Chapter Text
Shadowy storm clouds soaked the sky and shrouded the light from the day; once thriving trees dancing carelessly in the powering breeze that brought on unwanted rain. It could have showered any other day—even the next day would have been better, yet it chose to rain on the day of a funeral.
You mourned upon your father’s descending casket with sorrow in your eyes and anguish in your heart; the glossy black box that would become his new home for all eternity now a constant reminder of his death. The change in weather ruined everyone’s attire but at least it diverted you away from the main reason why you were at the cemetery to begin with. A single red rose left your fingers, cascading to the casket that waited for the dirt on top, a rumble of thunder causing everyone to gather their belongings and duck for cover to avoid soaking in the storm.
Out of your control, yet you still partially blamed yourself for your father’s death as if you were the one who caused it. He taught you all he knew about exploration, crafting healing remedies from just twigs and leaves—even how to take down a demon with just your bare hands; Davey Crockett sure would be proud. He lent his knowledge about the wild mushrooms that grew in the darkest of forests—haunted by some of the most grotesque creatures and how to take them down, but you couldn’t help to feel all that talent went to waste as you sat by doing nothing while his days decreased in numbers. It was your lack of faith in yourself, with the addition of your mother constantly spewing negativity your way. She repetitively showed resentment towards you for being your father’s shadow but even if you’d put everything you knew in motion, nothing you nor your skills could do would have saved the man and he knew it. He was too far gone, slowly deteriorating from the inside. He smiled at you through it all, never losing his spirits even though his life.
With a last glace, you turned away from your father's grave before you cautiously made your way under one of the ports by the funeral entrance. Water kicked up from your heels, dampening your stockings which ended up sticking to you even more than already intended. Crowds of people soon gathered there as well, bodies bumping into one another to try and keep dry from the downpour, yet suits and dresses were already ruined. The commotion came quick and then came all the chatter but not before someone accidentally stepped on your foot and scuffed your shoe. With a huff, you pushed your way inside where the atmosphere seemed entirely more peaceful and less cluttered before taking a seat at one of the dining tables as a young man immediately approached you.
“Can I get you something to drink ma’am?” the boy looked to be no older than you, maybe a few years younger dressed in a black suit and white tie. His shiny dress shoes reflected coffee in color and you personal would have told him they looked ridiculous with the outfit, but you didn’t recognize him as a family friend, so perhaps he worked there at the funeral home.
“Water is fine.”
The young man bowed his head before disappearing into what you supposed to be a kitchen that got used during community events mostly. The church never fed anyone just because. Moments later the boy returned with a bottle of water that missed its fridge appointment; lukewarm and stale. Twisting the cap off and not caring where it went, you chugged your drink quickly, trickles of it cascading down the corners of your mouth from the messy thirst. It proceeded into your cleavage where you dress soaked up the rest. The feeling of being watched disrupted you however, the young man standing mouth agape and eyes fixed on your chest. This could have been the most action the young man had ever seen, so you just offered a smile before you adjusted your top.
Nothing had to be said but the action was clear that you wanted him to get lost, and that he did.
After all, death was guaranteed and you prepared yourself to handle your father’s passing, that you would only cry once and that you would get through the funeral and continue his legacy. Unfortunately, your mind continuously told you that everything died with him: the ability to continue exploring—your freedom mostly. Your mother wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about you digging around caves, only something your father would ever permit. You’d still have to sneak out of the house and at twenty-nine, as bad as that sounded, it was what would have had to been done. That was until, a single manila colored envelope fluttered in front of you on the table and the one to deliver it was none other than the devil herself with her left hand wrapped around the neck of a wine glass and the other drumming slender wrinkled finger tips on the wooden table surface.
“Your father left this for you...” she whispered smugly as she took a casual sip of the bitter fluid. No surprise she began slowly turning into a wino; her third glass in since you two arrived and your father’s death was the perfect excuse for her to indulge.
Looking down at the envelope in hand, you noted that the seal already had tampering and you couldn’t help but to protest your disapproval verbally. “If it’s for me, why is it open?” you asked, your fingers dancing over the torn gold sticker.
