SECRET SERVICE

Chapter Three

Alaric adjusted the tie that had been tied too tightly around his neck by Caitlyn an hour and a half before. He had rung the doorbell to Gwendolyn's loft thirty seconds ago, and still, she failed to answer.

He briefly wondered if Gwen was as nervous about this night as he was. Likely, she wouldn't be. She was the daughter of a billionaire — a president, she was well versed in attending events such as tonight's.

It was Alaric who had been the fish out of the water. Caitlyn and Michael spent hours training him on how to behave in a setting of the elite, but he failed to pay attention to most of it.

It was all a farce, and it didn't truly matter how he acted at the end of the day. His job was simple.

Find the killer, and protect Gwen.

He had little interest in much else, but Cailtyn had acted as though he would be escorting the Queen of England.

Alaric made way to knock at the door, wondering if she failed to hear the doorbell when the doors finally opened. Gwendolyn stood there, dressed up in a way he had only seen through pictures.

She wore a modest, tight navy blue gown covered in sequins. Her long blonde hair had been pulled up into an ornate bun with diamond incrested pins throughout the petal-like braids.

She looked... amazing, and for a moment Alaric had forgotten his words.

"Sorry, Rome wasn't built in a day," Gwendolyn said sheepishly before letting Alaric in. He hesitantly took a step into the apartment.

Though the words apartment or loft failed to describe the luxury of her home. The wall on the far end of the apartment had been covered in exposed brick. A black spiral staircase led to a loft which he could only assume was her bedroom.

The furniture was modern, yet visibly expensive. She had a cream leather couch sitting in front of the fireplace with a tv mounted above it.

To the left in the open floorplan had been the kitchen, which had been styled to appear as though she had never cooked a meal in it.

The only part of the apartment that showcased any personality was the dining room which was converted into an art studio. An easel sat in the center with unfinished art.

Against the walls were pieces she had either chosen to scrap or just never finish. Gwendolyn moved around nervously, grabbing things she may have forgotten and putting them into a small bag.

She was taller than he recalled before, but from the clicking sound on the hardwood floors, it was obvious she had been already wearing her heels.

"You clean up nicely." Gwendolyn smiled as she finished her fluttering and made her way back to the door where Alaric stood in the designer three-piece suit.

"This is all Caitlyn." He muttered, "All I did was show up."

Gwendolyn watched as he uncomfortably adjusted the ends of his suit. She had a self-satisfied smirk on her lips before she spoke, "We should get going, I would hate to be the only person who is late."

"I'd be late, too." Alaric pointed out, "You wouldn't be alone."

Gwendolyn paused for a moment, "Well, I can never truly be alone with you — at least for as long as you're working for my father."

"I am working for you, Miss Cavanaugh." Alaric pointed out before offering her his arm for her to take. He couldn't help but enjoy the blush that appeared on her face as she took his arm, letting him lead her out of her apartment and back into the night air.

Alaric had been more than vigilant when he had approached her stoop, knowing what happened the last time someone stood there with their guard down.

Nothing on her street appeared unusual. He'd recognized the numerous unmarked vehicles belonging to the Secret Service that had been parallel parked at random intervals on her street.

A bird couldn't fly on Gwendolyn's block without at least forty men knowing. The thought comforted him, but only to a certain degree.

As he escorted Gwendolyn into the rear of the limousine, Alaric sent a courteous nod to the guard watching them from the stoop, letting him know that for now, his job was done.

After climbing in the limosine himself, Alaric pulled out his phone, looking for any alerts on their way to the museum.

Nearly the entire time he gazed at his phone, he could feel a pair of blue eyes burning a hole in his head. He turned to Gwendolyn;

"Something wrong?" He asked.

"I was going to ask you that, the way you're looking at your phone is starting to worry me," Gwendolyn said.

Alaric locked his phone, "It's nothing, I was just checking for updates."

"Updates?" Gwendolyn asked.

It had seemed her father had been more comfortable with leaving Gwendolyn in the dark, and for now, he was playing by the rules.

"There aren't any, you don't have to worry." Alaric's tone was dismissive, and he could tell Gwendolyn wanted to say something else, but she didn't.

