Page 90 of The Bodyguard's Fall

We both knew what this was.

He had a hero’s heart, and I needed saving.

I almost convinced myself that it was my nerves, not Tate, that caused the flutters in my belly. I raised my eyes, ready to pull myself together.

And then he winked at me.

It was so slight. So sudden. So out of character for him that after the initial slip of my breath, I could almost convince myself that it didn’t happen. Except, my heart rate betrayed me, exploding from my chest and triggering a landslide of shock waves throughout my body.

“I do.”

Tate’s words, low and strong, startled me out of my thoughts. When I braved a glance up at him, I found him watching me. My breath caught as his thumb brushed ever so lightly across my knuckles, the movement bringing me back to the present. Our present. This moment we were creating together.

I couldn’t imagine anyone else standing before me right now, taking this bullet for me.

Maybe it wasn’t out of character. How well did I really know him? Maybe Tate really was the kind of guy who would wink at a girl while they were getting married on the fly. Maybe I just hadn’t seen that side of him.

Or had I?

Even I had to admit that the sight of him, standing in a dark suit, his hair tidy except for a few unruly locks falling across his forehead, was enough to make a person appreciate the idea of marriage.

I mean, if I had to agree to a sham wedding to potentially save my life and job…Tate was as good as anyone to go home with.

Better, even.

For one, he was honorable to a fault.

He came from a good family. Not that that should have meant anything to me in this situation, but someday…the person who married him for real was going to be getting an ideal in-law package.

It was then that I realized that the room had gone quiet.

My eyes flew to Judge Thatcher before I glanced back at Tate, who was watching me with some amusement. They were both waiting for my answer.

Tate may only barely tolerate me, but I found myself tolerating him quite easily. I could laugh with him. Cry with him. Be grumpy with him. Teasing him had become one of my favorite pastimes. He seemed to know what I wasn’t telling him. Maybe it was his instincts as a cop, but I didn’t have to put any fears into words. He always seemed to know. And when I was with him, my worries underwent a spectacular disappearing act, almost vanishing completely.

That was it—the reason I could do this.

My heart, mind, and body felt irresistibly safe with him.

And for today, that was enough.

The judge cleared his throat.

“I do,” I said, startled at the way my voice sounded through the room, soft but clear.

Judge Thatcher droned on, the words we uttered binding us together for as long as we both shall live—or for as long as it took to apprehend a deranged stalker.

We fumbled through a ring exchange, where we placed questionably shiny gold rings on our fingers. Fake or not, I couldn’t help but stare at my hand. What it represented. The lies we were telling, yes. But also the soft truth of who Tate was at his core. He was marrying me to stop the bad guy. He put himself in harm’s way, not because he was assigned to the position, but because he wanted to. I had never before felt someone so much in my corner. The weight of that knowledge staggered me. Soon, an ocean of affection and gratitude for this man warmed my entire body.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Tate stared down at me, his eyes no doubt taking in my flushed cheeks and jittery hands.

Those I could handle. Those were things I could easily blame on nerves. A bride on her fake-but-somehow-also-very-real wedding day had every reason to be nervous.

But then, to my utter horror, one solitary tear slipped from the corner of my eye, tracing a glistening path down my cheek.

My attempt at a stoic, unaffected facade bleeding out in front of us both.