Your mother shrugged, taking another sip of her sin, “I was curious as to what kind of bullshit he left for you, and I was right. He’s hired a bodyguard to look after you and some other nonsense that’s far less important that many things I could think of.” your mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. With her words true, you were indeed getting a bodyguard, you noted it as you read over the letter, but what did you need with a bodyguard? You weren’t in any danger.
With your face contorted in confusion, you continued on in the letter to find out that the bodyguard would be just to aid you on your journey, more specifically a mission your father left you to complete. You nodded to yourself before stuffing the papers back in the envelope. However, the weight of remaining contents caught your attention. Out of the overturned mail produced a beautiful gold wire wrapped amethyst stone, a gift from your father.
‘When you need a little piece' – DADDO💜
Your eyes expanded with tears, your mouth filling with laughter at the wrong usage your father scrawled down in a hurry. How often did he do such a thing? Gently your fingers danced each groove of the wire, the coolness of the gem sensitive shocking to your warm touch. Immediately, you secured the gift around your neck letting it fall to your chest, your heart over-flowing with warmth as salty tears rolled down your cheeks. Your mother offered you a napkin before disappearing to go refill her glass, muttering something as she walked off. So, caught up in your thoughts you completely forgotten that you just received a letter saying you would be assigned a bodyguard, but who the hell would this bodyguard be? No name, just a reminder that they would meet you soon exactly a week from the day.
“Oh boy. Dad, what the hell did you do?”
*****
The day for you to meet your bodyguard; some guy your dad hired and highly recommended came quicker than you anticipated—a week already since your father got laid to rest. You weren’t sure why, but from the brief explanation he left, the guy had top-notch skills that even got put to the test for your old man to witness. You just hoped he wasn’t some asshole who desired to get his hands on your family’s wealth.
Satisfied with your appearance an hour later, you made your way down the stairs to the kitchen right in the middle of preparation for breakfast. Your mom wasn’t present, so that only meant she’d discovered the bottom of a dark green bottle. On the contrary, the aroma in the air smelled delicious however, fluffy buttermilk pancakes; sweet hints of Madagascar vanilla topped with notes of delicate cinnamon to break up some of the sweetness. An unhealthy rich hill of butter slathered with sweet sticky syrup sat perched on top taking you back to when your father would request pancakes for you for breakfast. He always knew your favorite, and nothing was too much for his little girl. Even though some of the chefs secretly hated you for having them always make it. Emotions pricked the corner of your eyes and you hurried to blink them away as a platter of crispy, Applewood smoked bacon got presented in front of you; another one of your favorites.
Your eggs were a bit late coming out, but you didn’t seem to mind, as you were occupying yourself with a strip of bacon. And last but not least, a lofty, cool, energizing glass of fresh picked orange juice straight from your backyard tucked to the side of your platter. Your tummy protested for you to acknowledge it, all the luscious smells sending you into a hunger attack as you began wolfing down your meal.
Breakfast didn’t last long; your appetite sky rocketed from the fact you hadn’t eaten much the last few days. Your sorrow started to get the better of you and you often found yourself even going without sleep, only finding comfort by your father’s side at his grave, weeping uncontrollable on site, begging for him to come back. The sickness he obtained remained a mystery but determined to right your wrongs, you vowed to discover what made the man ill, to find out what took him from you, and after all—he'd left you with an important mission, which you hadn’t quite got around to reviewing the details of yet. Other things roamed your mind, you had a bodyguard to meet, who just so happened to be late.
Shortly after a knock at the door stopped motion in the house, assumed to be the bodyguard. One of the staff people tended to the disruption in a haste, greeting the man on the other side with a warm smile and shake of the hand. You stayed in the kitchen after breakfast waiting for his arrival for the longest, and now that the guy finally got there after being almost two hours late, the asshole better had a great explanation as to why he already began bullshitting his job.
