This is the only part of this job that I hate—sedentary, actionless watching. Not going to lie, it feels pointless. My time as Amelia’s bodyguard here in Rome has been very uneventful. Which is amazing for her—boring for me. The threat to her out here has been pretty much nonexistent. Honestly, this town does such a great job keeping watch over her all on their own. I’m not even sure she needs a bodyguard here. If anyone catches wind of paparazzi or suspicious people resembling fans in the town, the phones start ringing. One by one residents trickle through the town square until everyone is alerted, and Amelia is safely taken out the back entrance to her truck and driven home.
Which is why I’m not needed. It would have been hard for me to leave knowing Amelia was in real danger, but the only danger to her right now is stubbing her toe on the front stoop of her house. Time to move on. It’s going to be so great to keep busy and explore new places again. To not have to deal with Mabel’s nightly chamomile tea checks. Or Phil’s constant badgering about whatever sale he’s running. Or this meddling town trying to petition Annie and me apart. Or the constant temptation to take Annie in my arms and make love to her with promises and plans. It’s all too much. I’ve decided Ethan was right, and eventually I’d like roots and stability, but I’ll catch it on the next round with someone I don’t love as much as Annie. I’m not ready yet. I can’t do it.
To kill the time, I do rotations of push-ups and sit-ups for a while. After that, and when my leg starts bouncing again, I set up my laptop in front of the security screens and open the web browser. I don’t even know why, but before I realize it, I’m typing in the local community college. It’s been buzzing around my head like an annoying fly ever since Annie asked me if I regret not going to school.
As I scroll through the website, I’m bombarded with pictures of happy students eating together at an outside table, studying together in a library, diligently taking notes in class wearing—you guessed it—big ole smiles. None of that looks appealing. But as I scroll down farther, I see a section listing their featured programs, and I can’t help but wonder what I would do if I wasn’t a bodyguard. In high school I had plans for becoming an engineer, but I don’t think that was ever really my dream. It was just the most important-sounding career I could think of to impress my parents.
I did enjoy math, though. A lot. Still do.
My cursor hovers over Education in the list of programs, and I picture myself standing in front of a group of students, pointing to my name on the whiteboard. And then Annie steps through the classroom door with an apologetic smile and hands me the coffee thermos I left on the counter that morning.
I immediately slam the laptop shut.
“What the hell are you doing?” I mutter to myself as I run my hands through my hair.
Is this going to be how it is from now on? Am I going to constantly be thinking of Annie? What color overalls she’s wearing that day? What she’s been up to? Is she dating anyone? Is he going to be able to give her everything I can’t? Will they have a family? Babies? Damn, he’s going to sleep with Annie. He’s going to hold her and touch her and…great, now I’m just pissed.
I’m irrationally angry toward a dude who doesn’t even exist yet. I just need to text her. One text to see how she’s doing, and then that will put my mind at ease.
But when I get out my phone, a perimeter breech notification pops up on one of my screens. Amelia is not expecting anyone because she decided to spend the day in the studio. My body immediately goes on alert as my eyes scan the monitor. Shit. Some dude wearing a T-shirt with Amelia’s face blown up to maximum size has climbed the gate and is currently running up her driveway holding a box. So much for uneventful.
I jump from my chair and it topples over behind me. In two seconds flat, I’m out the door and running at full speed behind him. “Stop!” I yell, knowing he’s not going to. Obsessive fans like this never do.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” he yells over his shoulder, tucking the box under his arm like he’s carrying a game-winning football to the end zone.
“Great, then stop where you are and we can talk!”
“Not until she sees what I have for her in this box.”
Please don’t be something nasty.
He doubles down on his sprint, but he’s not fast enough. I catch up to him quicker than he was anticipating, and slam him to the ground.
