DARREN.

Aya Huseinni was one hell of a sleeper.

    I tried waking her up four times by now, and neither one of those times did she even budge from her auspiciously comfortable bed with lavender-colored sheets and soft, white silk pillows.

So, instead of wasting my morning I had what any normal human my stature would do: work out in the middle of the apartment. It was awkward at first, I must admit, but it wasn't my fault Aya wasn't the best tour guide.

Not that she gave much of a tour of her high-rise complex, that is.

I flicked through her types of vinyl, trying to find some artist I could listen to while I worked. Half of it was Emaad Huseinni (go figure) and the rest were artists I'd never heard before. That was until I saw the last one.

Daryl Jones.

It was his second studio album, Candyland, dated 1947. That was three years before I was conscripted into the army, and the first year I had full custody of my sister as her legal guardian. She loved Candyland so much, it was all we'd ever listen to in our flat for months after it came out.

She really wanted to meet him and go to one of his shows.

But Janet never did. She was too busy entertaining the presence of awful men to really care.

I didn't listen to music for the entirety of my workout. Today was going to be a long, long day. And I didn't think Aya knew it, considering her sleeping behavior. I did thirty minutes of calisthenics, workouts that didn't rely on any outside equipment but body weight.

Mid-push-up, a pair of small feet and dainty, pink-painted toes were pointed at my eyes.

Slowly, I looked up. In the process, sprung from my plank position and sat cross-legged, my right elbow positioned on my knee, my hand curled into a fist, and my now-red cheek rested against my bruised knuckles.

"Good morning, princess," I said, looking at her with a mocking smile. We were going to be late. "Rise and shine from your–"

She glared at me, her eyebrows knitted together. "Do not start," she bit off. Did she not like princess treatment? Was that not it? She needed a wake-up call. The world–this apartment–didn't revolve around her. Not anymore.

"What, you don't like Disney films?" I asked, beginning to match her tone. "Or are you not a morning person?"

Aya slithered her way to the kitchen, roaming past me like I wasn't there s per usual. Her silk robe dragged on the floor. It looked like a second blanket on her. "Yes," she said mildly, letting out a sigh, and began to turn on the stove.

"Don't bother," I introjected, standing up and walking towards her. She stopped, Her head down slightly which made her hair fall in front of her small, round face. "I made us breakfast. I hope you like bacon and eggs."

"Thanks," she said, "but I don't eat bacon."

I looked at her confused. What doesn't this woman do? She's an esteemed journalist–or so I was told, and had a brother who was the face of America, and a friend who was an actress. Out of all the things she didn't do, the comments about not drinking the night before and now the comment about not eating bacon threw me off.

    "Not your cup of tea, then?"

    She gave me daggers for eyes. "I'll take the eggs, thanks." She walked over to the stove and broke the egg in half, one for her and one for me. She handed me my plate before sitting on the dining table. I sat opposite her. Her face read like she hadn't slept. Her hair was a mess and her skin was dull, color drained from her face. She was probably not a morning person, then. I couldn't relate.

    Aya got up, smoothing out her robe, and swished to the fridge. She took out a loaf of bread and sliced two pieces. She turned to me. I hadn't touched my food. "Want a slice?" she asked, voice groggy.

    I shook my head. "I took the liberty of signing you up for private lessons with me."

    "I hate mornings..." she grumbled, seeming to ignore me completely. "I wanna sleep forever." she broke a piece of her bread and sectioned off her egg with it before eating it together. She stared at me. "What kind of private lesson?" she asked, her mouth full. "I didn't know I was gonna return to school." Was that a smile that tugged at her lips?

    I cleared my throat, slicing my egg and bacon. I paused to eat. Aya picked up her glass filled with orange juice and put it gently to her lips.  "Self-defense."

    She looked like she was going to go into anaphylactic shock with the news. Her hand wrapped around her throat, and her mouth puffed up like a balloon to keep the liquid in her mouth. I sprung up from my seat and rushed to her aid. I did not mean to do that. Fuck.

    She shoved me away before I could do anything. Her hand closed in a tiny fist and slammed on the table so hard I didn't know she was capable of such a clean punch. That kind of contact anywhere else could send someone flying.

    I bit back admiration. No, get over yourself. I opened my mouth, ready to say something, but I didn't know what to say. Goof job? Put that force into boxing?

    But I put aside my feelings and asked, after a collected breath, "Are you alright?"

Her head hung low again, and slowly, she rose. "You can't make me go." her eyes were deadpan, her breathing shaky. "I can't."

I straightened myself up. "It'll be good for you." I watch her as a scowl formed on her face.

Whoops.

"Why?" she asked, but I could she only asked for the sake of asking but didn't really mean it. Behind all that grouchiness, I could sense she was thinking of something but didn't want to say it. "Did my brother put you up to this? Were you two conspiring again..."

Ah, there it was.

"No and no," I said.

Aya finished her food and got up to put her dish in the sink. "I can handle myself, Darren." Hearing her pronounce my name in her American accent was both funny and irritating.

It was only our second day and we had a complete one-eighty from the day before. At least for right now, it was just us and the public was out of business. She needed to get herself together, and that was what I planned on helping her do.

"You should change your clothes," she butted, breaking the silence that filled the air. She turned her face away from me, looking at the TV. screen that was in the living room. What channel was it on? Some talk show I didn't know the name of was airing now–9 AM–but Aya looked to be interested.

"These are my workout clothes," I said in earnest, watching the screen, too, but mainly at her from my peripheral view.

She side-eyed me. Then looked me up and down I could've sworn she was plotting something larger than destroying my ego. In the few days I'd known her, she did that a lot.

