Chapter - 18

BRIDGET POV....

WE SPENT FOUR GLORIOUS , PERFECT DAYS IN COSTA RICA.

unbathing, and reading a romance novel I’d picked up at the

airport. Bucket list number two.

On our third day, Rhys drove us two hours to Monteverde for

zip lining. He said the company was the best in the area and he’d

zip-lined with them several times himself.

Still, his face was taut with tension as I prepared to go down

the longest zip line. We’d only done the shorter cables until now,

and they were fun, but I was ready for more.

The one I was about to get on stretched high above the cloud

forest, so long I couldn’t see the other end of it. A mixture of

excitement and nerves twisted in my stomach.

“Check her again,” Rhys said after our guide gave me the

thumbs up.

No one bothered arguing. Rhys made the guide triple-check

my harness before I went down every line, and arguing was futile.

“If you get stuck, don’t panic,” Rhys said after the guide

okayed me—again. “We’ll come get you.”

“By ‘we’ll,’ he means me,” the guide joked. “But yes, we will

come get you. Don’t worry, miss.”

“I hadn’t thought about getting stuck until now, so thank you for

that,” I said wryly.

Rhys’s stern expression didn’t budge, but all thoughts of his

grumpiness disappeared when I got into position. The guide gave

me a push, and I finally raced down the line. The wind whipped

through my hair, and I couldn’t hold back a huge grin.

Ziplining looked scary from the ground, but once I was in the

air? It was exhilarating.

I closed my eyes, savoring the wind and the feeling of being

away from it all. No worries, no responsibilities, just me and

nature.

When I made it to the next treetop platform, I was still riding

high from the zip line, and I couldn’t resist teasing Rhys again

when he landed shortly after me.

“See? I’m fine,” I said. “You didn’t have to pick up pieces of me

from the ground.”

He did not look amused at all, but I didn’t care.

Bucket list number three, check.

For all his overprotectiveness, Rhys was more relaxed down

here. Not fully relaxed, mind you, but he’d ditched his all-black

outfits for shorts and—gasp—white T-shirts, and he agreed to

most of the activities I wanted to do with minimal complaint,

including parasailing and an ATV tour.

The one thing he refused to do, however, was get in the pool

with me, and on our last night, I made a last-ditch effort to change

his mind.

“I’ve never heard of a Navy SEAL who doesn’t swim.” I

stepped onto the terrace, where Rhys was drawing in his

sketchbook. He hadn’t shown me any of his sketches yet, and I

hadn’t asked. Art was deeply personal, and I didn’t want to force

him to show me anything if he didn’t want to. “Come on. It’s our

last day, and you haven’t taken advantage of this once.” I swept

my arm at the gleaming pool.

“It’s a pool, princess.” Rhys didn’t look up from his book. “I’ve

been in pools before.”

“Prove it.”

No answer.

“Fine. I guess I’ll swim by myself. Again.” I shrugged off my

cover-up and let the filmy white material cascade to the floor

before I walked past Rhys toward the water.

I

may have walked more slowly than normal and added an

extra sway to my hips.

I may also have worn my skimpiest, most scandalous bikini. I

did, after all, have one more bucket list item to check off.

I’d been drunk when I’d told Rhys about my bucket list, but I

was sober now, and I still wanted him to help me fulfill item

number four.

I was attracted to him; he was attracted to me. That much was

obvious after what happened in my room post-Borgia. He wasn’t

going to be my bodyguard much longer, and no one would know

unless we told them.

One wild, passionate hookup with my sexy bodyguard before I

took on the duty of a lifetime. Was that too much to ask?

I waded into the pool and bit back a smile when I felt the heat

of Rhys’s gaze on my skin, but I didn’t turn around until I’d

reached the far edge of the water. By the time I looked at him,

Rhys’s head was bent over his sketchbook again, but his

shoulders held a tension that hadn’t been there before.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” I cajoled. “The water

feels amazing.”

“I’m good,” he said curtly.

I sighed and let it go…for now.

While he sketched, I swam laps around the pool, reveling in

the water against my skin and the sunshine on my back.

