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Huan looks uncharacteristically flushed. “It’s true. Which is another reason I’ve been released from protecting you—for I am quite compromised. The other agents recognized it on the flight and reported me. No—don’t look mad—they are right to do so. I can’t be objective around you like I should. Iknowthat.”
He’s lost his job because of me. He didn’t quit. They fired him.
“How are younotupset?” I shriek.
Especially at me. Is that why he won’t touch me?
“Because I don’t wish to be your bodyguard,” Huan says.
More pain hits me.It hurts.
“It was impossible,” he says with desperation. “I don’t want to deny like that again.”
“Deny?”
“Pretend—as if I’m in control. Stop myself from wanting more. Doing more. As if you haven’t completely forced yourselfinto my thoughts.” His eyes rove over me.“Komal, I’m so tired of putting on a front as if I wouldn’t give everything to you.”
I shoot forward and grip the front of his shirt. “Y-you are tired? Do you know how many mental aerobics I’ve had to play on myself, convincing myself that I’m only here to demand answers from you when really, that’s not it at all?”
“You don't want answers?”
“No! I came here to fight—to negotiate like a shark—to give you a thousand reasons why you should give this a chance. And then—then if you had your arguments against it—begging—”I throw my hands up. “It’s exhausting how cool I’m trying to play it. I mean, this is all your fault!”
“Myfault? I thought I was drawn to you before, but then you had to reveal more of yourself in London. You didn’t bother hiding how crafty you get, or how beautiful your face is when it lights up with genuine happiness. As your protection agent, I shouldn’t be wondering about a smile—that’s not my job." He covers his face with a hand and rubs. “Or your mouth when it turns into a line because your big, logical mind is in overdrive. I shouldn’t be driven to madness, so curious about what you’ve got planned, or how you see the world, or what brave and cooky ideas live inside you?—”
“Screw that,” I say, poking him in the middle of chest.Look at me.“I completely blameyou.”
He drops his hand. Before Huan can argue, I follow up more loudly. “You—You are the one who has invaded me with your fairness and your kindness. Do you know how I struggled having you with me in London? My god, I’m surrounded by all these wonderful sights, and I keep looking over atyou. There is no relief unless we’re talking and no relief unless we are touching in some sort of way”—my hands gesture excessively—“but that’s not all. It’s not like I’m only obsessed with your cock despite itbeing utterly magnificent, because what I want just as much is to hold your damn hand.”
His hand blindly gropes for mine. I practically slump in relief when he finds it.Finally.
“London was absolute torture,” I complain.
“Torture,” he agrees vehemently. “And yet the thought of it ending felt like it was going to destroy me.”
“Do youknowhow much I hated my phone, because I didn’t want to see the date and calculate how fast it was going?”
He uses our hands to pull me closer. “I didn’t think I could open myself up again.”
“You’ve been through so much already. I never want to hurt you.” Our foreheads meet. “You've lost your sister.”
“I know I've said I can’t care again, but I can. I do. I was already gone when I tried to stop it, but the caring was already in me. What I’ve realized—learned—is I don't ever want to not have you.” His voice lowers, gets raspier. “That's why I can't be your bodyguard, standing and watching from the outside.Thatruins me.”
“Now you’re officially not my bodyguard?—”
“No. Are you... okay with that?”
I am okay with whatever arrangement lets me hold Huan like this.
He visibly hesitates, grimacing a bit. "You—you've got everything. Youareeverything. I know I don't measure up to your life?—”
“No.” I shake my head, bumping into him, perhaps a bit aggressively. Not that Huan budges. He has shown to be able to take me even when I get agitated and over-excited like this. "You don't get to tell me something stupid like how you aren't good enough. That I'm the famous one. That you don't measure up. Don't do that to me. Don't tell me how I feel or what I'm allowed to do. I’m—quite sick of all that.”
He frowns. "I know, but?—”
“Do you trust me?” I ask in a very demanding tone.
“With my life.”
