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She gives me a small, tight-lipped smile and nods. “Mr. Romano wants you to find your dress because the wedding will be whenever he has time in his work schedule. So, that’s what we’ll do—get a dress so you’re ready. It’ll be fun.” She gives me a wink. “Hey, we can make it a girls’ day and get pedicures afterward.”
When she pushes the door open, I see the guard from last night, Hercules, standing next to a large black SUV with windows so dark that I can’t see inside.
With Natasha, I don’t feel like I have to pretend I’m as oblivious as I am when I’m around the Romanos or my uncle. With her, I can joke around a little without worrying that I’m going to piss someone off.
“A girls’ day with that guy?” I mutter as he opens the back door for us to climb inside. Looking at him, I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the painted-toe type.”
He doesn’t look at me or smile. He simply waves his hand toward the seat, instructing me to climb in like a good little girl.
Sighing, I shrug my shoulders. “Fine. Fine. I’m going. I’m going,” I huff out. “It’s a little creepy though, you know? You tagging along on girls’ day and not getting a pedicure. So, just take one for the team, roll those pants up, pull those socks off, and treat yourself.”
Still, he shows no emotion as he shuts the door behind us before jumping behind the wheel. His white button-down hugs his arms in a way that makes me drool. I clearly have a screwed-up brain—one that finds men who shoot and kill others, like he likely did last night, hot.
“Bailey, we’d like to look for a dress first, and then we’d love to get pedicures.” She glances down at her phone. “There’s a place about two miles from the dress boutique.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls slowly, giving her a slight nod and nothing else. “And, uh … not to be rude, but it’s Hudson. Or Hercules.”
Embarrassment floods her face, and her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh, I know your name. I’m so sorry. One of the other security guards who has traveled with us also had tattoos, and his name was Bailey. I’m sorry about that.”
“No big deal,” he says coolly, not showing a single ounce of emotion.
Something about him intrigues me, though I have no idea why, other than he’s fun to look at. I am also curious to know how he ended up here as my bodyguard when I know he worked for my uncle back in the States before because I heard Beckett talking about him.
I didn’t put it together last night when Enzo called him Hercules. When Beckett refers to him, he always calls him Hudson.
“Is he, like … going to be with us all day?” I whisper to Natasha, moving my eyeballs to Hudson in a secret message like she doesn’t already know that’s who I’m talking about. “If so, that’s pretty weird.”
She shrugs. “You will get used to it.” She glances out the window. “Besides, he’s with us for a reason, Briar. Trust me, now that we are in Romano territory, you’d much rather him be here than be alone.”
I know what she’s saying. Danger. We need a guard. We need this big, bulky, tattooed, intimidating-AF hunk of man meat to keep us safe. If I stopped and really thought of the reasons why we needed a guard, I’m sure it would be unsettling. So, right now, I refuse to think about it at all.
Blowing out a breath, I turn toward the window and stare as we head through the streets of Italy, making our way to pick out a wedding dress. One I’ll wear on the day I marry a man who I’m sure has the blood of many people on his hands.
Just another thing I can’t stop to think about too much.
Sort of like the man last night, who was covered in sweat, panic on his face as Hudson yanked him outside before a gun went off.
Yep. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that.
I look at him again, watching him in the mirror, admiring his sharp jaw. His chin has one of those subtle dimples in the middle, but somehow, it makes him more appealing. I make a mental note to add these little touches I’m noticing to my drawing later. Only for the future purpose of nailing each and every person here, of course. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s hot.
Nah. Nothing at all.
As his eyes glance back to the back seat, just for a split second before returning to the road, a chill runs down my spine.
He’s the hottest specimen I’ve ever seen. And I’m thinking that even after knowing he shot someone.
I stand by the door, looking straight ahead. I make sure to keep my eyes off the girl as she walks out of the changing room over and over—each time in a new white dress. Even without looking, I can feel her uneasiness from across the room, indicating she’s not all that enthused about this whole wedding shit.
“Briar, that one …” her aunt says, almost gasping. “That is absolutely stunning on you.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the flash of bright white as she steps before the mirror. And finally, I dare myself to glance at her. Just once and only for a split second. But once I’ve looked, fuck me, it’s hard to keep my eyes off of her.
I stare. Too fucking long, I stare. And suddenly, it’s like I’m taken back in time to seven years ago. My breath hitches, and my heart begins to feel like a stampede.
Her daddy brought her up the three stairs to where I stood in front of the archway before releasing her to me. She looked stunning, giving me a cheesy grin.
“What do you think?” She winked. “Was it worth the wait?”
