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She never barked at Price.
Isn’t that strange?
In a blue button-down and navy slacks, Price stands by our wicker chair, a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the cushion. His gaze remains solely on mine, no roaming down my body, strictly professional.
“Why didn’t I get the itinerary the same time as the other bodyguards?” he asks, pissed by our constant deception. He has a right to be frustrated and angry with us, but we’re just trying to protect ourselves.
My eyes flit to the dresser, the sonogram splayed flat. I don’t think he can see it from where he stands.
Ryke approaches Price. “Greg may fucking trust you, but he’s not the one you’re following everywhere.”
Price sighs in annoyance like we’ve been down this road. We have, but he can’t possibly understand how much we’ve all been burned. Ryke’s own mother hurt him. My friends. Ryke even had to stop talking to people from college because they kept selling stories to the press. One girl also sold his boxer-briefs on eBay.
How can we tell who the bad apples are when we only discover the rotten cores after we’ve bitten in? I’m sick of biting in and wanting to puke.
“That’s just it, I’m not following you anywhere. You won’t let me.” Price looks at me. “Your bodyguard, Mikey, isn’t coming back, and you need someone, so you’re going to have to treat me like the others. I should’ve been given an itinerary the same time as them—if not sooner. I’m your bodyguard.”
I try not to crumble easily, but I feel so bad.
“Hey,” Ryke says roughly to Price, “this isn’t like hiring a fucking accountant. We have every right to be cautious, especially since we didn’t hire you.”
I walk to the dresser, thinking I can grab some clothes and hide the sonogram at once.
Of course, Price follows me. “What else do I need to prove? I helped Daisy during New Year’s. I could’ve diffused multiple situations before it escalated—like the one at the zoo.”
I rest an elbow on the sonogram and spin around to face him. “I just need space, like for you to give me room to breathe.”
He takes a couple steps back. “Is this better?” he asks in seriousness.
I nod. “Yeah.”
Ryke nears the dresser too, but he takes out a pair of boxer-briefs. He whispers to me, “If we give him the itinerary the day before the wedding, he’ll have less time to fucking leak it.”
“If we give it to him now, it’s a good test,” I whisper back, slyly slipping the sonogram in my underwear drawer.
Ryke thinks about this while he pulls on his dark green boxer-briefs, hardly caring about Price’s presence when it comes to being naked.
Coconut skips around my feet, her big beady blue eyes smiling up at me.
“Can I have the itinerary now?” Price asks. “I don’t even know what country we’re flying to.”
Ryke nods from me to the walk-in closet, where we keep the itineraries. Our decision made. As I go collect one, he asks Price, “Did Greg ask you anything fucking strange during your interview?”
“What do you mean by strange?”
Ryke still thinks there’s a possibility Price was hired to break us apart. “About your personal life.”
I turn on the closet lights and search through a cardboard box on the floor, but I can still hear them outside, especially since Price drifts closer to me on instinct.
“He asked me if I like snowboarding and water sports. He also wanted to make sure I wasn’t afraid of heights, and that I was willing to try new things.” He pauses. “Of course he also asked if I’m single, my dating history—”
“What?” Ryke snaps.
“You don’t understand,” Price says easily. “Pairing bodyguards with celebrities is a lot like matchmaking. Daisy lives a single, unattached lifestyle—no offense.”
I can feel Ryke fuming.
I hesitate on grabbing the itinerary.
“We’re not in a fucking open relationship,” Ryke retorts. “She’s attached to me. She’s not single! I’m not fucking her sister!” He’s livid, and I peek out of the closet. Veins protrude in his neck. I didn’t think that all those rumors—where I’m not really with him, where I could easily move on to another man—ate at him that much.
Maybe he didn’t even realize it until now too.
Price doesn’t look scared by conflict, which is probably a good bodyguard trait. He raises his hands to ease tension. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that she lives on the go. She pairs well with someone like me who’s single and unattached so I can freely go where you need to go. Garth, who has three children and a wife, could never keep up with you two.”
Ryke rubs his unshaven jaw and then glances over his shoulder. At me.
Should we still give him the itinerary? I ask through my eyes. This decision involves us both, and I can’t do it if he’s not comfortable.
Ryke thinks for a second and then he nods.
I collect the itinerary to give to my bodyguard. In this gesture I’m pleading, please, don’t break our hearts.
