Page 45 of Protect Your Queen

“He knows I can protect you better than he could, and that’s the only reason he was okay going. He stayed so long because he cared about you, little Songbird.”

I wanted to cry, but I nodded. He was trying to comfort me, after all.

“Her name is Jestiny,” Jareth cut into our conversation, and I turned my head to look at him. “MissJestiny, to you,help.”

The two men looked at each other – Jareth’s eyes blazed with fire, while Chris was cold and impassive.

“Thank you for telling me the way you did,” I touched Chris’ sleeve, trying to bring an end to their little war. “I’ll go get ready now.”

I knew I’d have to get ready fast if I didn’t want them to come to blows. That was fine, though. Today was a photoshoot, and they never wanted hair and makeup done. It was best that we did that on-site, with professional supervision.

Still, Brian was gone. I had a new guard who was so, so different from him. The opposite, really. Where Brian was older, with a certain distant kindness, Chris was young, gorgeous, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his body flush against mine.

Getting ready was a struggle, my imagination running wild with memories of the other night. I felt an ache, wondering if he was just being kind, or if he only wanted one thing, as men often did… but he didn’t seem like that kind of man.

Still, I could already hear Jareth’s voice warning me about the “pretty boy”. Maybe it was good to heed that.

Before I knew it, I was at a photoshoot, wearing a cropped leather jacket, and a tulle skirt, reminiscent of Cindy Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. It was for a Laurent Magazine feature, that would, inevitably, be called something like “Pop Princess’ Glam Life” or something equally stupid. But it didn’t matter. It was all designed to keep me relevant - a task that was no easy feat without a new album to back me up.

“Alright, darling,” the photographer said in his French accent as a makeup artist added powder to my forehead. “Pop the top off, and let’s get some skin in the game.”

I balked, looking around. I caught Chris’ eyes, as he stood in his Brioni shirt, his arms crossed, his brow lifted as he stared at the photographer. He looked at me, his head shaking just a little, as his fist tightened.

“Come on, love,” the photographer continued, staring at me from above his large lens. “We don’t have all day.”

I pulled the leather jacket closer around me, covering more of my skin. I looked at Jareth, and with a subtle nod, he told me that he would handle it.

“Come on, they’re not gonna see anything. This is…”

“No,” Jareth said, looking impatiently at his Rolex Watch. “She won't be taking her top off.”

My eyes drifted to Chris, whose arched brow had flattened back down. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, subtle smile.

The photographer looked at Jareth with a sneer. “Are you telling me how to run my photoshoot?”

My brother’s accent dripped of money and snobbery. He used it to his advantage now, looking down his nose at the cameraman, and returning his sneer.

“Yes, I am,” he said, without remorse. “She will not be taking her top off. She’s more important to this photoshoot than you are. If you don’t get on board, I will have you and your pathetic, talentless team cleared out of here faster than you can sayAgincourt.”

Thank God. I love my brother.

He might not be warm and fuzzy, but there was no doubt that he was my guardian. When my father died, I had nowhere to go. I could have been orphaned but he’d dropped out of university and came home. He did it so he could take me in until I was through with school.

He was extreme, of course. We all had different last names, from different mothers who weren’t all married to our father at the time we were born. But he came home and decided that we would all shed our father’s name like snake skin. We adopted the name Barkada. From that moment on, we were a family, and we were never going to be hungry again.

He kept his promise. I wasn’t hungry. I was just lonely.

Jareth walked towards the photographer, whose name had already escaped me, and pointed a finger right in the middle of his chest. “Have I made myself clear?”

The photographer frowned, his nose sniffing in a barely repressed snarl.

Chris walked behind my brother, his arms crossed, making his pecs and shoulders massive, compared to the thin photographer. He looked like the muscle behind my brother’s regal threat.

“Fine.” The photographer finally relented, turning back to me. “Tilt your head, Jestiny.”

Just like that, I was no longer his “darling” or “love”. It was amazing how the terms of endearment disappeared the moment they realized they couldn’t make you do what they wanted you to. When they realized you’re not as vulnerable as they want you to be.

Then Jareth whisked me away in the car, with Chris in the driver’s seat.

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