When I finally came up for a break, it was near sunset, and the

warmth of golden hour cast a hazy, dreamlike glow over the

surroundings.

“Last chance, Mr. Larsen.” I slicked my hair back and blinked

the water out of my eyes. “Swim now or forever hold your peace.”

It

was cheesy, but it made Rhys’s lips curve before they

flattened into a stern line again. “You gonna stop bugging me if I

say no?”

I grinned. “Probably not.”

My heart jumped when he closed his book, set it on the table,

and stood.

I hadn’t expected him to give in.

Rhys walked to the pool, pulling his shirt over his head as he

did so, and I lost the ability to breathe.

Broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted muscles, abs one could

grate cheese on. Absolute masculine perfection.

My core pulsed as my eyes ate him up. Tattoos swirled across

his chest, both biceps, and one side of his ribcage, and a deep V

cut arrowed toward what—based on what I’d felt when he’d bent

me over my dresser—was a very impressive package.

Rhys entered the water and swam toward me, his big,

powerful body slicing through the liquid blue as gracefully as a

dolphin.

“There. I’m in the pool.” He came up beside me, a lock of

damp dark hair falling over his eye, and I resisted the urge to push

it out of his face. “Happy?”

“Yes. You should go shirtless more often.”

Rhys’s eyebrows shot up, and my cheeks flamed before I

quickly amended, “You seem more relaxed that way. Less

intimidating.”

“Princess, it’s my job to be intimidating.”

If I never heard the words it’s my job again, it would be too

soon.

“You know what I mean,” I grumbled. “You’re always so on

edge in the city.”

He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you have C-PTSD.”

Complex PTSD. I’d looked it up after he told me he had it.

Symptoms included hyper-vigilance, or being constantly on guard

for threats. Unlike regular PTSD, which was caused by a singular

traumatic event, complex PTSD resulted from long-lasting trauma

that continued for months or even years.

My heart squeezed at the thought of what he must’ve gone

through to be diagnosed with the condition. “Does the art help?”

“Kind of.” Rhys’s face was unreadable. “But I haven’t been

able to draw anything in months.” He jerked his chin toward the

table. “I was just messing around. Seeing what I came up with.”

“When you do, I want to see it. I love a good security alarm

sketch,” I joked before I remembered we only had one week left

together.

My smile faded.

Rhys watched me closely. “If that’s what you want.”

I wanted a lot of things, but none of them had to do with art.

“Can I tell you something, Mr. Larsen?”

He dipped his head.

“I’m going to miss you.”

He went still, so still I thought he didn’t hear me. Then, in an

uncharacteristically, achingly soft voice, he said, “I’m going to miss

you too, princess.”

So don’t go. There had to be a way he could stay. He wasn’t

part of the Royal Guard, but he’d been with me for two years. I

didn’t see why I had to change guards just because I was moving

back to Eldorra.

Except for, of course, the fact Rhys would have to move to

Eldorra with me. He may have lived with me all this time, but there

was a difference between live-in protection in the U.S. and moving

to a different country for an indeterminate length of time. Plus,

he’d resigned first.

Even if I convinced the palace to extend his contract, would he

be willing to accept the offer?

I’d been too afraid to ask in case he said no, but the clock was

ticking.

A loud pop went off in the distance before I could broach the

subject, and Rhys turned sharply to see fireworks explode in the

sky.

He relaxed. I didn’t, because I finally understood why he’d

never taken his shirt off around me before.

His back—his strong, beautiful back—was covered with scars.

They crisscrossed his skin in angry, near-white slashes, peppered

with a few round marks I was positive were cigarette burn scars.

Judging by the way Rhys’s shoulders tensed, he must’ve

realized his mistake, but he didn’t hide them again. There was no

point. I’d already seen them, and we both knew it.

“What happened?” I whispered.

There was a long silence before he responded. “My mother

liked her belt,” he said flatly.

I sucked in a breath, and my stomach lurched with nausea. His

mother did that to him?

“No one said or did anything? Teachers, neighbors?” I couldn’t

imagine abuse of that level going unnoticed.

