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My guard is beginning to shepherd me towards the limo, because the crowd is getting a little bit too wild, but I can’t move. I’m rooted to the spot.
I might be hallucinating.
I must be.
What other explanation could there be for the fact that I thought I just saw Marco in that line of guards?
He looked so strange in his bodyguard’s uniform—I’ve never seen him in it before. I crane my neck, trying to see, but the sea of people has swallowed him up. And of course, he can’t have been real. There’s that, too. It was just a trick of the brain. I look again, one last time, not willing to let go of the dream, before I turn away towards the car.
And that’s when I see it.
His tawny head, freshly shaven. His beautiful eyes, searching for mine.
I don’t think, I run.
…
I run towards the line of palace guards so fast, I hear my bodyguards yelling behind me as they scramble to keep up. But it’s out of my hands now.
I can’t contain myself. I reach the line of uniformed men, most of whom I have never seen before in my life, because this is not my personal guard, and I see him. Up close. He looks frozen too. Scared out of his mind. He must be five or more pounds thinner. He’s towering over me—and over most of the other guards—his cheekbones are more prominent, his jaw clean-shaven and all kinds of square, and his eyes are shining and brilliant, focused on mine.
And I jump on him. At least I try. I intended to jump into his arms, but the reality is that immediately there are all kinds of guards’ arms around me, restraining me, keeping the people from surging on me like a ravenous beast.
“Liv!” Marco screams, sounding scared out of his mind. He’s getting pushed behind by all these guards scrambling to keep me safe.
“You’re here!” I scream back.
“I’m sorry,” he yells to be heard over the clamor. “I’m sorry, Olivia!” I just stare, and my body goes numb. Seriously? This is what he wants to yell across the crowd to me right now?
I forget that I wanted to give him space, I forget that I wanted to give him time to decide if he wants to be pulled into the mess that is my life ever again. I forget everything except my need to be near him, to chase that haunted look off his gorgeous, sculpted, tortured, sad face. I run to him again, and a guard picks me up bodily from behind and carries me inside a building, screaming into his earplug for security to surround the premises.
I don’t even care where they take me; all I want to see is whether Marco is following.
And he is.
The guard puts me on my feet gently, and turns to Marco:
“I can give you five minutes,” he says, and steps back a little, but he doesn’t go far. Already there is a ring of uniformed guards forming around us, but I ignore them (or try to) and turn to Marco.
But he speaks before I get a chance to say anything, his gaze shifting between me and the door, looking all kinds of regretful. Ah, perfect. Here I am, melting in a puddle on the floor here, and he just wants to be somewhere far far away. I start stepping backwards. I need to leave. This was a bad idea.
“I’m sorry,” Marco says quickly, his eyes so impossibly blue beneath his furrowed brows. He looks pale and his lips are trembling, but his back is straight, his body stiff in the guard’s posture. That’s the first thing he tells me after dying. ‘Sorry’. “I can imagine that you want nothing less than to see me right now, or ever…” Wait, what? “I’ll go. I just couldn’t live with myself without… I just wanted to be your bodyguard one last time.”
I stop his words with my mouth.
His lips stay closed against mine, frozen in shock for a split second. And then he opens them on an exhale so relieved his knees buckle. I grab on to him to steady him, and he bends his legs in order to reach down to my height, and closes his lips around mine. He sinks into me, opening his mouth like a drowning man, his hands in my hair, on my cheeks, cupping my chin.
We kiss for the whole five minutes they’ve given us, and then some.
We kiss until his hands have explored every single inch of my neck and face, until we can scarcely breathe. We melt into each other, and I don’t know where his lips end and mine begin. His body feels hot, electric beneath mine. He’s come back to life.
He’s come back to me.
“What are you doing, my queen?” He lifts his head from mine long enough to look me in the eyes. His are spilling over with tears.
“What does it look like? I’m kissing you.”
“In front of everybody.”
