty-one more,

or however long it took before I kicked the bucket.

I

returned my attention to Bridget just as a twig snapped

nearby, followed by the soft click of a camera shutter.

My head jerked up, and a low growl rumbled from my throat

when I spotted a telltale pouf of blond hair peeking from the top of

a nearby tombstone.

Fucking paparazzi.

The asshole squeaked and tried to flee when he realized he’d

been caught, but I stormed over and grabbed the back of his

jacket before he could take more than a few steps.

I

saw Bridget stand up out of the corner of my eye, her

expression concerned.

“Give me your camera,” I said, my calm voice belying my

anger. Paparazzi were an inescapable evil when guarding high

profile people, but there was a difference between snapping

photos of someone eating and shopping versus snapping photos

of them in a private moment.

Bridget was visiting her parents’ graves, for fuck’s sake, and

this piece of shit had the nerve to intrude.

“No way,” the paparazzo blustered. “This is a free country, and

Princess Bridget is a public figure. I can—”

I didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence before I yanked the

camera from his hand, dropped it on the ground, and smashed it

into smithereens with my boot.

I didn’t like asking twice.

He howled in protest. “That was a five-thousand-dollar

camera!”

“Consider yourself lucky that’s all that got broken.” I released

his jacket and straightened it for him, the movement more a threat

than a courtesy. “You have five seconds to get out of my sight

before that changes.”

The paparazzo was indignant, but he wasn’t stupid. Two

seconds later, he’d disappeared through the trees, leaving the

pieces of his now useless camera behind. A minute after that, I

heard an engine turn over and a car peel out of the parking lot.

“I recognize him. He’s from the National Express.” Bridget

came up beside me, looking not at all surprised by the turn of

events. “The trashiest of the tabloids. They’ll probably run a story

about me joining a Satanic ring or something after what you did to

his camera.”

I

snorted. “He deserved it. I can’t stand people who don’t

respect others’ privacy.”

A small smile flitted across her face, the first she’d given me in

days, and the earlier chill abated. “He’s paparazzi. It’s his job to

invade others’ privacy.”

“Not when people are at the fucking cemetery.”

“I’m used to it. Unless I’m in the palace, there’s always a

chance what I do will end up in the papers.” Bridget sounded

resigned. “Thank you for taking care of that, even if your method

was more…aggressive than I would’ve advised.” A hint of

sadness remained in her eyes, and I felt that strange tug in my

chest again. Maybe it was because I related to the source of her

sadness—the feeling I was all alone in the world, without the two

people who were supposed to love me most by my side.

I’d never had that parental love, so despite the hole it left, I

didn’t understand what I was missing. Bridget had experienced it,

at least on her father’s side, so I imagined the loss was even

greater for her.

You’re not here to relate to her, asshole. You’re here to guard

her. That’s it. No matter how beautiful or sad she looked, or how

much I wanted to erase the melancholy cloaking her.

It wasn’t my job to make her feel better.

I stepped back. “You ready? We can stay longer if you want,

but you have an event in an hour.”

“No, I’m ready. I just wanted to wish my parents a Merry

Christmas and catch them up on my life.” Bridget tucked a strand

of hair behind her ear, looking self-conscious. “It sounds silly, but

it’s tradition, and I feel like they’re listening…” She trailed off. “Like

I said, it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly.” A tightness formed in my chest and spread until it

choked me with memories best left forgotten. “I do the same with

my old military buddies.” The ones buried in the D.C. area,

anyway, though I tried to make it out to the other places when I

could.

I was the reason they were dead. The least I could do was pay

my respects.

“Do you stay in touch with your friends from the Navy?” Bridget

asked as we walked toward the exit.

I kept an eye out for any more paparazzi or ne'er-do-wells, but

there was no one else around except for us and ghosts from the

past.

“A couple. Not as often as I’d like.”

My unit had been my family, but after what happened, it

became too hard for the survivors to keep in touch. We reminded

each other too much of what we’d lost.

The only person I kept in regular touch with was my old

commander from my early days in the Navy.

“What made you leave?” Bridget tucked her hands deeper into

her coat pockets, and I resisted the urge to draw her closer so I

could share some of my body heat. It was damn cold, and her

coat didn’t look thick enough to protect her from the wind.

“It

got too much. The deployments, the uncertainty, the

funerals. Watching the men I served with die right in front of me.”

The tightness squeezed, and I forced myself to breathe through it

before continuing. “It fucked me up, and if I hadn’t left when I

did...” I would’ve lost what was left of myself. I shook my head.

“It’s the same story as a lot of vets. I’m no one special.”

We reached the car, but when I opened the door for Bridget to

get in, she rested her hand on my arm instead.

I

stiffened, her touch burning through my clothes more

effectively than any chill or flame.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Both for what happened and for prying.”

“I got out years ago. If I didn’t want to talk about it, I wouldn’t.

It’s not a big deal.” I pulled my arm away and opened the car door

wider, but the imprint of her touch lingered. “I don’t regret my time

in the Navy. The guys in my unit were like brothers to me, the

closest I ever had to a real family, and I wouldn’t give that up for

the world. But the frontline stuff? Yeah, I was over that shit.”

I’d never shared that with anyone before. Then again, I’d had

no one to share it with except my old therapist, and I’d had

enough issues to work through with her without delving into why I

left the military.

“Yet you chose to be a bodyguard after,” Bridget noted. “Not

exactly a danger-free occupation.”

