He paid my bills and fed and sheltered me until I went to college, but Josh had been my real sounding board over the years, the one I went to whenever I wanted to talk about my day or had problems—with school, friends, or much to his disgust, boys.
It was more than the fact that my dad was an authority figure and Josh was closer to my age. I had no trouble connecting with professors and my friends’ parents.
It was something else. Something I couldn’t name.
But perhaps that’s just the nature of Asian parents of a certain age. It’s not in our culture to show affection openly. We didn’t say I love you or hug all the time like Stella’s family. Chinese parents show their love through actions, not words—working hard to provide for their children, cooking food, taking care of their kids when they’re sick.
I grew up not wanting for any material goods, and my father paid my full tuition at Thayer, which wasn’t cheap. Sure, he disapproved of my photography career, and I had to fund all my equipment myself. And yeah, he played favorites with Josh, probably because he retained a deep-seated cultural preference for sons over daughters. But in the grand scheme of things, I’d lucked out. I should be grateful.
Still, it would be great if I could hold a normal conversation with my own father without it devolving into awkward silence.
I stabbed at my cake, wondering whether any early birthday surprise had ever been as pathetic as this one, when my skin tingled.
I looked up, and the tingles morphed into chills.
There.
Maybe that was why I’d never opened up to my dad, because sometimes I caught him staring at me like that.
Like he didn’t know me.
Like he hated me.
Like he feared me.
26
Ava
“It’s not safe.”
Bridget drew herself up to her full five feet, nine inches and leveled an icy glare at the dark-haired man glowering right back at her. Ballsy, considering she was the princess and he was the bodyguard, but Rhys Larsen wasn’t Booth. That much was clear in the week since he’d arrived in Hazelburg to take over Booth’s protection duties.
We’d thrown a big going away celebration for Booth at The Crypt and sent quick prayers that Bridget’s new bodyguard would be as cool as Booth.
Prayers not answered.
Rhys was gruff, surly, and arrogant. He drove Bridget mad, which was quite something, since she never lost her temper. In the past seven days, however, I’d seen her on the verge of yelling . I’d been so shocked I almost dropped my camera.
“Fall Fest is an annual tradition,” she said in a regal voice. “I’ve attended every year for the past three years, and I don’t intend to stop now.”
Rhys’s gray eyes flickered. He was a little younger than Booth—maybe early thirties, with thick black hair, eyes the color of gunmetal, and a broad, muscled frame that towered over Bridget’s leggy grace, even when she wore heels. Dark stubble shadowed his chin, and a small, jagged scar slashed across his left eyebrow. Without the scar, he would’ve been disconcertingly gorgeous; with it, he was still disconcertingly gorgeous, but also dangerous. More menacing.
Good quality to have in a bodyguard, I supposed.
“It’s a crowd management issue.” His voice rumbled through the car, deep and authoritative, even though he was technically Bridget’s employee. “Too many people, too close quarters.”
Stella, Jules, and I wisely stayed quiet while Bridget matched him glare for glare. “It’s a college event. There’s bound to be a crowd, and I’ve never had issues before. Half the people there don’t even know who I am.”
“It only takes one person one time,” Rhys countered, his tone even. “One look and I know the festival is over max capacity.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m not entering a war zone, and there are fewer people than at a sports game. No one ever said I couldn’t attend one of those. ”
“The security measures and layout at sports games are—”
“Enough.” Bridget held up a hand. “I refuse to stay in my house like a princess locked in a tower my senior year of college. I’m going, and you can either stay in the car or come with me.” She opened the car door and exited without a backward glance.
Rhys’s nostrils flared, but he followed her a heartbeat later, those sharp eyes of his constantly roving, searching for danger.
Jules, Stella, and I scrambled after them.
Fall Fest was one of the most anticipated events of the school year. Local businesses set up booths hawking seasonal food and products discounted for students—decadent hot chocolate and apple cider donuts, pumpkin pies and pulled-pork sandwiches. There were classic games and activities like bobbing for apples, tarot readings, and—because this was college—a tailgate where local alumni and students gathered to drink to their heart’s content.
Rhys was right—there were more people than expected at the festival, but it was nothing compared to the spring break parties we’d attended in the past. I understood why he was concerned, but I also agreed with Bridget he was overreacting a tiny bit.
Bridget ignored him as we took advantage of all the food and activities on offer. Fall Fest was a necessary stress reliever between midterms and finals, and we had a blast—for the most part.
“He’s driving me crazy,” Bridget said a while later in a low voice. She sipped her hot chocolate with a morose expression. “I miss Booth.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Rhys, who followed us with an impassive expression. Either he didn’t hear what she said, or he had the world’s best poker face.
I bet the latter. I had a feeling there wasn’t much, if anything, that Rhys Larsen didn’t see, hear, or notice.
“It’s his first week.” Stella snapped a picture of her drink before tasting it. “Booth has been with you for years. It’s only natural that Rhys would be more overprotective. Give him time.”
“I suppose.” Bridget sighed. “I don’t know how Nik does it. He has double the security I do because he’s the crown prince, and there’s so much riding on his shoulders.” She shook her head. “I’m glad I’m second in line to the throne.”
“You mean you don’t want to rule, Your Majesty?” I teased. “You could be a queen and see your face on a postage stamp.”
Bridget laughed. “No, thank you. As tempting as a postage stamp with my face is, I’d rather have a modicum of freedom.” She shot a dark look in Rhys’s direction. “Unless my bodyguard has other ideas.”
“He’s strict, but at least he’s delicious,” Jules said in a stage whisper. “No offense to Booth, but whew. ” She fanned herself.
“Is that all you think about?” Bridget asked, clearly torn between laughter and frustration.
A shadow slid across Jules’s face before it disappeared. “Most of the time. I like to think about pleasant things. Speaking of which…” She turned to me. “Where’s Lover Boy?”
I rolled my eyes, a blush spreading over my cheeks. “Don’t call him that, and he’s busy running a company. He doesn’t have time for college events.”
“You sure about that?” Stella tilted her chin at something behind me.
I whipped around, my heart jumping in my throat when I saw Alex standing behind me. In his navy cashmere sweater and jeans, he cut a sophisticated figure amongst the crowds of drunk college students and rumpled professors.
I couldn’t help it—I ran and threw my arms around him. “I thought you had work!”
“I took off early.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, and I sighed with pleasure. “I miss Fall Fest.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s what you miss,” Jules teased.
My friends stared at us with fascination, and I realized this was the first time they’d seen us together as a…couple? I wasn’t sure what to call our relationship. “Couple” sounded too mundane, but I guessed that was what we were.
We went on dates, talked through the night, and had wild, explosive sex. Alex Volkov and I were a couple.
The butterflies in my stomach quivered with excitement.