Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tobias How do you trust a person after the one who was your everything betrayed you by sleeping with your best friend?

You don’t.

At least not me.

“I don’t need a bodyguard!” Hannah exclaims as we take off our shoes inside my hallway, which now is hers too.

“You do need one,” I say without facing her. All I want right now is a shower and some much-needed rest.

“No one would try to assassinate me!”

I arch an eyebrow while hanging up my coat, watching her over my shoulder as I do. “No, but…

Someone might try to press me for money by kidnapping you.”

Hannah looks shocked by my words. Fear enters those ice-blue eyes, and then something weird happens: I, Tobias Ford, feel guilt for pulling this woman into my crazy life and schemes.

The guilt trip lasts for about three seconds. Then I remind myself that Hannah needs this. She is a broke college student, and I’m the answer to her problems.

I shouldn’t feel guilty.

Still, I sigh. “Look, how about we talk about this tomorrow? It’s late, and I have an early day tomorrow.”

Noticing my tiredness, Hannah relents. Her expression softens, and she stops pressing her agenda. How interesting. It seems former Mrs. Darling cares more about other’s people well-being than her own. I admire that.

“I suppose I can wait until tomorrow,” Hannah looks around and takes in the space around her. Her eyes widen like I knew they would, and shock crosses her features. “So this is your house…”

“Yes.”

She laughs, and I stare her down.

“Did I say something funny?” I ask.

“No, it’s just that…” a smile tugs on her lips, and she looks up at me with glittering eyes. So naive. So innocent and young. “If this is your house, why were you staying at the hotel?”

My mood darkens. “Because I was with my ex-wife when I bought this house. It’s filled with our old memories.”

“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t know that… But I suppose I should have…” Hannah stares down at the ground, embarrassed. “Is it hard for you to be here?”

Is she serious?

The answer is yes, and Hannah should know that!

Like, who the fuck wouldn’t understand that I’m in agony being here?! It’s like asking someone if they cut their hair when you see them showing up with a new hairstyle, for fuck’s sake!

Still, I don’t want to point that out. It would be admitting my heart is broken, and I don’t want to show myself as vulnerable, so what do I do?

I lose my temper like an asshole.

“That’s none of your business…” I growl.

Hannah winces at my words, tone—I don’t know. The point is that she looks scared, kind of like she has seen a ghost. It baffles me.

If I scare her so much, why did she agree to marry me?

And most importantly, do I look scary?

I never considered myself intimidating, but then again, I rarely ask what other people think of me. Neither do I care. I suppose I’m tall. Perhaps that’s enough to enter the scary-man territory?

But I would like to think of myself as handsome…

“Well…” Hannah looks uncomfortable. Her lips are trembling, and she avoids eye contact. “W-which room should I take?”

Is she serious?

“You’re obviously sleeping in the master bedroom.”

“Oh.”

She looks relieved.

“With me,” I add.

“Oh…”

And now Hannah looks like I’ve told her I’m going to take her out into the forest at night to murder her.

Like, what the fuck? Is the thought of sharing a bed with me that terrible?! My ex-wife cheated on me, and now this one looks at me like I’m a wanted criminal!

My blood is pumping. “Just follow me.”

Hannah doesn’t listen to me ordering her around. Instead, she grabs my hand, shocking me beyond belief. I turn around, losing my train of thought for a moment, until I see her bright smile.

My eyes narrow. “Why are you smiling?”

She releases my hand but doesn’t back down. Neither does my irritated tone wipe the sweet smile from her lips. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.” Irritated, yes. Angry? No.

Ignoring me, she smiles and beams brighter than the goddamn sun. “Do you know what I do when I’m feeling like I’m under a heavy rain cloud?”

Under a heavy rain cloud? Is that an idiom? Who the fuck uses expressions when they talk? A clown? A therapist, or perhaps a kindergarten teacher? She is weird—a nutcase.

Still, I’m darkly amused. “No, what do you do?” Tell me so that I can laugh at you.

“I take a deep breath,” Hannah takes a dramatic deep breath filling her chest with air. “Count to three,”

she is now slowly exhaling while keeping her smile. “And then I let it out while shaking my hands.”