“I have the skills to be a good bodyguard.” A lot of former

SEALs went the private security route, and Christian may have

been a bastard, but he was a persuasive bastard. He’d convinced

me to sign on the dotted line less than a day after I returned to

U.S. soil. “Don’t think I’ve ever been in as much danger as since

you became my client, though.”

Her brow scrunched in confusion, and I almost smiled.

Almost.

“My risk of rupturing an artery increased tenfold.”

Bridget’s confusion cleared, replaced with an odd combination

of delight and exasperation. “Glad to see you found your sense of

humor, Mr. Larsen. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

A chuckle escaped my throat, the sound so foreign I barely

recognized it as my own, and something in my soul stirred,

nudged awake by the reminder other things existed besides the

darkness that had haunted me for so long.

Surprise flared in Bridget’s eyes before she offered a tentative

smile in return, and the something lifted its head at the further

encouragement.

I shoved it back down.

A laugh was fine. Anything else was not.

“Let’s go.” I wiped the smile off my face. “Or we’ll be late.”

***************************************

BRIDGET POV....

If I could sum up my relationship with Rhys with one song, it

would be Katy Perry’s “Hot N Cold.” One minute, we were fighting

and giving each other the cold shoulder. The next, we were

laughing and bonding over jokes.

Okay, bonding was too strong a word for what had happened

in the cemetery parking lot. Acting like normal human beings

toward each other was more accurate. And Rhys hadn’t so much

laughed as slipped up with a half chuckle, but maybe that

constituted a laugh in his world. I couldn’t picture him throwing his

head back with mirth any more than I could picture The Rock

dancing ballet.

But if there was one thing I’d learned over the past month, it

was I needed to take advantage of the ups in our relationship

when I could. So, after my planned “surprise” visit to a local high

school, where I gave a speech on the importance of kindness and

mental health, I brought up a topic I’d been avoiding for the past

week.

“I usually stay in Eldorra longer for the holidays, but I’m glad

we’re heading back to campus earlier this year,” I said casually as

we settled into our seats at a restaurant by the school.

No answer.

Just when I thought Rhys would ignore the bait, he said, “Spit

it out, princess. What do you want?”

There goes the grumpiness again.

A small frown touched my face. I felt like a kid asking

permission from a parent when I talked to him, which was

ridiculous, but he radiated such authority I sometimes forgot he

was my employee and not the other way around.

Well, technically, he was a contractor with the palace, but that

was a minor distinction.

“My favorite band is coming to D.C. in January. Ava and I

already bought tickets to see them,” I said.

“Band name and location.”

I told him.

“I’ll check it out and let you know.” Rhys snapped his menu

closed when our server approached. “Burger, medium rare,

please. Thank you.”

I

placed my order and waited for the server to leave before

repeating in a tight voice, “I already bought the tickets.”

Translation: I’m going whether or not you like it.

“Refundable ones, I hope.” His sharp gaze glided through the

restaurant, not missing a single detail about the patrons or room

layout.

Aaaand there went the down in our relationship, just like

clockwork.

“Your job isn’t to run my life. Stop acting like an overprotective

parent.” My frustration mounted. I would rather hate him all the

time than have my emotions swing back and forth like a broken

gauge. It was exhausting. “How are you still employed? I’m

surprised your previous clients haven’t complained to your

company about your…your…”

Rhys arched an eyebrow while I fumbled for the right words.

“Your overbearing tendencies,” I finished lamely. Dammit. I

needed a bigger arsenal of better insults.

“Because I’m the best. They know it, and so do you,” he said

arrogantly. He leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “You think I

want to parent you? I don’t. If I wanted kids, I’d get myself an

office job and shack up in some cookie-cutter suburban home with

a picket fence and a dog. I’m in this field of work to save lives,

princess. I’ve taken plenty of ‘em, and now—” He stopped

abruptly, but his words lingered in the air.

I

flashed back to his words from the parking lot. It got too

much. The deployments, the uncertainty, the funerals. Watching

men I considered brothers die right in front of me.

Rhys hadn’t gone into detail about what happened when he

was in the military, but he didn’t need to. I could only imagine.

Guilt and sympathy blossomed in my stomach and curled

around my heart.

That was why I vacillated so much in my feelings toward him. I

disliked Rhys’s attitude and actions, but I didn’t dislike him,

because I understood why he did what he did.

It was a conundrum, and unfortunately, I didn’t see a way out

of it.

“It only takes one slipup,” Rhys finished. “One second of

distraction, and you could walk into a minefield and get blown to

hell. One lapse of judgment, and you could end up with a bullet in

your head.” He leaned back, shutters falling over those gunmetal

eyes. “So no, I don’t give a fuck if you already bought tickets. I’m

still gonna check the place out, and if anything looks off, you’re

not going. End of story.”

My mind swirled with a dozen different responses, but the one

that came out wasn’t the one I’d intended to say at all.

“We’re not in a war zone,” I said gently. “We don’t have to be

on guard twenty-four-seven.”

Rhys’s jaw hardened, and even though he’d gotten out of the

Navy years ago, I wondered how long he’d been fighting his own

inner battles.

“Life is a war zone, princess. The sooner you understand that,

the safer you’ll be.”

While my life wasn’t perfect, it was far better than most

people’s. I knew that. I’d grown up in a bubble, protected from the

worst of humanity, and I was incredibly privileged for that reason.

But the idea of living life like I was at war with it every day made

me indescribably sad.

“There’s more to life than trying not to die.” I kept my gaze on

Rhys as our server brought out our orders and set them on the

table. “It’s just a concert. I promise I’ll be fine.”

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