Rhys shrugged. “There were plenty of kids in bad home

situations where I came from. Some of them had it a lot worse

than me. One kid getting ‘disciplined’ wasn’t going to raise any

eyebrows.”

I wanted to cry at the thought of young Rhys so alone he was

nothing more than a statistic to those who should’ve looked out for

him.

I didn’t hate a lot of people, but I suddenly hated everyone who

knew or suspected what he’d been going through and didn’t do a

damn thing about it.

“Why would she do this?” I brushed my fingers over his back,

my touch so light it was barely a touch. His muscles bunched

beneath my fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

“Let me tell you a story,” he said. “It’s about a beautiful young

girl who grew up in a small, shitty town she’d always dreamed of

escaping. One day, she met a man who was in town for a few

months for business. He was handsome. Charming. He promised

he’d take her with him when he left, and she believed him. She fell

in love, and they had a passionate affair. But then, she got

pregnant. And when she told this man who’d claimed to love her,

he grew angry and accused her of trying to trap him. The next

day, he was gone. Just like that. No trace of where he went, and it

turned out even the name he gave her was fake. She was alone,

pregnant, and broke. No friends and parents to help her out. She

kept the baby, perhaps out of hope the man would return for them

one day, but he never did. She turned to drugs and alcohol for

comfort, and she became a different person. Meaner. Harder. She

blamed the kid for ruining her chance at happiness, and she took

out her anger and frustration on him. Usually with a belt.”

As he spoke, his voice so low I could barely hear him, the

pieces fell into place one by one. Why Rhys refused to drink, why

he rarely talked about his family and childhood, his C-PTSD…

perhaps it was the result of his childhood as much as it had been

his military service.

A small part of me empathized with his mother and the pain

she must’ve gone through, but no amount of pain justified taking it

out on an innocent child.

“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” I said. A tear slid down my cheek

before I could stop it. “I hope he knows that.”

“He knows,” Rhys said. He rubbed my tear away with his

thumb. “Don’t cry for him, princess. He’s all right.”

For some reason, that made me cry harder. It was the first time

I’d cried in front of anyone since my dad died, and I would’ve been

embarrassed had I not been so heartbroken.

“Shhh.” He wiped away another tear, his brows drawn into a

deep frown. “I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not the best way to end

a vacation.”

“No. I’m glad you did.” I reached up and covered his hand with

mine before he could pull away. “Thank you for sharing it with me.

It means a lot.”

It was the most Rhys had opened up to me since we met, and

I wasn’t taking it for granted.

“It’s just a story.” But his eyes were stormy with emotion.

“There’s no such thing as just a story. Every story is important.

Including yours.” Especially yours.

I

released his hand and swam around to his back, where I

brushed my fingers over his skin again before pressing the

smallest, gentlest of kisses on one of the scars. “Is this okay?” I

whispered.

His muscles bunched further, so tense they trembled beneath

my touch, but he responded with a tight nod.

I kissed another scar. Then another.

Everything was silent except for Rhys’s ragged breaths and

the faint roar of the ocean in the distance.

I’d stopped crying, but my heart still ached for him. For us. For

everything we could never be because we lived in the world we

lived in.

But right now, the rest of the world didn’t exist, and tomorrow

hadn’t come yet.

Last chance.

“Kiss me,” I said softly.

A shudder rolled through him. “Princess…” The nickname

came out low and rough. Pained. “We can’t. You’re my client.”

“Not here.” I wrapped my arms around him and placed one

hand on his chest, where his heart pumped fast and hard beneath

my touch. “Here, I’m just me, and you’re just you. Bucket list

number four, Mr. Larsen. Remember?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Yes, I do. I’m not drunk like I was the night after Borgia. I

know exactly what I’m doing.” I held my breath. “The question is,

do you?”

I

couldn’t see his face, but I could practically see the war

raging inside him.

He wanted me. I knew he did. But I didn’t know whether that

was enough.

The water rippled around us. More fireworks exploded in the

distance. And still, Rhys didn’t answer.

Just when I thought he would shut me down and walk away,

he let out a low curse, turned, and yanked me to him, and I only

had time to draw a quick breath before his hand fisted my hair and

his mouth crashed down on mine.

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