Page 104 of The Bodyguard Affair
“I called the Realtor, who told me they’d already gotten a lotof interest and that I needed to act fast. So I went for a showing this morning and I ran into the owner in the driveway.”
“He was there?”
“Yup. And weirdly enough, he recognized me immediately. As the boy who used to ‘cut through my backyard and steal crab apples,’ ” he recounts, his lips unfurling in a nostalgic smile. “When I told him about how much I loved the house, he invited me inside and gave me a tour himself.”
“That’s…surreal. Like lightning in a bottle,” I say, absorbing the gravity of it all.
“Exactly. His wife recently passed, which was why he was selling. They’d lived there since they first got married. It was supposed to be a starter house, but they couldn’t have kids of their own, so it became their forever home. Before she died, she told him she wanted it to go to someone who would love it as much as they did. All that to say, he asked what I’d offer for it. I made a reasonable offer, no conditions, and he accepted right away. On the spot.”
“Oh my god, Nolan. Congratulations!” I pull him in for a tight hug. “So this means you’re officially staying?” I confirm, unable to hide the excitement.
“There’s absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be.” He leans down for a kiss and everyone around us blurs.
I pull back with a teasing grin. “But wait, you said you hate Ottawa winters with a fiery passion.”
“Oh, I do. But I learned something in tactical training in the Arctic.”
“What’s that?”
“Cuddling is a solid way to stay warm,” he replies with a wink.
I lean into him, and in a blink, I can see it all. Us, posing for one of those cheesy photos outside the yellow house next to a “Sold” sign. Him, guiding me down the overgrown path into the forest of his childhood, where fireflies dance by the ravine. I see blazing red autumns transitioning to Christmases. Us stringing lights along the windows, hanging stockings on the fireplace, building ugly gingerbread houses. The snowy winters, me struggling with cross-country skiing on the backyard trails while he laughs and encourages me to get back up and try again. The snow melting into muddy, hopeful Ottawa springs, invigorating us to embrace it all over again, even if a surprise mid-April blizzard tries to dampen our spirits.
“Oh, and there’s something else,” he says, eyes twinkling.
“What?”
Before he can respond, someone grabs my shoulder.
I turn around to find Gretchen, her face pinched with absolute fury. She looks like a storm ready to destroy. “Andi,” she snaps.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“How could you lie to me?” I don’t miss the hurt and anger in her eyes as she lobs her phone at me. It hits me in the chest with a heavy thud.
Chapter 47
Andi
It isn’t until I read the caption under my deal announcement post that I see it. I signed my name—Andi, instead of my pen name initials, A. A.
My stomach plummets and the nausea hits me. I stare down at my screen, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. There’s no denying it now.
And then there’s Gretchen, standing in front of me, her face pulled tight in a mixture of anger, hurt, and utter disappointment. “Bethany just called. The media has descended like locusts.”
A wave of panic washes over me. I can almost hear the buzz of gossip sites revving up, the frenzy of social media. My mind races with images of headlines, tags, and hashtags. Even the room itself feels quieter than before. People are definitely looking at us, listening, whispering.
It feels like a tidal wave of embarrassment is crashing over me, pulling me under.
“Gretchen,” I whisper. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what? For lying to me all this time after I gave you chance after chance to tell the truth?”
“I know,” I say, my voice trembling. “I was scared that if you knew I wrote the book, you’d think there was truth to the rumors about me and Eric. And the last thing I wanted was for my author stuff to impact my job here.”
She shakes her head, the disappointment in her eyes cutting deeper than any anger. “I trusted you. I confided in you more than anyone, even my closest friends. I trusted you with my children,” she hisses.
My heart cracks in two when I see the betrayal in her amber eyes. She’s entirely right. I should have come clean. I should have told her it was me who wrote the book, regardless of what would have happened to my career. It was the right thing to do, and I was an absolute coward.
