“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Pouring cereal. Fetching socks.”
I find a bowl and spoon and pour some Cap’n Crunch for myself. “Most security officers don’t just look out for threats. They become part of their principals’ lives. Do things to make them more comfortable. More at ease. Protection is often more about a state of mind than a physical barrier.” This is more or less true, but I’ve never fetched a pair of socks for a client before. I would have told them politely where to shove the socks if they’d ever asked.
“Do you always like your principals?”
“I rarely like my principals.”
She gives a barking laugh. “I thought you were going to feed me some bullshit about always liking them.” Noticing me frowning, she says, “What?”
I know I’m overstepping a boundary even before the words come out of my mouth. It’s instinct, to take care of her, to correct her. And she’s so cocky with me that it will do her good if I keep pushing back. “Don’t use such a pretty mouth for bad language.”
Her expression goes blank for just a second, and her eyes drop to my mouth. I wonder if she’s about to tell me to piss off, but with a puzzled frown she turns back to her cereal.
So she will listen to me. I start to imagine what sort of effect I could have on her if she were my...but I rein the thought in as it’s too heated, too arousing, imagining her obedient and sweet and curled up in my lap while I kiss that soft mouth of hers. It would take a great deal of work disciplining someone as bratty as Adrienne Westley. Very pleasurable work.
I clear my throat and reach for the morning paper. “Do you read the Herald?” I ask.
“That rubbish? Please.”
Outside I can hear the journalists yapping loudly to each other and into their phones, so to drown out their indistinct voices I read her her horoscope, and then spread out the cartoons. As we finish Garfield I come to a decision.
“Hey. How about you blow off class today. When was the last time you had a little holiday?”
She reaches back to her ponytail and fiddles with the long strands of her hair. “Like a day off? A while. I sort of just paint and study the days I’m not in class.”
“Want to stay here and just watch movies and draw?” I ask, thinking of the crayons and pencils upstairs.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you know something I don’t? Is there some danger out there that I—”
“Adrienne.” She stops talking. “There’s no danger. I would tell you if there was. And I want you to start thinking of me as your friend. Despite what you think, I’m not here to please your father and I’m not your enemy. I’m here for you.”
She gives me a long, suspicious look, as if she’s not sure whether to believe me, and then she goes back to eating her cereal.
I tidy up the paper, watching her out of the corner of my eye. For now she’s calm, but if I have to tell her that her father’s been arrested I’m certain that all hell’s going to break loose.
* * *
I take Dieter up to my room and he checks emails on his phone while I lie on my belly a few feet away and color in a unicorn. He’s right. It has been a long time since I’ve had a day off to just do fun things, and I can feel myself being soothed as I finish the unicorn and move on to drawing a large purple dragon. Every now and then my mind drifts to my father, wondering what’s happening; wondering if he’s being polite to the police, or shouting at them. I’m sure it will be the latter by the time they’re done with him. My father doesn’t have much patience for formalities.
I sneak looks at my bodyguard from time to time, trying to figure him out. He’s not as severe today, sitting on the floor amid my pastel debris. His shoulders are against the wall, knees bent. There’s no tie or jacket and his black shirt is open at the neck, sleeves rolled back. There’s strength in those arms. I remember the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around my body as I kissed him.
I bite my lip. That kiss. I’ve given him every reason to quit. So why is he still here? I can’t get past the feeling that he’s a spy for my father, despite his assurances otherwise. He knows me uncomfortably well already, as he showed me when he was waiting for me downstairs. I didn’t have a plan for where I would go, I just needed to get out of the house. Would Dieter have really let me go? I couldn’t tell if he was bluffing or not.
I’m adding green to the dragon’s scales when I hear him swear under his breath. He’s frowning at his phone. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing, sweetheart.” He says it absentmindedly, as if he’s not even aware that he’s saying it. I rub my socked feet against e
ach other, watching him.
Is this what having a bodyguard is like? Someone who is fierce and caring by turns, who’ll suggest a silly day off if he thinks you’re feeling stressed? He said I could hate him as long as I let him do his job, but for some reason I don’t really want to hate him anymore.
He notices me gazing at him and he looks up and smiles. “What’s up?”
I shake my head and go back to my coloring.
We spend the rest of the morning doing silly things. He puts Aladdin on the TV in my room and we watch it while I draw pictures that aren’t for a project and that don’t really stretch me as an artist. I rarely let myself do this for hours on end as I feel guilty about not doing “proper” things with my time. But Dieter’s right. I can blow off proper things for a day.