Page 93 of The Bodyguard Affair
“But what if it were? I know the job gives you a purpose. And I know how important it is for you. But does it really serve your soul? Or is it just serving your need to please people?” His words drive their way directly to my chest. He’s not wrong. I’ve never felt passionate about working for Gretchen, especially this past year. But the thought of quitting something I know I’m good at for the unknown is terrifying.
“I don’t know.”
He bows his head. “I get it. And I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m pushing you. You don’t have to make any decision now. Sit on it for as long as you need to. And if you ultimately decide that you don’t want to go down that route, I’ll completely support you.”
“Thank you.”
“But you have to do one thing for me,” he says, stepping forward.
“What?”
He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into his chest. “I want you to celebrate this. Regardless of what you decide, this is a massive accomplishment. You are officially the coolest person I know. Everyone wants to write a book, but hardly anyone sits down and does it, let alone does it well and creates something that becomes such a success on such a huge scale, all with a full-time, demanding job no less. And you’re such a workhorse, with all these goals. I don’t think you celebrate yourself enough or take the time to really sit and think about how fucking amazing you are. You’ve worked so hard and you deserve every good thing that’s going to come your way. Soyou’re going to put a beautiful dress on tonight and we’re going to celebrate.”
“Celebrate,” I repeat.
“Exactly. We’re celebrating the fuck out of this win, no matter what happens.”
Chapter 41
Andi
The ceremony, despite its “non-wedding” label, is absolutely and completely normal—short, sweet, and surprisingly touching. Laine’s and Hunter’s vows are so heartfelt, so genuinely adorable, that I actually shed a few tears.
The reception is magical, set on the same beachfront pavilion we ate breakfast on. The sounds of waves crashing and the string lights twinkling above us are like a scene straight out of a movie.
Nolan and I spend most of the night on the dance floor, alternating between dancing and making frequent trips to the bar. But what really gets to me isn’t just the dancing or the margaritas; it’s how Nolan treats me. We haven’t made anything official, or talked about the future, but he treats me like his girlfriend, touching me in these small, sweet ways, kissing my neck, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his side as we move through the crowd.
By the end of the night, we’re stumbling back to the villa,laughing at everything. At one point, I attempt to kick off my shoes mid-stride, convinced I can walk better barefoot, and I nearly land in a bush. By the time we get to the villa, we’re still dying over the random guy at the bar who thought Nolan and Hunter were brothers and spent a solid five minutes trying to convince us of his theory.
“I don’t look anything like him, by the way,” he argues vehemently. They don’t look anything alike, but it’s fun to tease him about it.
“I mean, youdohave similar hair,” I tease, resting my chin on Nolan’s shoulder as we fumble with the villa door.
“Clearly you have a type,” Nolan counters.
I laugh, leaning into him as the villa door swings open, the sounds of the ocean still faintly in the background. It hits me then—somewhere between the bad dancing, the hand-holding, and the ridiculous bar conversations—how much I love being with Nolan. How much I want to do this forever.
“Can you believe Hunter’s dad’s name is William Williams?” Nolan says, shaking his head in disbelief as he collapses onto the bed, still in his suit. “You can’t tell me his parents weren’t sociopaths.”
I laugh. “Yeah, it is pretty unfortunate.”
He continues, his voice full of mock outrage, “It’s like they just gave up. ‘What should we name the kid? Too much effort. Let’s just double up.’ ”
“Or theyreallyliked the name. I actually think it’s a nice name,” I point out.
He flashes me a smirk, pulling himself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. “You like most names.”
“I do! I think they can work for the right person. Will is one of my backup names if I have kids.”
Nolan’s eyes narrow, his expression somewhere between teasing and scandalized. “Wait, wait, wait. You have baby names?”
“Well, not an official list,” I admit, shrugging. “But I’ve got some favorites in mind.”
He leans in, his eyes twinkling. “What are they?”
“I’m not telling you!” I say, crossing my arms. “You’ll just make fun of them.”
He raises a hand to his chest, feigning shock. “I wouldnever. In fact, I’m a huge supporter of well-thought-out names.”
