Chapter 17: The Proposal
I folded my arms across my chest and tilted my head at my father, trying to decipher what the hell was brewing behind those calculating eyes. “What proposal?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip of his whiskey like this was some casual business meeting and not a hostage negotiation. Typical.
He sighed and leaned back in his leather chair, eyes sharp and unreadable. “I know you don’t like being controlled.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“And I know you hate being followed around.”
My brow lifted higher.
“But for once, Aria…” he said, setting his glass down with a soft clink, “just for once—could you try listening to me?”
I blinked.
Did he… ask me to listen?
Was this some kind of cosmic joke?
“I’m not finished,” he added sternly, raising a hand when I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my very mind.
Fine.
Go on, then, Supreme Leader.
“I know Alessandro gets under your skin,” he continued. “But he’s the best damn protection I can offer you. And right now, with things the way they are, I need the best.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a migraine. “That’s your big proposal? Keep the dictator glued to my ass and call it security?”
His jaw ticked, but he stayed calm. “For six months.”
I froze. “Six what?”
“You’ll tolerate him for six months. Let him do his job. No tantrums. No sabotage. No drama.”
I stared at him like he’d just suggested I marry a goat. “Six months?!”
“It’s not that long.”
“It’s forever in my goddamn calendar!” I snapped.
He leaned forward. “And after that—if you’re still alive and no longer under threat—he’ll stop being your bodyguard. I’ll pull him off. Permanently.”
I couldn’t even process it.
Six. Whole. Months.
Of that man watching my every move, breathing my air, acting like he owned my personal space?
Nope. No way. That was psychological warfare. Cruel and unusual punishment. I’d rather be locked in a room with my least favorite cousin and a hungry hyena.
“I don’t want him around me for a day, not to talk of six goddamn months!” I barked, hands flying in frustration. “He’s horrible! Cold! Condescending! He treats me like I’m some petulant child who doesn’t deserve privacy!”
My father raised a brow. “You are a petulant child who doesn’t respect privacy. Especially your own.”
That one hit below the belt.
Ouch.
I clutched my chest dramatically. “Why don’t you just stab me, Father?”
“I’m giving you options.”
“This is not an option. This is a prison sentence!”
“It’s protection.”
“It’s oppression!”
He stood then, slowly, deliberately. Walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of me.
My heart hammered.
Because when my father looked like that—unshaken, resolute—there was no winning.
“This isn’t up for debate, Aria. It’s Alessandro or Alessandro.”
I flinched.
Low blow. Again.
He stepped closer and gently placed a hand on my shoulder. “Just give it time. It’s six months. That’s all. Then you’re free of him. Hell, you can throw a party and burn his name in effigy if it helps.”
I glared up at him, teeth clenched. “I don’t like this.”
“You’re not supposed to,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my head like I hadn’t just declared war on everything sacred. “I just want you to be safe. Be a good girl, Aria.”
I swallowed hard. Good girl. Ha.
He pulled me in for a hug. Warm. Steady. Infuriating.
And when he let go, I walked to the door—legs stiff, back ramrod straight.
But as I gripped the handle, something dangerous curled at the edges of my lips.
A smirk.
No, I didn’t plan on being a good girl.
Not for Alessandro.
Not for anyone.
Especially not for the man who thought he could kiss me into silence and then walk away like nothing had happened.
Six months?
Well, well, Alessandro.
You're about to have the worst six months of your life.