Your thoughts of cursing the man out were interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat. “*Name* this is Mr. Dante, your new bodyguard.” The staff, Castell announced, stepping aside to reveal the man trailing behind him.
Far from what was expected; Dante had to be at least 6 feet tall. He had the whitest hair and bluest eyes. He worn a lengthy red coat, and under, a black elbow-length shirt with a zipper right down the middle. His pants matched but missed by a few shades.
“Eh, it’s just Dante.”
“Um…h-hi…hi.”
Dante smirked at you, already up to no good, “You alright there?” he questioned smugly. And that’s when your face fell flat, your lips thinned, and the corners of your mouth pulled back.
Oh God
“I’m fine, and your late.”
How the hell did your dad even meet this guy?
Dante already irritated you and you’d only spoken a few words to the man, but for some reason you couldn’t stop staring at his stupid face.
“Well, I lost track of time or either didn’t really care to show up, but I’m here.”
“Look, guy, I know my father hired you to keep an eye on me, but I can assure you I don’t nee—"
Dante waved you off, “I’m just here to do my job, I won’t get in your way pretty girl,” he winked.
Your jaw clinched at his arrogant attitude, your hands balling by your sides. You wanted so desperately to knock that stupid smirk right off his face. Who the hell did he think he was?
First: late for his first day on the job. Then: came in your house, all sexy and frustrating you unintentionally with his hotness. All jobs were supposed to be strictly business, though that didn’t stop your mind from drifting every time Dante’s sweet pink tongue came out to lick across his lips. Deep down inside it made you melt, the way the natural light of the sun hit his mesmeric blue orbs, making them appear virtually like glass. You’d seen handsome men before; you were the daughter of a very wealthy man; men came and went out of your sight daily, but there was just something about Dante that was... different. He surely wasn’t your type; however, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to capture those lips with your own, explore his pretty mouth with your curious tongue and taste every fiber of his cocky being.
The sound of footsteps thumping down the stairs caught your attention, your mother now awake, with her hand clamped over her mouth to shield her yawn and morning breathe away from the world. It didn’t take long for spotting you next to Dante to turn her face into a frown, the obvious assumption written on her wrinkled features. Instantly you threw your hands up in defense, and Dante gave her an ‘It’s not what it looks like’ stare.
“Mom, this is Dante, my new bodyguard,” you motioned over to him with a light smile. Since the relationship you two shared wasn’t one to really cherish, you kept your dislike for her to a minimum; a new day and you wanted to make peace, even if it meant you’d have to string along the role of “mother & daughter” for your guest.
Your mom took a step back, taking in the man’s features, the evident disgust still plastered on her face, “Your work isn’t needed, she won’t be continuing her shenanigans any longer, won’t you *Name*?”
You scoffed at your mother’s discourteous statement, your hands finding your hips and your neck rolling as you spat venom. It appeared your mom didn’t have the desire of a fresh slate like you did, and even the presence of company wasn’t enough to corral her ignorant behavior.
“First, a hello would have been more appropriate. Secondly—father left this up to me, and I don’t mind Dante being here to help me. This is not your choice, mother.”
The room fell silent.
“He nicely took the job when he didn’t have to, and I think the least you could do is show a little respect and properly—"
A firm hand caught your cheek, knocking you back and making you clench your now warm face. Your mother stood before you, her greying brows knitting on her crumpled appearance as her lips dipped into yet another frown. Your sass stunned her, and she couldn’t believe your unexpected outburst and instinct to take up for a stranger. You wanted to believe that she wouldn’t escalate the situation even more with Dante there but your mother didn’t even acknowledge his presence anymore.
She had a bone to pick with you and she didn’t care who was there to witness it. Dante stood to the left of the commotion, unsure of what to do. Your mother’s eyes darted to him and her lips sunk even further if possible. “I don’t know you, but I’m guessing my husband did, and if you do anything to harm my daughter, I’ll have your head hung on the uppermost mantel of this place,” she impended. “I’ll send everyone I know after you, and believe me—they will find you.”
