One Night with her Bodyguard Read Free

about this, and she couldn’t make him suffer that way.
    “He’s
on the breakfast porch,” Stella said, with no further information about the
impending unpleasantness.
    During
the summer, her father ate breakfast next to the pool, but in the winter he ate
on a large glass sun porch, filled with ferns and potted flowers.
    Claire
found him there and took the seat across from him, after leaning over to give
him a kiss on the cheek.
    “Hi,
pumpkin,” he said with a smile. “Have some coffee and a muffin.”
    She
took a blueberry muffin and poured herself a glass of orange juice, since she
hadn’t had time for breakfast but she’d had plenty of coffee already.
    Her
father had been calling her “pumpkin” all her life. When she was a teenager,
she’d spent years trying to correct him, practically begging for him to call
her something less childish.
    He’d
never been able to change his habit, and now she didn’t even mind anymore.
    She
loved him, and they were the only family either of them had. He could call her
whatever made him happy.
    His
eyes—a warm brown that was exactly the same color as hers—rested on her
soberly.
    Without
thinking, she turned around to look at Michael, who was standing silently in a
corner of the room, trying to blend into the furniture.
    He
must have somehow found out she’d been sneaking out on Thursday nights and
blabbed to her father.
    “It’s
not a big deal, Dad,” she said quickly, deciding she better confront this head
on instead of just waiting for it to fall on her head.
    Her
father blinked. “It isn’t?”
    “No.
It isn’t. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe. I have to be alone sometimes.
I just have to.”
    Her
father wasn’t an extreme introvert—he wasn’t an introvert at all—but he’d
always tried to understand her distinct nature. He always did his best to
accommodate her needs, since his Hollywood world often forced her into a lifestyle
that was incredibly difficult for someone with her personality.
    She
didn’t want to upset him, but surely he would understand this.
    His
eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re alone when you’re home in your
apartment, aren’t you?”
    “Not
really.” She cut another quick glance over to Michael in the corner. “They’re
always hovering.”
    “Not
in your apartment, surely.”
    “No.
But I know someone is always there. Right outside. I feel them there all the
time. I’ve tried to do my best, since I know the security is important to you.
But I can’t do it all the time. I just can’t .”
    “I
understand it’s hard for you to have people around you don’t know very well, but
it’s just for a couple of months, until we track down this possible threat.” Her
father was speaking slowly, a little strangely.
    “But
I just don’t really think there is a threat. I mean, there was one
random note two months ago and then nothing ever since. I can’t live like this.
It’s bad enough for regular people to be surrounded by bodyguards, but for me—”
    “You are a regular person,” her father cut in, something angry flaring up in
his eyes. “Being introverted isn’t a psychological illness. Don’t you dare
imply otherwise.”
    Claire
rubbed her face, both frustrated and touched by her father’s fervor.  He’d
gotten remarried when she was twelve, and for the following four years of her
life she’d listened to argument after argument between her dad and stepmother
about whether her extreme shyness was a condition that needed professional
treatment.
    Her
stepmother, like a lot of the rest of the world, thought the only way to be
healthy was to be outgoing and willing to talk endlessly about one’s feelings. Her
father disagreed and had continued to disagree until the day they’d gotten
divorced.
    “I
know that. I just meant it’s bad enough for people who don’t need to be alone a
lot, but it’s even worse for me. I’m not exaggerating, Dad. If I’m always
surrounded by people, I just