Blushing For The Bodyguard

Chapter 1 - Who The Hell Is He?

5 Years Later

I sat there, waiting for my parents to show up to the family meeting that they had called me to twenty minutes ago. Leave it to them to be late for their own meeting. I drummed my pink fingernails impatiently on the black, wooden coffee table, waiting for them to appear.  I pulled out my iPhone and ran my fingers through my bleach blonde hair, nervously. They only called a family meeting when something serious was going on, like a tour or a movie, or something. I texted them asking where the hell were they, and sat back against the white couch, annoyed.

Finally, my parents walked in the room, both with worried expressions. I tensed. I wonder if they were going to talk about the packages, cuz honestly, they were starting to scare the shit out of me, no seventeen year old should be getting death threat letters and poisoned food, but then again there was a lot of things I've been through that I shouldn't have been. I stared into my moms piercing, ice blue eyes that were, coincidentally, identical to mine, for some sort of clue as to what this was all about. Nothing.

"Macie, we need to talk," my father said seriously, staring at me hard with his dark green eyes, identical to my twenty-three year old sisters, Leah. My father had dirty blond tousled hair and a little bit of scruff on his face. He was attractive I guess you could say for a forty-two year old. He was wearing a dark blue suit and had his earphone on, which I'm positive he talks into more than he talks to me.

"What's up?" I asked nonchalantly; thinking 'please don't say a tour. Anything but a tour.'

"It concerns the packages and letters," my father said, looking at me quizzically for any signs of panic.

"What about them?" I asked nervously, concern written clearly across my face.

"Well sweetie," my forty year old mother started, "you see, we think that it's starting to get a little out of hand, considering the things that whoever this is, is now sending. We think that you need a bodyguard," she finished, looking at me with a made-up-my-mind face. I knew there was no point in arguing, even though I can clearly take care of myself. I mean, the only reason they were even considering getting me a bodyguard was because if I end up dead, they won't have their little singing money maker anymore.

Since there was no point in arguing, I sighed, saying, "When is he going to be here? I mean, it is a 'he' right?"

"In exactly three hours, and yes, it is a 'he,'" my mom replied, not glancing up from her iPad that my money paid for, in fact, my money paid for our whole living now-a-days, but they used it for whatever the hell they wanted to.

I glanced up at our silver, modernized clock and saw that the little black hand was exactly on the three. Okay, so he was going to be here at exactly six p.m. Wonderful. Whatever, as long as he stayed out of my way, we would have no problems.  "Where will he be staying?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

My father answered this one. "Well, since these threats are getting really big and as your mother and I stay downstairs, he will be staying in your room until we figure out the best way to handle the situation at hand," he said calmly.

He had to be shitting me! In my room? I mean, it was big enough for fifteen people, easy, but still, no way! Especially if he's a guy. I don't even like it when guys look at me!

"Yeah, like fuck he is!" I yelled, and both of my parents' heads snapped up. Being the 'perfect little pop princess', I've always had an image to uphold, including my language.

"Now, Macie, we don't use that kind of language," my mother reprimanded, glancing at my father for help.

He looked at me, and I knew that I had the best amused expression ever on my face. "Mace, seriously, get over yourself, he's staying in your room and that's final, it's big enough for a zoo, so I'm sure you'll be fine."