Dante appeared as if he wanted to speak, but then decided that it was better, he didn’t. So instead, he just cooperatively nodded his head. it wasn’t your mother’s place to kick the man out and as much as she hated the fact some things were just out of her control; she saw nothing more than to respect her late husband’s wishes and let you have your way. Her features softened and she looked Dante over for a minute before she extended her hand for him to take.
Dante took her hand in his, before quickly releasing it and turning to you to make sure you were okay. He didn’t make physical contact with you, but his eyes alone shared a troubled glance with yours, the rubicund raised flesh of your cheek making your whole-body seethe in rage. Your mother muttered on about some other things to Dante before she left you two to be alone again.
What a way of saying hello to someone on their first day of the job.
Now sitting at the kitchen island, Dante spoke first, “Doesn’t seem like you two get along…” he slid his glass of water from hand to hand, the condensation on the marble aiding in the action. His usual cocky demeanor faltered and he seemed so relaxed, a bit worried to say the least. You could tell by how his blue globes kept scanning over your bloodshot cheek. Dante wanted to ask why, but now wasn’t the time for story-telling.
You shrugged idly, tipping your glass against your lips, and swallowing the cool liquid, “She’s a bitch. She’s upset because I didn’t grow up to be like her and she wants me to halt all activities, I’ve communal with my father,” you whispered, “She’s always yelled at me but never has she gotten so bold as to hit me.”
Dante’s bottom lip poked out from his top, “Well that’s not good.” he turned towards you, a look of sympathy on his face; as if he were unsure how to reply to your statement.
A sigh passed your lips as you finished your glass of water; the clinging of it to counter echoing out the quiet kitchen. Everyone dispersed out into the house to continue their daily doings. Luckily no one witnessed the little fiasco in the foyer earlier. You wanted your father’s love right now, a hug or even just a simple pat on your shoulder would do. You looked over to Dante, your eyes glassed over with the overwhelming urge to cry. You felt so broken, so numb and just kicked to the curb.
What did you do to deserve so much hate?
You were her daughter.
Were you not good enough for her or something?
Noticing your dismay, Dante reached over to you, his hand stopping short of yours as it immobilized in the air. It had been a horrible first impression and he didn’t want to upset you even more by doing anything to make you uncomfortable. You noted his reach and pushed yourself from the bar stool beneath and fell into the man. It wasn’t your father’s embrace like you wanted, but with how you were feeling currently, you didn’t care.
Your arms wrapped around Dante shoulders as you suppressed your face into the crook of his neck and sobbed. He smelled good, like sandalwood and the crisp fall air. There was a faint smell of shower gel and crisp ocean waves; probably from shampoo. Dante stood stiff as a board against your body, his arms down to his sides hesitant of what to do. You felt his discomfort and peeled yourself away, muttering an apology before wiping the back of your hand across your face. You winced from the impact with the bruise on your cheek, you hadn’t seen your expression, but you were sure that it was there.
Dante’s eyes met yours and his hands-your hips; stopping you from receding from him completely. He cleared his throat before standing from his stool, pulling you back into an embrace. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hug you back, you’d just caught him off-guard at the moment. You melted under his encirclement and returned your face to the crook of his neck, breathing in his exotic scent.
Okay maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. He’d witnessed your mother’s bullshit first hand, you losing your temper in the drop of a dime, and you currently crying like a new born. Yet, he still hadn’t ran off.
So that was good, right?
You stayed this way for what felt like hours, although it was only a couple of minutes; part of you wished it was hours. A big wave of relief left your body and washed onto the man before you. Regaining your composure, you awkwardly loosened your hold before taking a step back.
Dante watched over you attentively, his role of his job already having had come into play, “You, okay?” he asked, his body returning to his stool.
You nodded your head, sniffing back the snot in your nose and wiping away the tears from your eyes. You gave a weak smile before speaking, “T-thank y-you.” your voice broke, your throat dry and scratchy from your constant weeping.
Dante nodded back to you, his eyes scanning over the room. He didn’t know exactly what you were going through, but he could pity with you about the situation of losing a parent.
Something you’d find out later about the man.