I’ll keep it close to my heart.
I step into camera range and make a slow, deliberate point of tucking the phone in my bra, patting it twice and then blowing my observers a kiss.
“You’re killing me, Jules!” Dax’s voice carries clear from downstairs. He’s probably standing right at the bottom. I jog down to catch him, but he’s already gone, so I shout “perverts!” in through the open guards’ room door and run down to meet Sylvie. I laugh until I cough, then I laugh until it stops being funny and finally, I laugh at the fact I’m laughing. When I open the passenger door to Sylvie’s classic VW bug—if you can even call the old rust bucket a classic—my face is red and my jaw hurts.
“You seem like you are in a good mood.”
Just hearing her voice sours my brief happy.
“I’ve been annoying, Dax,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you were, and I’m sure he likes it.” She smiles genuinely and tips her head, gesturing for me to climb in. I hesitate. Any time spent with her seems like too much time. In the end, I’m here because Dax asked me to try. This way, no one can say a bad word about me when things inevitably go to shit—and with the way Sylvie switched earlier, I’ve no doubt there’s more than one face to this girl.
Sure, I’ll give her one more chance because, like my grandmother always said,people are fallible. Sometimes we just fuck shit up and we don’t know why. So, give second chances—but never third.
She revs the engine and drops the clutch, shooting forward and propelling us around a central grass verge. We bound down the drive to the main gate and the road beyond.
I hold onto the carved handle in the door and grip for my life, partly to prevent bouncing into Sylvie as she drives and partly to hold the door closed. The damn thing is so rickety all it needs is a hole in the floor, and we could pick it up and run it down the road.
“I’m sorry!” she shouts over the noise of the engine. I have nothing to reply. Sorry is just a word. It will be a while before she shows me if she is really sorry or not. She sounds genuine enough, and her expression dances the line of contrite and concerned. For now, I have to take her word for it, but I’ll be watching her.
“There are a lot of women who would go after Dax for the money,” she continues, attempting to excuse her behaviour. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t one of them.”
“Sylvie, when I found Tom on the stairs, the only thing that stopped me from running away was that he could have been my brother. In another seventeen or eighteen years, that might have been one of the twins, and what if someone just left them to die? I didn’t help him for a reward. I did it because it was the right thingto do,” I snap.
“I know. I really am sorry. There are only three people I love. One of them is dead, the other you saved, and the third has smiled and frowned more times in the last twenty-four hours than he has in years. I can’t say I’m pleased that it’s you and not me that made the difference, but I will come around. That’s more about me and nothing to do with who you are. I’m sorry.”
“How about we just get to where we are going in one piece? You don’t say the ‘S’ word again for the rest of the day and I’ll try to let yesterday go. Give us both another chance.”
Sylvie’s entire body relaxes, the tension draining from her as a twinkle of mischief glows within her eyes. “Deal. Hold on tight, I am going to put my foot down.”
“Oh God, do you have to?”
“How else will the boys get any excitement?” She nods at her rear-view mirror and, sure enough, a large black sedan weaves through the sparse traffic to keep up with us.
With a grin, I realise I might have just found something in common with Sylvie.
Fifteen stores, twenty-two bags, and five pairs of shoes. The pile grows so conspicuous that it becomes a safety issue and is commandeered by our suit-wearing shadow protectors. A muscular, bearded suit by the name of Cas, rolls his eyes at me as he picks up the latest of Sylvie’s acquisitions.
“Is she done now?”
“God, I hope so, Cas. My feet are killing me, and no amount of fancy coffee is going to make up for the embarrassment of having all those people seeing me mostly naked.” I wince at the thought of the shop assistants and personal dressers that Sylvie sent in to help me try all the clothes she wanted me to model. Turns out, Sylvie’s idea of an apology involves using me as her own personal dress-up doll.
I glance over to the corner where Sylvie chats into her glittery-pink phone. She dances around absentmindedly, lifting onto her tiptoes and performing mini pirouettes at breaks in the conversation. She’s light on her feet and more like a doll than I could ever be. Her thick, curled, black hair hangs in swathes downher back. She flicks it back behind her ear and looks over to find Cas and I watching her. She lifts a single finger and mouths, ‘Sorry,’ before falling back into conversation.
“She’s hard work,” Cas admits.
“She is.” I’ve just learned first-hand how demanding she can be. Where I insisted on grabbing a new pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts, counting the totals in my head so I could pay her back with my meagre stash, she vetoed that and bought out half of the boutiques onThe Walk—the most exclusive shopping district in Harrison Heights. Even Cas and the car full of bodyguards aren’t out of place here.
“She’s a sneaky one. She likes to disappear for a day here and there. If she pulls that kind of shit today, Dax will have our heads,” he warns.
I snort. Cutting Cas a break, I let him in on a secret he probably already knows. “Dax has me tagged, but if she gets any ideas, I’ll give you guys a wave.”
“I’d appreciate that, Miss Girard.”
“No problem, and please call me Jules. Miss Girard is too weird. It doesn’t sound right.” I pull absentmindedly at a thread in the widening hole in my shirt.
“I understand. Well, this is the last load for now. Good luck, Jules.” He lifts the bags in both hands.
