Page 11 of Sweet Madness
The smile doesn’t reach her eyes; that’s how I know it’s fake. I know what a real smile from her looks like, even after all these years. Ellaiza Kenton’s smile could melt the ice off the coldest of hearts.
When cousin Ben calls and said he needed a favor, of course I agreed. The man has been like a brother to me; I wouldn’t have denied him. What I did’t expect was what the favor entailed: protecting none other than former First Daughter Ellaiza Kenton. Again.
The first time I took the job, it was because there was nothing else I’d rather do with my life. Protecting lives used to mean something to me once. I wasn’t planning on ever returning to guard duty, especially not for the Kentons, but I owe them more than I could ever fucking repay.
I have good memories, some of the best with the Kenton family, yet all of it is blurred with the shit in my head. This girl right here used to brighten my days with her infectious laughter and innocent gestures. Protecting someone’s life is no walk in the fucking park, yet it was with her. It was for a short time, but it was the most peace I’d had in years.
Then, as if life didn’t want me to have one single peaceful moment, I woke up from the dream that was D.C., and reality sank in and bled me dry.
Now I’m this. A man who can’t even return the smile of the sweet girl who gave him so many joyful moments. Shit. A girl who looks the same, yet she doesn’t.
She’s no longer a little girl with chubby cheeks and dark as night curls that framed her cherubic face. She’s a young woman now. A beautiful one. Damn. The years have hardened me, but they’ve been especially sweet to Ellaiza Kenton. Too damn sweet.
Her once short, black curly hair now falls to her lower back in soft waves. When she was younger, her hair used to fall wildly around her, but now it’s tamed. The black strands are pushed back from her face by a cream-colored headband that matches her short cream dress. I remember her wild curls and how they bounced whenever she giggled. Not now. Now there’s nothing visibly messy or wild about the girl before me. There’s no pink either. Nothing.
Once, she would dress in pink from head to toe. She also loved sparkles and glitter shit. I’ve never met anyone who loved that horrendous color as much as she did back then. What changed? I wonder. Bland colors. Fake smiles. Like the one she’s flashing at me now.
I hold her gaze, and it feels as if time ceases to exist as she holds me captive. A buzzing sensation zaps me from nowhere so hard that I force myself to break eye contact before this girl sees more than I want her to. More than she ever should.
Instead, my eyes flit over her face. Ellaiza Kenton. She grew up to be beautiful. Stunning, even. Her lips are full and naturally pink. Her blue eyes are fringed by thick black lashes, and her cheekbones are high and sharp. No two ways about it, she’s beautiful. Her small button nose is cute as fuck too. She’s about five foot three or four. And then there are her curves. Fuck. Narrowing my eyes at her, I beat myself up for even noticing.
She’s just a girl. A girl who used to be a client. Shit. Correction. She’s a client from now on. At least until the threat to her and her family’s safety is neutralized or eliminated. If it were up to me, I’d choose the latter.
When the strange feeling in my chest becomes too much, I step back and rake my hand through my hair in exasperation. Averting my gaze, I suck in a deep breath of muggy air. This can’t be good.
Trouble is written all over her sweet and innocent expression. “Welcome home, Shaw Bear.” Her throaty voice is like a shock of electricity to my system. Sexy. Gravelly. It reaches deep inside and rattles my bones. Not what you’d expect to hear coming from the mouth of a girl who looks like her.
She’s how old now? Her early twenties, if I had to guess, but her eyes look older. Wiser. Ben would always say this girl had an old soul.
And although I didn’t keep in touch with the Kentons like I should have, I still hear everything about them from Ben. I’m not a man consumed by social media, but I also don’t live under a rock. I know all about the Kenton kids and how all of them grew up to be heirs and heiresses with a lot of presence in the news and social media, even the ones still in high school.
I believe I read somewhere that one of her sisters, Ambrose, is a supermodel at the tender age of fourteen, while her twin, Haven, skipped a few grades and is about to start college in the fall. Apparently, she is a genius.
As for the rest of the siblings, I only know they are just as famous as the sisters on social media—perhaps even more so. Her brothers, Royal and twin boys Kael and Kyrin. Two of them are strikingly similar to their father, Sebastian, while the other resembles their mother, Arianna Kenton. And then there’s Ella.
I’ve seen her all over the tabloids, especially the garbage news transmitted on TV over the past few months. The world is obsessed with the Kenton family.
And now she’s here and will stay here with me while her family deals with the threat back in D.C.. Something tells me this won’t be an easy job. That smile on her face, as fake as it is, has mischief written all over it.
Never have I had this reaction to someone before. Not with just one look. I’ve been attracted to plenty of women and have had my fair share of them. But never once have I looked into someone’s eyes and felt like I’m looking at someone who could turn my goddamn world on its axis.
It’s not just physical. It’s more than that, yet I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what it is.
As we stand on the street and stare at each other in the bright light, I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that things will never be the same from now on. As if something monumental is bound to happen now that Ellaiza Kenton has stepped foot in my world—a world she knows very little of and one she’s not accustomed to.
I’m a simple man with a simple life. She’s anything but.
“With your life,” Ben’s rough voice cuts through my thoughts. I begrudgingly look away from the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen and give my cousin all my attention. “You guard her with your life and keep her out of trouble until I contact you again.”
My precious heiress cargo snorts, rolling her eyes playfully at Ben. Suddenly, I feel emotions I have no business feeling—not for someone I knew when she was a child and someone who is now a client until further fucking notice.
“Give me your phone,” Ben says, extending his hand toward Ellaiza.
Her brows furrow. “I need my phone.” She almost looks terrified.
I try not to laugh at the horrified look on her face.
“And we need you safe,” Ben says in a tone that means business. That’s enough for her to reach inside her small clutch, pull out her phone, and hand it over to him. I think she’d make more of a fuss about it. People these days would rather lose a limb than live without their phones.