Page 17 of Caterina
Not because I have no answer, but because I have too many.
I know what it cost him to say that.
Men like my father do not speak their fears often, and certainly not plainly. He is not sentimental. He is not soft. He does not sit people down and confess worry. He arranges things. He handles them. He moves pieces until the threat is gone.
This is his version of fear.
And I still resent it.
I square my shoulders. “I won’t be able to do my job like this.”
“Yes, you will.”
“You have no idea what it is like to have someone hovering over every move you make.”
His stare pins me where I stand.
“No?”
The word is quiet.
The effect is loud enough that I wish I had chosen a different line.
Because of course he knows. He was in prison for twelve years, faced with a much longer sentence, before being released early on good behavior.
For twelve years, every day, every move he made, he was watched. By guards, by other prisoners, by cameras.
I can feel my temper building for another round, feel the argument gathering in my chest, all the things I want to throw at him about autonomy and image and capability and the fact that I am not some porcelain thing to be locked up because men around me can’t get their loyalty straight.
I open my mouth.
He cuts me off before I can speak.
“Enough.” Flat. Final.
I go still.
I pushed him too far.
“This discussion is over,” he says, his tone leaving no more room. “You are getting the bodyguard. When the threat is over, he will be removed, and you can continue your life as it was. Until then, I won’t hear another word about it.”
My hands curl at my sides, but I don’t say anything.
“He will be at your house tomorrow morning.”
My jaw drops. “Tomorrow?”
“Early. You will put this mood away and be professional and courteous to the man who stands between you and danger. Do you understand?”
I stare at him, rage and disbelief tangling so tightly in my chest I can barely sort one from the other.
Then I grab my bag off the chair so hard the strap nearly slips through my fingers.
“This is insane,” I say.
He says nothing.
Because he does not have to.
