"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say.
Daniel stepped back, his jaw like granite. Instead of responding, he picked up the bulletproof vest and T-shirt I'd worn beneath it and crooked his finger.
"Come here."
"I can put it on myself."
Again, no response.
I sighed and walked to where he stood. I was too tired to fight, and I didn't resist when he slipped the T-shirt over my head, followed by the vest. I watched him in the mirror while he worked, adjusting the vest and straps until it sat comfortably on my torso.
I still held my dress in front of me, angling it so it covered my underwear. I didn't know why I bothered. Daniel showed as much interest in my half-naked form as he would in a foam mannequin. A strange needle of irritation pricked at me.
Daniel finished fixing the vest, but before I could step away, his hands closed around my biceps in an iron grip. They were so large they easily encircled my arms. He locked eyes with me in the mirror and lowered his head until his mouth hovered next to my ear.
My heart skipped a frantic beat, and I clutched the dress tighter in front of me.
"Don't think I don't know what you've been doing all day." Daniel's breath whispered across my skin in a dark warning. "I indulged you this time, princess, but I don't like games. Lucky for you, you passed the test."
He slid his hands up my arms until they rested on my vest-clad shoulders, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
"You need to learn how to follow instructions without arguing. I don't care if you think I'm being ridiculous. A second's delay can mean the difference between life and death. I say duck, you duck. I say wear a bulletproof vest to the fucking beach, you wear the vest. Understand?"
My grip strangled the dress. "The vest was a test to see if I would wear it? That is so…underhanded."
An entire day wasted on a stupid test. Indignation unfurled in my stomach. "I hate when you do stuff like this."
A grim half-smile touched Daniel's lips. "I'd rather you hate me alive than love me dead."
He released my shoulders. "Get dressed. We're leaving."
The door shut behind him. I could finally breathe easy again, but I couldn't stop his words from echoing in my mind.
I'd rather you hate me alive than love me dead.
The problem was, I didn't hate him. I hated his rules and restrictions, but I didn't hate him. I wished I did. It would make my life a lot simpler.
...
"I can't go."
"What do you mean you can't go?" Chloe's disbelief oozed over the line.
"We've been talking about the festival since sophomore year. We have coordinated outfits. Madison rented a car! We might die on the road because she's a terrible driver—"
"I heard that!" Madison yelled in the background.
"but she's the only one with a license."
"I know." I glared at Daniel, who sat on the couch polishing a knife like a psycho.
"A certain bodyguard deemed it unsafe."
My friends and I had planned on attending the Rokbury music festival for years, and now, I had to sit it out.
"So? Come anyway. He works for you, not the other way around."
I wished I could, but we were still in the trial period of our deal, and Daniel's concerns weren't totally off base. Rokbury took place at a campground an hour and a half outside Yorkshire, and while it looked like a blast, something inevitably went wrong every year.
Like a festival-goer's tent catching fire, a drunken group fight leading to several hospitalizations, a panic-induced stampede.
It was also supposed to storm the weekend of this year's festival, which meant the campground would probably turn into a giant mud pit, but my friends were risking it anyway.
"Sorry, R. Next time." Chloe sighed.
"Tell your man he's hot as hell but a total buzzkill."
"He's not my man. He's my bodyguard." I lowered my voice, but I thought I saw Daniel pause for a millisecond before he resumed polishing his knife.
"Even worse. He's running your life and you're not getting any dick from it."
"Chloe."
"You know it's true." Another sigh.
"Fine, I get it. We'll miss you, but we'll catch up when we're back."
"Sounds good."
I hung up and sank into the armchair, FOMO 'Fear of Missing Out' hitting me hard. I'd bought the festival tickets months ago, before Daniel started working for me, and I'd had to sell them to a random junior in my political theory class.
"I hope you're happy," I said pointedly.
He didn't respond.
Daniel and I had settled into a more functional dynamic over the past three months, but there were still times I wanted to chuck a textbook at him.
Like now.
When the day of the festival rolled around the following weekend, however, I woke up to the shock of my life.
I walked into the living room, bleary-eyed, only to find it transformed. The furniture had been pushed to the side, replaced with a pile of boho-printed pillows and cushions on the floor. The coffee table groaned beneath various snacks and drinks, and the Rokbury festival played out in real time on-screen.
The pièce de résistance, however, was the indoor tent decorated with string lights, which looked exactly like the ones people set up on the festival grounds.
Daniel sat on the couch, which was now pressed flush against the wall beneath the window, frowning at his phone.
"What…" I rubbed my eyes. Nope, I wasn't dreaming.