DAISY CALLOWAY
When we first started dating, cornstalks among us like witnesses to the moment, Ryke asked me what I wanted. In that cornfield, I told him, I want to be fully committed to someone, to be married, probably earlier rather than later. And I do want babies. Maybe like three. I also want to travel and visit the great seven wonders and scuba dive and stand beneath a waterfall in Costa Rica, kissing you.
I smile, remembering his reply. Not in that order.
Not in that order, he started giving me everything I wanted.
It’s what I think as I stare out at a breathtaking mountain in Peru, the grays and browns blanketed with moss. Machu Picchu is our view for the rehearsal dinner. A long wooden table is set along the greenest grass, private and spectacular. The lodge is far behind us, lost among foliage.
Tomorrow, I’ll be married right here.
Among one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.
We’re so fortunate to be married in a place like this, and that fact is never lost on me. Ryke and I already asked our family to donate to our favorite charities instead of buying us wedding presents. Though, I suspect a couple of people will break our rules and do both.
It’s also been paparazzi-free so far. It does help me trust Price a little more, but after that whole “single and unattached” conversation, Ryke still has his guards raised. Protecting me.
As night falls, torch flames flicker all around us. My parents have finished off three rare bottles of Merlot with Sam, Poppy, and Connor. Everyone seems to be at ease and stuffed full of chicken, beef, and pulled pork sliders with twice-baked mac and cheese. We consume our dessert slowly, two types on the menu for all the chocolate haters.
Lo demolishes his strawberry shortcake in record time.
For me—I just want to draw out the warm brownie experience for as long as possible.
Lo leans back, his wooden chair creaking. “It’s official.” He tilts his head towards his older brother. “You were born crazy.” On the lawn, a projector flashes photographs to a huge white screen. The newest one: a little Ryke hanging off a red cliff with one hand. He’s roped and harnessed but he can’t be older than seven or eight.
“Born to be wild,” I tease with a widening smile. Maybe in another world, we would’ve been friends that young. I would’ve been closer to his age. Life would’ve been fun growing up with him.
His arm, set on the back of my chair, suddenly falls to my shoulders.
My heart backflips at the simple touch and his closeness and that darkened, mysterious gaze. Nervous energy insulates me, and I tuck my feet beneath my bottom. Such a strange feeling. Like butterflies on a first date.
Even now, just being near this guy—six-foot-three, brooding, masculine, protective and so soulfully caring—double-thumps my pulse. Like it’s the first time his fingers have grazed the skin on my arm. Like it’s the first time his eyes have roamed over me a
nd bored through me.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Electrifying. He lights me up, and I’m completely and totally glowing tonight.
He’s touching you.
Your future husband is touching you, Daisy.
Such a silly thought, but it has me all twisted inside.
“Hey, I remember that,” Sully says across the table, digging into his brownie. Chocolate lovers for the win. He points his fork at the screen. “Our instructor took the photo and he so conveniently cropped me out.”
“You were belaying and way behind me,” Ryke reminds him.
Sully shakes his head, his mop of shaggy red hair swaying with him. “It was a clear case of ginger bias. Twenty years later and you still can’t cop to the facts, dude.”
“Facts?” I smile.
“There are none,” Ryke says.
Sully raises his finger, chugging a glass of water. Everyone waits intently since Sully is the only gateway to Ryke’s childhood.
“Here’s the fact,” Sully says, “our instructor always paired me last with another climber.”
“Because you were fucking skinny, and he wasn’t sure you were skilled enough to belay someone twice your size.”
Sully jabs his fork in Ryke’s direction. “See, now there’s skinny bias. I can never catch a break.”
Ryke tells the table, “Don’t let Sully fucking fool you. When we were able to choose ourselves, we always picked each other first for trad and sport climbs.”
Sully grins into his next bite of brownie. I’m really happy that he’s a part of our wedding ceremony. Ryke was a little worried that he’d be halfway across the world today and tomorrow, traveling wherever his heart took him. Luckily, his heart landed him in Peru with us this week.
The slideshow changes to a new picture. I like to call it Daisy Calloway’s Sixth Halloween. I’m sliding down someone’s banister with a bag of candy, my gray mustache, monocle, and yellow pants suit all the rage. At least in my mind.