I stare at her while she shakes her little hands, rattles them really, and that’s when it hits me, “Did I marry a crazy person?”

She continues the motion as she speaks. “I’m not crazy. This is a proven method of letting go of your inner anger and moving on. I promise you this will help you deal with your pent-up stress and anger.” Her fingers are still moving. Actually, her whole body is. She looks like an excited Golden Retriever.

I can’t help but laugh under my breath. “If I did that in front of the people at my office, I would be taken to the loony bin…”

She stops moving her fingers. “Don’t joke about that! I have friends there, and some of them are really nice.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course, you have friends there…”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Am I?” I don’t smile or move a facial muscle, but I’m laughing on the inside. Hannah is a spaz.

“You’re being mean…”

“Not surprising, considering I’m not a very nice person,” I meet her eyes in the dimly lit hallway. And just because I can, I take a step toward her with a growing smirk. “Does that upset you?”

Hannah backs into the wall, pressing her hands against it. Her eyes are wide with fear, and her bottom lip is trembling. She looks as if I might punch her. Why? I already said I wouldn’t hurt her…

“Yes,” Hannah mumbles. “You’re… upsetting me right now.”

“Then perhaps you should take a deep breath and shake your fingers, you know, to calm down and all that,” I mock.

Hannah doesn’t find my sarcastic tone funny. Her eyes glisten with hurt when she speaks to me. “You’re an asshole.”

I laugh. “At least we both agree on something…”

Hannah stares at me, puzzled by my words. I don’t blame her. Another person might defend themself, but not me. No. Because there isn’t a single person in this world who hates me more than myself.

I sigh and walk forward. “Anyway, we should head upstairs. It’s late, and I need a shower. Come.”

Hannah reluctantly follows me upstairs. She is silent, but her eyes spark with wonder the second she sees the master bedroom. It pleases me. I designed it myself.

“Do you like the room?” I ask while grabbing the hems of my shirt.

“A lot,” she says without turning around. “It’s not… what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” I don’t know why I’m so curious to hear what she expected to find inside my bedroom.

“Something less… personal.” I think I see her face turn pink, but I’m unsure since she isn’t facing me. I watch her drag her fingers over a carved wooden sculpture I made myself.

My eyes zero in on Hannah like a hawk. My ex-wife found my wood-carving hobby boring, but Hannah looks impressed by the sculpture and is wearing a wondrous expression.

I like that I made her eyes huge. I decide and continue talking, which is highly unlike me. “What do you mean by less personal?”

“Oh, just that… I had this picture of rich people having stale bedrooms. You know? Less stuff, white walls, and white furniture. Or black. The point is that they color-code everything.”

A laugh slips out of my mouth, and I toss my shirt on the armchair in the corner of the room. “Not my style. The rest of the house is definitely modern and color-coded, but not my bedroom.”

She is still studying sculpture. “Why is that?”

I find myself unable to answer her question.

I know the answer: because the bedroom is where I tear down my walls. It’s the little space where I can breathe and truly be myself. But it’s a vulnerable answer, so I choose silence.

This, in return, makes Hannah turns around. At first, she is shyly smiling, but then she shrieks. “W-why are you getting undressed?!”

My lips curl into a smirk.

Hannah is funny. By shrieking, she makes it seem like seeing me naked is terrible. Yet she isn’t looking away.

Her eyes are plastered to my naked torso, and I must admit that I love the look of awe and admiration in her eyes. After my ex-wife cheated on me, I thought something was wrong with me. I spend countless hours at the gym, and now, it’s all paying off.

“I hope you understand we will share a bed and that no sane person sleeps in clothes.”

Hannah is still staring at me, and I breathe a laugh. She is raking me up and down as if there might be a test later. It’s funny. The woman saw me naked earlier but still looks just as shocked.

My chest swells, and my devil horns grow. “Let me know when you’re done ogling me. I need to take a shower, but I wouldn’t want to interrupt something. In case you’re taking mental pictures to later remember for inspiration or something.”

It shouldn’t be possible, but her face turns into a deeper shade of red, and I chuckle in amusement. The poor thing looks like she might pass out, so I turn around to enter the bathroom.

As I enter the shower area, I’m wearing a big smile—Hannah finds me attractive—why does that please me?