Hezar Bouseh
Welcome to my very different and special story. I'm very excited to share this with you and hope you'll all enjoy it.
To my beta, thank you so much for all your guidance and for getting this back to me so quickly. I think we've set a new record! But I know it was all because of a certain regular at a certain coffee shop we frequent who gave you the motivation to edit so quickly.
I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.
"I've organised for you to have a bodyguard," Charles Daaé informed his daughter, Christine the day before she was to fly from Paris to Tehran, the capital of Iran to accept her new position as personal assistant to the French Ambassador in Tehran. "He will meet you at the airport and escort you to your apartment."
"Do I really need a bodyguard, Papa?" Christine asked even though she knew the answer. She had had a bodyguard all her life. It should not have surprised her that her father planned for a new guard. But, she could not help but live in hope.
She had just got rid of that annoying guard in China who made his opinions about females, intelligence and independence very clear. She had been dreading her father's announcement when she told him that she had accepted a position in the French Embassy in Iran. She could only hope that her new guard was not as adamant as her Chinese bodyguard that women should not speak.
But, Christine had learnt that she could never go anywhere without a bodyguard. When she was seven and living in Germany, angry Germans had tried to get to her father to convince him to change his mind regarding the foreign policy by kidnapping her. If it had not been for an observant teacher, life could have turned out very differently for Christine. From that day on, she had always had a bodyguard with her. She always had someone following her when she was at school, shopping or out at the library.
"You know the answer is yes, Christine. I nearly lost you," he said quietly, thinking of that fateful day at school and another event that occurred only a few years ago that no one liked to talk about. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"And where will he be living?"
"With you. I want you to have constant protection," Charles responded in a tone that indicated that the sleeping arrangements were not up for debate.
"I don't want a bodyguard. Don't you think that I'm old enough to live without someone following me around like a puppy dog." Her pale blue eyes narrowed in annoyance as she surged to her feet to walk to the kitchen and pour herself a drink, too agitated to sit still. Her straightened dark brown hair flicked against her back as she walked.
Christine had hoped that in moving to Iran she would be able to avoid having someone hover around her. She wanted to make a life and career of her own away from the overprotective gaze of her father. How could she become what she wanted to be if she always had someone with her?
Charles shook his head. Somehow, despite the fact that she had had burly men following her around for most of her life, Christine had an independent streak that still managed to surprise him. Every time he told her she would have a new bodyguard she protested, even though she knew he would never give in to her pleading. "I would hardly call a bodyguard a puppy dog, Christine."
"A guard dog, then," she conceded.
Like all Iranian men, Erik Milani had served his time in the military. The minimum was two years but Erik decided to stay on for another four years. He had found another place where he belonged. So at the age of twenty-four, after a severe injury, he reluctantly left the army and turned his attention to hiring his skills, usually as a bodyguard. For the past four years he had been protecting politicians and stars.
That was how he found himself reading the thick dossier on Christine Daaé, the only daughter of the retired French Ambassador in China and now the personal assistant to the French Ambassador in Tehran. He could only hope that he did not repeat the mistakes that he had made on a previous mission with Christine. The mistakes he had made with Morid Keleft continued to haunt him.
His thoughts swung quickly from Morid, back to Christine. He would be offering her protection twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He would follow her to work, shopping, restaurants and friends' homes. The traditional Iranian in him balked at the idea of spending so much time – and he suspected alone – with a woman who he was not related to.
Should the Niroye Entenzami, the local law enforcement, question him while he was out with Christine, he had already forged documents saying that she was his wife. It was not unusual for law enforcement to approach men and women in the street, demanding to know their relationship. Erik just hoped that the documents looked authentic enough to fool the officers. He would have to buy Christine a false wedding ring to add to the façade.
Having all this evidence to support their false marriage did little to soothe Erik's mind. He might be able to fool others into thinking he and Christine were married, but he would still know.
It was a completely innocent task of staying by her side and protecting her from any harm. No one could protest against him just doing his job. Regardless of how he felt, he could not put her life at risk because of a tradition that she probably thought ridiculous. But nothing was ever going to happen between Christine and him. He knew better than to fall in love with his charge. He had seen another bodyguard make that mistake and that was something he had no intention of copying.
Not only that, although his Iranian father had braved breaking tradition to be with his French mother, Erik was not sure he could ever be with a Catholic woman who would never fully understand the culture he had grown up in. There were too many complications and difficulties.
Tomorrow he had to collect the girl from the airport. He had spent the last several hours planning the route he would take from the airport to her new home and after considering all the possibilities, had finally decided on a route. Ensuring Christine's safety when they reached the car would be an issue, but he had managed to convince one of his former army friends to stay with the car so he could be sure no bombs, tracking devices or surveillance equipment could be added while he was waiting inside the terminal.
Convinced everything would go off without a problem, Erik pulled off the caramel leather mask that covered half his face, splashed water over the twisted side of his face and went to bed.