Instead, she turned her head to look out of the window, and for some reason, Alaric felt guilt at her dejection. Not wanting to feel his own emotions for too long, Alaric grabbed a glass and opened the bottle of champagne that had sat in the limo untouched it appeared.

Gwendolyn hadn't even turned her head when he poured himself a generous glass of the tart champagne, drinking it in one fatal swallow.

Alaric would've likely finished the entire bottle if he hadn't been working at the moment, and the temptation to do so was quickly removed when the limo arrived at its destination.

Alaric hadn't needed to escort Gwendolyn out of the car as he did so in — she opened her door, stepping out of the car before he could admonish her for doing so.

Once he made his way to her side, he made to scold her until she gave him an award-winning smile;

"Not now, you have to smile for the camera." She said between clenched teeth. As if they had heard her, the camera began fluttering, the light blinding Alaric who suddenly felt too vulnerable.

Remembering his role, he delicately took Gwendolyn's arm, attempting to give the same smile as she did.

"We will discuss that later." He muttered back through clenched teeth as Gwendolyn had done before, walking her through the crowd and up the black velvet-covered stairs.

It hadn't been until they entered that the flashing lights stopped and Alaric had been able to regain some of his composure.

He had underestimated Gwendolyn's importance at the Gala that night when she was immediately approached upon entry to the dining hall. An older couple approached them. The woman had short dark hair that had been curled perfectly. Her gown was assumably equally as expensive as the one Gwendolyn had worn.

And the man next to her with salt and pepper hair had likely been wearing a suit equal to Alaric's.

"Gwendolyn, it is good to see you!" The woman exclaimed excitably, though her excitement failed to reach her forehead.

"Margaret, it is nice to see you as well," Gwendolyn said, "John, you're looking as handsome as ever."

Her charisma oozed naturally, and it was amazing to see her at work, this close.

"Oh, stop it! You're going to get me into trouble." The man, John, laughed and his large rounded stomach shook along with him.

It was obvious Gwendolyn was only being kind, but whether John knew that was still up for debate.

"Who is this?" Margaret asked, and while kindness had been in her voice, her eyes matched that of a vulture, ready for any drop of gossip.

"Alaric O'Sullivan." Alaric introduced himself with his real name, hoping Caitlyn and Michael did enough scrubbing of his... unruly past, "Gwendolyn's date."

"Date?" Margaret exclaimed, "Oh you've never brought a date to these things... he must be special."

Like the perfect actress she was, Gwendolyn leaned into Alaric's arms, "I would think so." While the gesture was just for show, Alaric could feel the blood heat.

"It is good you have someone when you're going through so much," Margaret said with feigned sympathy in her voice.

"Pardon?" Gwendolyn asked.

Alaric, still holding her close, could feel Gwendolyn tense in his arms. He instinctively tightened his hold around her.

"Oh well, with the passing of Bryan, I imagine that you would need more time to grieve."

Her words were a shock to both Gwendolyn and Alaric. For as far as he knew, Bryan's death was not supposed to be public knowledge, at least not yet. Yet, a gossiping shrew held on to the information?

Alaric suddenly felt the security lacking.

Gwendolyn stuttered for a moment before she was able to formulate a reasonable reply, "I am sure he would want me here."

That wasn't true...

Margaret got called away by another older lady, and Alaric was sure the moment she went over there, she would already be commenting about the man who arrived at the Gala with Gwendolyn Cavanaugh.

While that part would be a good thing — getting the word out quicker of their feigned relationship, he felt empathy for Gwendolyn for having to deal with it.

From the moment Margaret and John said their goodbyes, Gwendolyn walked around tense. Never for a moment as Alaric led her over to their seats had Gwendolyn made to move out of his arms.

He hadn't been able to tell the difference between real and fake. It was likely anything he had seen had been imagined in his head. It was likely his attraction towards her clouding his judgment.

And he certainly would not let himself forget that. He sat in relative silence as Gwendolyn talked to the people at their table.

As instructed, Alaric only sipped on the water, no matter how badly he wanted to ask the passing staff for a drink.

"Gwendolyn will not be tied to a drunkard." Caitlyn's annoying voice verberated in his head.

