Viktor walked beside me. Close enough that our shoulders almost touched. Far enough to maintain deniability if anyone saw.
“He is going to eat something disgusting,” Viktor said, watching Apollo snuffle through the hedge.
“Probably.”
“Then he will be sick. Then I will have to clean it up.”
“You don't have to clean up after my dog.”
“Someone has to. You would just stare at it and feel guilty.”
I laughed. “That's fair.”
Apollo found a stick. Not the rope we'd brought. A stick. A regular, dirty, probably bug-infested stick from the ground. He picked it up like he'd discovered treasure and trotted over to Viktor with it.
“No,” Viktor said immediately.
Apollo dropped it at his feet.
“I am not throwing that. It is covered in dirt and probably disease.”
Apollo sat. Tail wagging.
“You have perfectly good rope. Use the rope.”
Apollo nudged the stick with his nose. Looked up at Viktor. Whined softly.
“This is emotional manipulation.”
Tail wagging intensified.
“Sebastian. Control your dog.”
“He's your dog now. You're the one he's in love with.”
“I did not sign up for this.”
“You signed up to protect me. He comes with the package.”
Viktor stared at the stick. At Apollo. At me. Then he picked up the stick and threw it. Apollo bolted after it like Viktor had just thrown a winning lottery ticket.
“You are the worst bodyguard,” I said, grinning.
“I am excellent bodyguard.”
“The job description didn't include playing fetch.”
“Job description did not include many things.” He watched Apollo return with the stick, mouth open in a panting grin that looked suspiciously like laughter. “But here we are.”
Apollo dropped the stick. Viktor threw it again without being asked. Some kind of détente had been reached. Apollo had won. Viktor was pretending he hadn't lost.
“You're smiling,” I said.
“I am not smiling.”
“The corner of your mouth is up. That's a smile in Viktor language.”
“That is facial muscle spasm.”
