combat it, I made Ricardo take a few cutesy photos with me so I could post them periodically. They’ll keep Gul off my back. Oh, and bother Kenneth.
Gul’s eyebrow is cocked in unmistakable skepticism. “So, you fell and gave yourself two black eyes? Your dad hired a bodyguard to protect you from, what, your high heels?” She shoots a pointed glance toward Steve, my new bodyguard.
“Yes. It was a rare moment of clumsiness.”
Gul leans over the table, pushing Cal’s plate out of the way so it won’t soil her uniform. “Is that really the story you’re going with? At least make it sound realistic.” She swallows, the arrogance in her expression giving way to something softer. “Did someone hurt you?”
The question is so abrupt, it steals my breath. Either I’m imagining it, or there’s concern underpinning her words. As if she knows what she’s asking about. I’m tempted to tell her about the threat my attacker growled into my ear.
Stop looking into Rook’s death, or I’ll kill you.
Distrust stays my tongue. I can’t tell her that. An admission like that would only give her more ammunition should she decide to annihilate my reputation. No, the fewer people who know about that particular threat, the better. Right now it’s just me and my attacker, and I’d like to keep it that way. My siblings are treating me with kid gloves as it is. If they found out my life was threatened, I have no doubt that Adrienne would tell our dad in a fit of do-gooding that would probably end up with us under house arrest, or guarded around the clock by a platoon of secret service agents.
I’m not ready to give up the semblance of freedom I have. I’ll take Steve, and leave it at that. Taking a sip of my lemon water, I say, “I’m fine, Gul. But thanks.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You’re being sincerely polite now? Wow, there really must be something going on with you.”
My fingers clench around my glass, but my expression remains placid. “No. Everything’s fine. A couple of black eyes aren’t going to stop me. Nothing keeps Charlotte Cavendish-Holt down.”
Gul sits back in her chair, her mouth flat. She seems… disappointed by my denial. “Right… Good to know.” She sighs. “You’re not the only one with a new bodyguard.” She points to a guy in plainclothes sipping from a thermos in the corner of the room. “I told my parents about the video, and instead of insisting I come home, they send him.”
I’m surprised she admitted this, and especially to me. We were never confidantes before this whole mess started. We weren’t even friends.
“Sorry.”
Gul nods. “Again with the politeness. See you.” She gets up and returns to her own table. For the first time, I notice how straight she sits, how still. Like she isn’t comfortable there with her friends. It’s kind of sad.
Slowly, the ebb and flow of conversation rises around us, everyone assuming that the lunchtime theatrical is over.
It doesn’t escape my notice that Ricardo is stiff beside me, careful not to brush my elbow with his, or to let his knee fall open against mine. The distance leaves me cold.
Adrienne’s eyes drift past me, and widen. A gasp escapes her lips.
My head whips up at this, and I twist in my chair to see whatever’s caught her off guard.
Kenneth has come rushing into the room. He stands in the doorway, his chest heaving as he holds a bag of ice over his shoulder. When he spots me, he comes barreling toward me, frowning, eyes dark. Tossing the bag on the floor at my feet, he kneels in front of me, eyeing my shiners. “Charlotte, I just heard. Are you okay?” One hand covers my knee with a light squeeze.
Out of the corner of my eye, there’s no mistaking Ricardo turning away. It’s the first time he hasn’t risen to Kenneth’s presence by pulling my hair or holding my hand. Dare I say, I miss it.
Behind me, Adrienne huffs. She must really not like Kenneth, because it’s the most unkind sound she’s ever made.
“It’s nice of you to deign to talk to me,” I grumble, pushing his hand off my knee. “What’s up with the ice?”
He shrugs. “Broken fridge in the health center. No big deal.”
I glance around. No one is paying us any attention, instead chatting with their table mates. Thankfully, Kenneth’s and my breakup is old news, so his arrival in the eatery isn’t gossip-worthy. Unlike the sparring match I had