The conversation of stocks, political ties, charity, and luxury were all considered boring to Alaric. Not only that, he had nothing to contribute, so instead of making himself look like a fool, Alaric focused on his surroundings.

The event was packed, and Alaric still hadn't garnered what it was even for. There were a set of sixteen large rounded tables with numbers in the center, mimicking a wedding reception.

While everyone sat and talked to themselves, courses of food had begun to be brought out — it being the only moment the chatter would cease as the meal was described to them.

Alaric looked at it curiously when the first plate sat before him. It was hardly food, a small amount of green sauce covering a cube of raw salmon that was smaller than his thumbnail, covering if flakes of gold.

Alaric leaned over to Gwendolyn, "Is this even edible?" He inquired, causing Gwendolyn to let out a laugh that had been different from all the laughs before.

"Yes, let me show you."

Generously, Gwendolyn used her fork to pick up the piece of salmon and dipped it delicately into the sauce before holding the fork up to his mouth.

Alaric wanted to protest the action, but instead, he opened his mouth — instantly regretting the action. The cold and slimy salmon mixed in with whatever green they'd blending it.

"It tastes like raw... dirt." Alaric coughed out between chews.

And for the remaining seven servings, it had gone just as that. Newer, weirder selections were placed in front of them, with Gwendolyn showing him how to enjoy the meal — though, only two had been enjoyable.

Alaric sat in silence again after the meal was served, slowly regretting the amount of water he had downed to get through the meal.

Discretely, he pulled out his phone, letting the guards in the room know that he was stepping away and to keep a closer eye on Gwendolyn before he escorted himself.

Feeling on the flask in his inner pocket, and knowing she'd be safe, Alaric resolved that he would be back later rather than sooner.

~*~

The moment Alaric had excused himself and walked away, his absence was noticed. Gwendolyn suddenly felt tense to the point where she no longer had been interested in the conversation at hand.

Gwendolyn hated to admit to herself that coming into an event with someone was reassuring at the least. She had usually been alone — forced to navigate the crowd on her own.

Walking into the Gala with Alaric had been a relief. Even dealing with the head of the town gossip had been a little easier. It would appear that everyone had been aware of Bryan's death, she couldn't be in a conversation for a moment with it being mentioned.

It drove her mad, she wanted to comment how none of the people expressing their condolences to her cared about Bryan or her actual well-being.

She knew it was true within every word they spoke. Needing a moment away from the conversation, Gwendolyn stood up excusing herself from the table.

The meal had ended and soon the dancefloor would open up. While the event itself was just an experience of luxury, the tickets to attend had been in the thousands.

While it was presented to aid in Syria, Gwendolyn was sure it wasn't where all of this money was going. She made her way through the tables, catching the eye of patrons as well as planted security.

She had nearly made it to the doors that led to the private garden when she was stopped. Gwendolyn bumped into an already familiar chest.

"Whoa, slow down hellcat," Alaric said, stabilizing her with his arms. The feeling of his skin on her exposed skin felt like a shock, causing her to snap out of his arms.

"Jesus, why are you standing in the middle of the hallway in the dark?"

"Why are you running out of the building like it is on fire?" Alaric asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

At that moment, he had never looked more attractive. He was standing over her, tall, even though she had been wearing heels. His unruly dark hair had been slicked back, aside from a curl hanging over his eyes.

She wanted to run her fingers across his forehead to brush the hair away every time it bounced. His dark eyes gave her a disapproving glare as he waited for her to answer the question.

"I just needed a moment alone." Gwendolyn sighed, "Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes, it is, when someone is trying to kill you," Alaric said. Gwendolyn held her tongue from giving a knee-jerk reaction. She felt so compress that she might burst. Turning away from Alaric in the dim and vacant hallway she stifled stubborn tears that wouldn't obey.

Ever since she was a child, Gwendolyn could never control her tears. Even now, she was fighting the lump in her throat, knowing by the crest of the teardrop in her eye, that it was to no avail.

The sound of the doors opening jerked her out of her concentration. She turned to see Alaric standing at the door, holding it open for her to exit.

"I didn't say you can't go; just not alone." He said, "But I will say, you do look like you need a friend."

Gwendolyn wiped the stray tear from her cheek before walking through the doors.

