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I push his hand away. “At the time, yes, it was horrible. But now, I’m over it, somehow,” I say. “Now I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.” He laughs louder, then he doubles over, coughing. Very funny, indeed. But there’s something harsh, an edge to his voice as he laughs, and his laughter ends up being something else. Not laughter at all. “I don’t sleep with my bodyguards,” I add. “That was why you didn’t do it, right?”
I can’t let this go. I just need him to say the words. To say the truth.
But instead, he just says: “No.”
“No? That’s all you are going to say?”
“No, it wasn’t because I’m hired as your guard, Olivia.” His eyes find me, and I forget what I was going to say.
“Why then?”
“It was because I couldn’t—” he visibly stops himself from continuing. He swallows brokenly. “I can’t tell you right now, ok?” He coughs harder, and the sounds comes out rough and scary. He can’t catch his breath for a second, and I panic, but he finally gulps in a breath shakily. “Give me a minute, and I promise I’ll explain myself. I owe it to you.”
“You are lying,” I say, and tears are threatening, but I swear I won’t cry.
I won’t.
He presses his lips together. Another one of his mannerisms I recognize. My blood runs cold, because pursing his lips? It means he’s agreeing.
Dammit.
“Marco,” I try. “Look at me. It’s me. You tell me everything, right? Then tell me, why did that man shoot you in cold blood? Who was he? Who is after me? What do you know?” Silence. “Tell me the truth,” I plead. “Trust me as I trusted you.” Still nothing. His jaw works, but he doesn’t speak. “Is there something so weak, so horrible about me that makes people think I can’t be trusted with the truth? That makes everyone lie to me?” I’m kind of screaming by the end, but I don’t care.
My teeth are chattering so badly I can barely get the words out—I’m holding back sobs too, which doesn’t help, but let’s pretend that it’s the shivering that makes my voice shake for now.
Marco swears, and runs into the other room to grab a towel. He quickly wraps it around my shoulders, even though its bottom gets soaked. He begins to rub my arms up and down, a fierce look of concentration on his face. The skin on his arms is still wet, and looks marble-cold.
“Look at me,” I ask him again.
He does not.
“I lied to you,” he whispers, looking at my knees.
“Yes, you did.”
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” he murmurs.
“I am.”
His hands go still on my arms. He looks down at me, expectantly. What is he waiting for? For me to scream? To cry? To run away? I tried all of that, and guess what? The lying didn’t stop. I am numb. I am swimming in a sea of lies. I am suffocating in it. There is no escape; I won’t even try.
I just want to get into warm, dry clothes and makeup and take one normal breath before driving back to university to face the music. That’s all I want. My dad has probably already sent a plane to take me straight home. So be it. I’m sick of being here, in gorgeous Vermont where all these cinematic moments happened. All these cinematic moments that mean squat.
Because Marco was paid to babysit me and give me the movie experience.
Because Marco is a lie.
The thought just makes everything go dark. My body goes lifeless and I slip back into the water.
“Hey, no!” Marco’s arms are around me before I go under, and he lifts me so I’m sitting up in the bathtub.
My head flops back on the porcelain edge of the bathtub, and I stare without seeing at the stupid tilted wooden beams of the ceiling that had seemed so rustic and romantic yesterday. It had felt as if we had been the only two people in the world, hiding here, in our own private fairytale.
Now it’s a nightmare.
“Open your eyes, Olivia, I need to keep you awake until you’re warmed up,” Marco shouts, rubbing my arms furiously. “Olivia! Please, please. Livy.”
He’s crying as he says my name, but my eyes drift closed, and it’s too hard to open them. I’m too cold and too tired and too sad. I can’t.