"No, they're your..." she paused. She mumbled something inaudible. "...your undergarments."

"Undergarments?" I asked her, hoping I heard that right. I wasn't going to strip shirtless in the middle of the living room. At least I had the decency and manner to know that that was completely inappropriate. Had she been someone I trusted, someone I knew, then that'd be different.

But I didn't know her.

"I wasn't going to–"

Aya put a hand up. The nerve of her. "Please, do change."

Wait, she was going to follow my plan after all? "So, you're going to attend the self-defense lesson?" I tried to picture her in training gear and nearly laughed out loud at how stupid it looked in my head.

"Yes," she said.

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

"What does it look like, dingbat?" Aya scoffed, tearing her eyes away from the television, and finally turned it off. "I wanna learn to fight."

"I'm pleased."

Her eyes bore into mine.

A crooked smile peeped from the side of my mouth.

"Don't push my luck."

AYA.

I was willing to do whatever it took to get my brother off my back and live my life again. I had a mission, a goal, whatever you wanted to call it–and I wasn't going to spoil myself by not doing anything about it.

I had to put my fear aside.

I had to trust Darren.

Fuck me.

That didn't come with its own share of trials and tribulations, though. Standing up for myself didn't mean I hated doing so. Especially the way we were doing it.

Together.

As much as I loved to do things on my own, having Darren invade my space was not on the list. I didn't want to go to the self-defense lesson, but I knew I needed them.

It was pathetic and lousy of me to say yes to everything, all of which I didn't want to do, but what other option did I have? But I knew, deep down, that Darren was right. It seemed like he always was. It didn't help that he knew exactly what to say and when.

I stared at the attire I was told to wear. It was a skin-tight, black uniform of sorts. There were knots on the shoulders to invite ventilation into the suit.

And I didn't know how to get it on.

Darren had been gone for two hours, too busy setting up the place just for him and me.

Dina put the side of her index finger to her light pink lips. "You're telling me your bodyguard has been gone for how long?" She looked at me.

I made a twisted face. well... if you put it that way... it definitely looked bad from an outsider's view. "Darren... is making a reservation," I corrected myself, fiddling with my fingers. She turned her whole body towards me. Her soft facial features formed into a concerned expression, but her green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"When he stopped by a few hours ago, he told me to keep you company. What's he reserving? The uniform is definitely for boxing, but I don't recognize the company."

Dina Alfonso was an amateur boxer, but she knew how to solid, hard-hitting punch. She used to frequent Gleason's Gym, the best boxing gym in New York City, but ever since she booked her role in The Buccaneers, she'd  hardly been in the city these days.

"It's for Gleason's," I said, plopping myself on the edge of my bed, and swinging my legs. I still had my robe on.

Dina's ring-covered fingers grazed the fabric of the suit. "I didn't know they changed their logo and branding," she commented.

I put my head in my hands, letting out a frustrated groan. I leaned back, and accidentally fell back-first on the fitted sheets of my bed. I rubbed my face, turning on my side. "The reservation is for a room..." I trailed off, but she didn't look entirely convinced of my words.

I was hesitant, nervous, and excited; an amalgamation of emotions surged through me. The last time I had seen him was after breakfast–and that was a disaster all on its own. I fucking hated surprises, and he threw so many at me I couldn't keep up all while with a stupid, crooked smile.

I was sure he got off on the idea of being an arrogant ass.

Emaad had told me he had vetted him. I was starting to doubt my brother's client-employee matching skills. Even Mama was in on it.

And she was Short Hill's resident matchmaker.

How could they both be wrong about the compatibility between Darren and me?

Or was it their collective way of just shooing me away? Of dismissing me?

It sure didn't help that all of was some big elaborate surprise.

Dina sat on the other side of the bed, reaching out for my hand. She squeezed it. "You've got to get out of your head, Bunny. He looks like he means well."

"I don't like him at all," I said. "He's always in my space, you know. He's always just... there."

"Well yes, that's what a bodyguard is supposed to do." She stared at me, her lips quivering upwards.

I grumbled. "That isn't the point, Nan. He's pompous, invading, and an asshole. How can I work with someone like him?"

Sitting on my bed with my best friend, talking about boys–men?--we hated, brought me back to our freshmen year of university when we first met. With Dina, things were easy. She was one of the only close few in my life that understood me. Darren on the other hand, did not.

"I mean, he told me he's gonna reserve us the entire floor. I feel way more free here on my bed than anywhere with him."

Dina's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. Whoops. "Wait-hold on, the whole floor?  You said it was just a room?"

I snatched an idle pillow that was teetering off the edge and shoved my face in it. "See what I mean? He's making it a bigger deal than it is!"

Dina roared out a laugh. I threw the pillow at her. "It is a big deal, Bunny. You're going on the press tour for Little Women, that's at the very least one month, and right after–"

"This was a shit idea."

We stared at one another deeply, her hand traveled to my shoulder. "I'll be here every step of the way. And besides, your man"--I stuck my finger in my mouth and gagged at her atrocious choice of word–"doesn't seem like a threat." If she was in my shoes...

"But–"

"No if, ands, or buts, Bunny."

She hoisted me up from my bed with her brute strength. I was winded, getting up too fast. "Give him a chance," she said. "If it helps, boxing is a great way to let out steam and tension. It's a great stress relief."

I batted my eyelashes, lips pout. I knew the benefits, but I couldn't stomach being in closer contact with him. What if I couldn't open the door?

"Let's figure out how to get this on you." Dina picked up the uniform and held it against my clad body.

I nodded. Everything was going to be alright. He was there to help.

"Take off your robe."