She had been to this garden a million times before, but never in the evening. The night was cool, and the expertly trimmed bushes were covered in night dew already.

The only sound lingering had been the crickets sending out mating calls. There were small alcoves covered in growing leaves, but Gwendolyn opted for one of the benches along the stone walls.

Alaric, of course, followed her, taking a seat next to her and digging into his suit jacket. Gwendolyn watched him curiously as he took out a flask and took a generous swig.

He turned once she realized, again that she was staring. It was something she tried hard not to do, but she doubted that he understood just how much he fascinated her.

Alaric represented freedom to her. He could do what he want, whenever he wanted. His life was normal, expectations few.

While she had to go home that night to rehearse for a speech she needed to give, Alaric was likely going to bed without a care in the world.

At least, that is what she preferred to imagine, knowing that with his looks he rarely ended up in his bed.

"All these etiquette classes didn't teach you it wasn't kind to stare?" He asked jokingly. His southern drawl was strong, strong enough to miss that it is English.

He also knew when to adjust his tone, the accent failing to be present until now.

"I am not staring, I am wondering how you go that in here with all the security." Gwendolyn pointed out, "It is no outside food entry."

"I am security." Alaric corrected.

Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, "It is easy to forget."

Alaric offered the flask to Gwendolyn who immediately shook her head no, "I don't drink."

Her words caused him to balk at her, "You do all of this s**t raw?"

His voice nearly echoed, but they were the only patrons of the garden, so Gwendolyn hadn't felt the need to correct him.

"I do, if I drank to get through these events I would be Mary Margaret."

"That hag's name is Mary Margaret? It doesn't get much greener than this, honestly."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone here is so... fake and stuffy. I mean realistically, no one in there who ate all eight meals is full right now." Alaric said, "Then the boring ass conversation, y'all talk about nothing and everything at the same time. I couldn't do that more than a second, you have to become a whole separate person."

His rant rang true to Gwendolyn's ears. It was exactly how it felt, but she didn't have the liberty to leave it all and knew complaining would get her nowhere.

"Well, I am sorry you find our first date so disappointing," Gwendolyn muttered, hating how childish the comment came out. Unlike her father, Alaric didn't mention it.

"I don't even understand how this constitutes a date to you." Alaric shrugged.

Gwendolyn scoffed, "There are multiple women in there with dates."

"Yes, with their husbands." Alaric said, "This isn't a date. It's work."

Gwendolyn frowned at his words, feeling for some reason that she had failed — though she hadn't arranged the evening at all. And he was right, this was work — something she was already required to come to.

"I guess I would have to agree." She said quietly.

"Okay, then tell me what date to you is, since you agree."

"Are you quizzing me?" Gwendolyn asked, unsure of his intentions.

"No, I am asking you what you think." Alaric clarified. It was a question she was rarely asked. Gwendolyn had to pause to find an answer, not ever having considered it.

She never dated when she was younger, most men were just trying to get to her father through her. The school became a priority, and since her mother died, she took on a lot of The First Lady's duties, leaving her busy.

So instead of going from experience, she described something she had dreamed about as a teenager.

"I don't know an amusement park or a fair."

"A fair?" Alaric questioned.

"Yeah like, the one where everyone is happy. There's cotton candy, corn dogs, and soda. No one cares that it's unhealthy or unsightly to see the President's Daughter eating a corndog." Gwendolyn explained.

"And no heels?" Alaric asked with a knowing smirk.

"None! Not within a mile." Gwendolyn exclaimed with a laugh, "There would be no expectations of anyone, no formalities. Just... normal." The idea had her wistful as she imagined it, but both her fantasy and her moment alone with Alaric had been interrupted by Mary Margret's voice from the doors, calling Gwendolyn back in for her speech.

"I guess the party is over, I should get back now." Gwendolyn stood, "Half of the party's occupants saw us leave out here, I am about to be the talk of the town."

"I think that's what we wanted." Alaric said with uncertainty in his voice, "It's not too late." He offered her the flask, and Gwendolyn swiped it out of his hand, confiscating it.

"If I'm raw, you're raw." She said before turning and walking away. Not realizing the double entendre her words could be and not realizing the reaction that gave to the hot-blooded man walking behind her.