Page 1 of His Red Carnation

1

Sloane

I sat on a hard, uncomfortable plastic chair, my eyes fixed on the damp grass in front of me. The warm, wet spring air made my black silk dress cling to my skin, and the plastic beneath me stuck uncomfortably to the backs of my thighs.

“Sloane, sit up straight,” my mom muttered under her breath as she settled next to me.

I scoffed but straightened my back. The last thing I needed was to be scolded this early in the morning, especially on my eighteenth birthday. And especially at a funeral.

Grant, my bodyguard since I was a little girl, had suddenly dropped dead at forty-nine. Heart attack, they said. He was a healthy retired Navy SEAL, someone my dad had known since their twenties. His death had shocked the entire family—and made us all a little suspicious.

My father was in his third year as President of the United States. President Jacob Martin. Everyone adored him. Atforty, he was the youngest president ever elected, and people constantly compared him to a younger Patrick Dempsey. He was a beloved retired Navy SEAL, a national “hero” with a long list of medals and awards. The praise was endless.

But my mom, Ana—she was my hero. A fierce advocate for women’s and LGBTQ+ rights, environmentalism, and animal welfare. Yet, she was always in my dad’s shadow. I got it, he was the President. But one day, I knew she’d be the one in his shoes. Confident, graceful yet tough, and the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. With her dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and Spanish and Mexican heritage, she turned heads. She just turned forty a few days ago, right after Grant died.

His death had left us all on edge. The autopsy confirmed it was natural, but it was still jarring, losing someone so close so suddenly. Each of us had our own bodyguard, and now I was without one. My mom had kept me within arm’s reach ever since, which only added to my restlessness. We were close, but I needed my space. And now, one of Dad’s other military buddies was going to be my new “protection.” I couldn’t remember much about him, except that I hadn’t seen him since I was little. Was it Callan? Callum? Whatever his name was, he was supposed to be at the funeral, and I wasn’t thrilled about meeting the man who’d soon be shadowing my every move.

I loved Grant, but I hated—no, Iloathed—having a bodyguard. Actually, I hated being the President’s daughter altogether. No sneaking out to parties, no smoking weed in my room while my parents were away. I wasn’t allowed to live like a normal teenager. I wasn’t just Sloane. I was President Jacob Martin’s daughter.

The funeral service began after Dad sat down beside me, stiff and silent. I could feel the weight of his grief—he was deeply upset over his friend’s death. I was shaken too. I’d never lostanyone before. My legs bounced up and down as I stared at the rings on my fingers, completely tuning out the eulogist’s words.

“Pay attention, Sloane,” Dad whispered, leaning in close.

I rolled my eyes and looked up, not trying to be disrespectful, but everything about this felt uncomfortable. My long brown hair clung to my skin, damp from the humid spring air, and my heels pinched painfully at my feet. My chest felt tight, the ache of sadness making it hard to breathe, but I fought to keep it all inside. The eulogist talked about Heaven and loss, and as I bit my lip, a tear slipped down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, shifting in my seat, my gaze drifting over the rows of bodyguards standing nearby.

That’s when I saw him.

My heart dropped—not from grief, but from something else entirely. Awe. Desire. A man with a short beard, slicked-back brown hair, and full, pouty lips stood among the security detail, arms folded in front of him. His face was set in a hard scowl, but his dark Ray-Bans hid his eyes, making him even more mysterious. The black, tailored suit he wore hugged his muscular frame, and I could see the faint outline of tattoos on his hands and fingers.

I had never been so instantly attracted to someone in my entire life. He had to be older than me,mucholder, but that only turned me on more.

“Sloane, pay attention,” Mom repeated, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I jerked my head back toward the eulogist, but my mind kept wandering back to Hot Bodyguard.Holy shit—ishemy new bodyguard?

The idea consumed me for the rest of the service. I couldn’t tell where he was looking behind those sunglasses, but he stood perfectly still, like a statue. His presence alone was electric, captivating, and I found myself sneaking glances, my thoughtsspiraling into places they shouldn’t. There was no way a man like him would ever look twice at an eighteen-year-old like me. I didn’t even know if I had any real sex appeal—I was just a virgin that fantasized about sex probably way too often.

But just by looking at him, I could tell he was experienced in all the right ways. And now I was fantasizing about him…

“Sloane, come on, baby,” my mom said, standing up and breaking me out of my fantasy.

I jumped up quickly, hoping the sudden movement would catch his attention. I glanced over, and sure enough, his head was turned our way. My heart pounded hard in my chest as we made our way to our SUV, but soon I lost sight of him in the crowd of familiar faces. People I knew greeted me, placing their hands on my shoulder as I passed, but I didn’t hear a word they said. I was too distracted, my mind still reeling from the brief moment of eye contact.

Finally, we reached the SUV, and a door was opened for me. I slid into the very back row, sinking into the cool, leather seat. The air conditioning hit my face and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the chill calm my racing heart. Mom and Dad lingered outside, chatting with more familiar faces. That’s when I noticed Hot Bodyguard slipping into the driver’s seat.

My breath caught as I watched him adjust the rearview mirror. Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out.

“Um…who are you?” My voice was quieter and more hesitant than I intended.

He paused, the mirror stopping just as his sunglasses reflected back at me. Slowly, he turned around.

“Miss Sloane,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the air. “I’m Callan Holt. I’ll be the head of security detail on your behalf.”

The way his forehead wrinkled when he spoke, the slight furrow of concentration, paired with those full lips, was almosttoo much. I stared, my lips parting in response, but before I could say anything, my mom climbed into the SUV, followed by Dad.

“Oh! Callan! You’re already here,” Mom said warmly, resting her hand on the passenger seat in front of her.

“It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Martin,” Callan replied, polite and professional.

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