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As we both start to walk toward the structure, our steps slow, and I glance at her. “But what about you? Didn’t you grow up in the same household with Walker?” I stop, turning toward her. “You didn’t have enough pain to keep you away from … all of this?” I wave around.
All at once, I see her walls go back up. Her body language changes, not completely cold, but she tenses until, finally, she shrugs. “I mean, if I hadn’t agreed to it, I wouldn’t be exploring Rome,” she jokes, giving me a small, fake smile. “Am I right?” She jerks her chin toward the Colosseum entrance. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s do this.”
Briar James just pulled one of my own moves. On me. I tried to take things deeper, and she shut me the fuck down.
It seems I’ve met my match. And given the situation we’re in, I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.
“Despite how it started, this day has ended up being one for the books,” Briar says, walking next to me as she brings the spoon to her lips and licks it clean.
I tear my gaze from her, feeling a jolt shoot right to my dick.
Waving her spoon lightly, she smiles. “Also, this gelato literally tastes like the most delicious latte.”
I take a bite of my own and shrug. “Tastes like ice cream to me.”
Her mouth hangs open. “No, it so doesn’t!” She sounds offended. “This is like … ice cream, mixed with orgasms, and crack sprinkles on top.”
Of course my cock twitches again from her words, but I ignore it. Because, well, what the fuck else am I going to do?
“That’s very detailed,” I say back. “But, yeah, I’m not getting that. I mean, have you ever had Ben & Jerry’s?”
“I’ll give you that; it’s good,” she admits. “I’ve only tried one flavor. Chocolate fudge brownie, I think it was? And only once. But it was good, yes.” Bringing another spoonful to her mouth, she takes a bite and moans. “But this … this is next level.”
“You’ve only had Ben & Jerry’s one time?” I frown. “Isn’t that, like, everyone’s favorite type of ice cream?”
“Maybe so,” she says nonchalantly. “But I grew up poor. If I wanted ice cream, I had to hope that I got invited to someone’s birthday or that there was an ice cream party at school.” She laughs once. “Although there was this older woman who lived on the next street over. Sometimes, I’d deliver cards to the neighborhood, and she’d give me an ice cream sandwich. Those aren’t bad either.”
She speaks about how her family couldn’t afford something as small as ice cream like it’s nothing. Talking with humor, almost downplaying it all. But that’s not the only thing she said that intrigues me.
“Cards? What kind of cards?” I ask, stopping at a trash can and throwing away my now-empty paper cup. “Like, birthday cards? Or what?”
“Just, like, regular ol’ cards. If I knew it was their birthday or heard they were sick, I’d just drop one off.” She shrugs. “Sometimes just ones to brighten people’s days.” Laughing lightly, she shakes her head at herself. “Or that’s what I believed anyway. That a handmade card with my immature artwork, which was sloppy as hell and more of an outlet than anything else, would make people smile.” She scrunches her nose up, still smiling. “Looking back at it now, I’m sure they’d see me coming and be like, Oh shit, it’s that girl with her shitty cards again. Hide.”
Once she’s done making fun of herself, she dips the spoon back into her mouth, working her tongue against the plastic before she tosses hers in the nearest trash can too.
“Or … it made them happy,” I say, tilting my head to the side as I look at her. “And it let them know someone actually gave a shit.”
For a moment, she stares at me in awe, appearing surprised by my words and maybe trying to figure out if I’m just bullshitting her. But eventually, she gives me a pointed look. “I’m not sure about all that. I remember a few of them. And they were not great.”
Quickly, she holds her arms out and gives me a huge grin. “On a different note, can I just say, I explored Rome today?! I got to go inside the Colosseum, which I had only seen in a history book at school, and I just ate gelato, which is one thousand percent better than ice cream, no matter what you say.” She lets her arms fall, still beaming at me. A smile so big that it’s contagious. “Thank you, Hudson. This is the best day ever.”
As those words roll from her lips, she stares at me differently than she ever has. Her eyes don’t look away; instead, they light up more. Her body language has changed. She looks happier, like she’s comfortable with me, trusting even.
And just like that … the hope and joy I was just feeling … it’s gone. Because I’m brought back to reality. And the reality is, I shouldn’t be allowing her—or any woman—to look at me like that.
“Did you have fun too?” she asks as we walk along the sidewalk. She’s still smiling, but her smile doesn’t light up my heart like it did a minute ago. Now, it makes my chest hurt.
“I did,” I answer, pulling my eyes away from her and looking straight ahead. “We’d better get going back to the complex though. It’s getting late.”
“It’s, like, seven at night.” She frowns. “That is so not late.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think your fiancé would love the idea of you being out past seven, walking the streets with me,” I answer coldly, hoping it’ll get the point across that I’m not interested in being her friend. Or anything else. And I’ll keep telling myself that till I believe it too.
“Okay then,” she mumbles, trudging beside me.
And for the rest of the walk to the car and all the way home … we don’t speak a word. That’s okay because I shouldn’t be talking to her anyway. I’m just her bodyguard after all. Nothing else.
For a few hours, it was like we were two normal people, having a regular day, seeing the sights of Italy. But just like every single other time I start to feel somewhat normal, the guilt comes from nowhere, making it impossible for me to think about anything other than knowing I shouldn’t be here right now.
