𝐆𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐨. Model, actress, celebrity. At the age of 22 Gianna already has everything or at least that's what everyone thinks.
But in reality, her life couldn't be more of a mess. Where there's money there's alcohol, where there's pa...
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"Thank you, Miles." I can barely distinguish the three words she whispers while her head is buried deep into my chest, her arms around my back and hands tightly gripping my white shirt as if I were the only thing keeping her standing.
But once I do I finally notice something, something that may not mean anything to the rest of the world but a lot to me.
She called me Miles, not Russo, not Pretty Boy or Mister Bodyguard. Miles.
"There's nothing to thank me for." That's all I manage to say after a few seconds of silence and overthinking and then even though I know it's probably not the best idea I find myself wrapping my arm around her waist and hugging her tighter against me.
Like this I can easily distinguish the sweet smell of vanilla coming from her hair, it invades my nostrils, dragging me farther away from reality and making me hug her even harder, completely forgetting how unprofessional this whole situation is.
I, her bodyguard, am in her room, alone with her, hugging her as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
I shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't be doing this.
Something she seems to realize at the same time I do because in less than a second we both let go of one another, giving a step back and staring into each other's eyes. Our gazes are saying everything that needs to be said.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." Her apology takes me by surprise but most importantly it also makes my heart crack because she shouldn't apologize. Not for finally allowing herself to feel, to be vulnerable. Us hugging may not have been the right reaction but that doesn't mean she should feel sorry for it. Not when I hugged her right back.
"Please, don't apologize," I whisper not able to look away from her stunning green eyes. Eyes that have never said so much and so little at the same time. "You did nothing that I also didn't do," I add hoping she will understand we both should share the blame for our actions.
"No, I, I should apologize, for behaving like a child, ignoring you for the whole week not allowing you to explain yourself, and well... for everything else I might have done." As she blurts out all the things she thinks she should apologize for but I had already forgiven I can't help but notice how slurred her speech is. That and the sudden smell of tequila.
She is drunk, pretty drunk. I should have noticed that a while ago, her hugging me and calling me Miles should have been enough to give it away.
"Gianna, I told you not to apologize, it's fine." This time I say it more authoritatively, suddenly overwhelmed by the way she is looking at me.
"Okay..." she nods slowly breaking eye contact and giving a few —very wobbly— steps away from me.
I reach for her so she doesn't fall over and help her towards the bed. "Let's get you to bed, you need to sleep."
