The Model's Bodyguard (Romantic Suspense) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 4 - Bodyguard Handbook

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The stream of light leaking through my bedroom window caused me to stir uncomfortably in my sleep. I tried to shake it off and fall back into unconsciousness but I simply wasn't able to, the light disturbing my eyes. I laid immobile on the mattress and stared up at the white ceiling. Because there are just so many intriguing things about ceilings, Mila.

And then Francisco Medina sneaked his way into my unfortified mind, catching me off guard. Stupid gorgeously sexy, arrogant, cocky, and exasperating bodyguard. Groaning in frustration and still half asleep, I tossed the sheets aside and got out of bed. Freaking light.

When in the bathroom, I took care of my needs then made my way to the closet to get dressed. I had the day to myself today, no photo shoots, no interviews, no pretending, nada. A smile almost made its way onto my face before it froze and disappeared at the realization that I did not, in any way, have the day to myself. Because of him. But can you really put the blame on him, Milani? Is it fair? Hardly.

If it was anyone's fault it was my mother's but I could not blame her either. She did this because she cared for me, she was worried, overly so actually, but her intentions were good. The only way I could escape this bodyguard ordeal was if I moved out and there was no way I'd do that. Not when my mom was sick and in need of me.

There was no one I could blame and nothing that I could do so I optimistically put a smile on my face and chose my clothing. I settled on a flowy lavender blouse, light-wash jeans, and silver strappy sandals, changing quickly, and walked out of my room.

As I entered the living room my eyes landed on my mother sitting on the couch, reading a classic novel. Why was she not in bed? She never woke this early and I had checked the time. It was only eight forty, much too early for her.

"What's the matter? Why are you up so early?" I asked, my voice gentle as I walked to her and took her thin hand into mine. It was too cold. I kissed her cheek. Still too cold.

She looked up at me from her seat on the coach, curled in blankets that hid her thin frame, and gave me a smile.

"Nothing too bad, honey. I was hurting a little," My mom paused to release a weak cough and for a very understandable reason, I thought that she was hurting more than just a little. "So I decided to do something that would keep me busy until Dr. Merchant arrives with the pain relievers." She explained.

"Mom, why don't you give chemo a try?" I asked for about the fifth time, hoping it can cure her. I was told already, she was in stage three and curing the cancer wasn't very likely but she could try. Yet I knew very well what her answer would be.

She rolled her eyes humorously. "Mila, darling, you know how I feel about that garbage. I'd rather live whatever life I have left without worrying about getting cured when its much more likely that the chemo just screws up whatever time I've got and gives me a hell of a lot of pain," My mom added lightly, chuckling, and I frowned. I didn't find it funny that she discussed her own death so lightheartedly. It frustrated me to the point that I considered shaking her. "I rather go by nature's protocol." She said casually, giving me a smile. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a second, and let it out slowly. I'm not arguing with her.

"Do you want some tea?" I asked.

"Yes, honey. That'd be lovely. And those clothes look pretty on you." My mom smiled and I returned the gesture.

"Thanks, mom." I said and gently let go of her hand to walk to the kitchen. After I prepared some English Breakfast Tea for the two of us, I took the two cups and went to my mother, sitting beside her on the couch.