Page 22 of Escorting the Bodyguard
“You don’t have to hide from me.” It’s quiet, but I know he hears it.
For a moment, we just look at each other through the steam and glass. His jaw works like he’s fighting with himself.
“I didn’t want you to see,” he says eventually, his voice rough. “It’s not...”
He doesn’t finish, but I understand.
I step closer to the shower door and place my palm flat against the glass. After a heartbeat, he mirrors the gesture from his side, his hand covering mine with only the barrier between us.
“Ford,” I whisper. “Whatever you think this says about you, you’re wrong.”
Something breaks in his expression—a wall cracking. He reaches over and turns off the water, the sudden silence making the moment feel even more intimate.
He gets out and grabs a towel from the rack, wrapping it around his waist, but he doesn’t try to cover his back or turn away. There’s something fragile in his expression, like he’s waiting for me to change my mind. I open my mouth to reassure him, but before I can say anything else, he’s moving toward me, one hand cupping my face as he kisses me.
The kiss is soft, almost tentative, like he’s still not entirely sure this is real.
When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine for a moment. Stillness lingers between us, pulsing with all the things we’ve yet to say.
And that’s okay. This is enough for now.
That evening, I make a decision that feels both terrifying and liberating.
I come out of the shower and, for the first time since we’ve been sharing space, I don’t put on makeup. No foundation, no concealer, not even a tinted lip balm. Just my clean, bare face and damp hair twisted up in a messy bun.
This is me without the armor. This is what I look like when I’m not performing.
And part of me still believes this version doesn’t deserve to be chosen.
When I settle into bed beside Ford, he glances over and his gaze lingers on my face.
“You look nice.” There’s a warmth in his voice that makes my chest tight.
It’s such a simple thing to say. And somehow, the hardest one to believe.
We lie there for a moment in comfortable silence, the space between us charged but not desperate like it has been. Tonight feels different. Softer.
“Why do you always...?” Ford stops mid-sentence.
“What?”
He gestures vaguely toward my face. “The makeup, even to sleep sometimes. You don’t need it.”
The question cracks something open in my chest. Not because it’s invasive, but because it’s the first time someone has noticed the armor and asked about it instead of just accepting it as part of the package.
“It’s just what I’ve always done,” I say, but even as the words come out, they sound hollow.
“Always?” His voice is gentle, curious. “Even when you were young?”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “My mom taught me that, actually. She always said that love was something you had to earn. That if you weren’t perfect enough, polished enough, worth keeping, then people would leave.”
I flash to her voice on prom night, lips pursed as she studied me in the mirror.“If you’d just lose twenty pounds, you’d look amazing. Maybe then he’ll stick around.”
She said it like it was helpful. Like it was love.
“That’s a hell of a thing to put on a kid,” Ford says quietly.
He turns onto his side, giving me his full attention. In the dim light, his gray eyes are steady, patient.
