Hezar Bouseh
Chapter 7
Erik spent a great deal of time planning the route he would take to Qom. The trip he had made numerous times from his own home in Tehran to Qom was second nature. But with Christine, he had to find the fastest and safest route to his parents' home. He never had spent so much time worrying about such a trivial thing.
The route was not the only thing weighing on his mind. He kept replaying Christine's confession. She had been abandoned by her bodyguard and had lost all trust in him and others. Right when she needed him the most, the other man had been nowhere to be found. Erik would never forgive him for that and nor it seemed would Christine. That kidnapping explained a lot.
He was not sure how she would feel if she ever found out that he had killed Morid. She would probably hate him as much as she hated that mysterious Chinese bodyguard. Five years on and it was obvious that she still blamed him. It was clear that she did not forgive easily. She could never know about Morid because if she did, Erik would lose her trust and that, he realised dazedly, was the most important thing to him. He had to keep that truth from her just as he kept everyone else from harming her.
If anyone dared lay a hand on her, he would kill him or her. He would do anything necessary to make sure she was unharmed. Her faith in him and her safety were the most important things to him. No one would come between Christine and him.
The overly protective urge surprised him. Actually, it was beyond any of the protective urges he had experienced with other cases and bordered on possessive. He cared for Christine more than he ever had cared for another person. It was a possessiveness he had seen in his father.
Erik paused when he realised why he was treating Christine so differently, why he was showing that same possessiveness his father showed when he was with his mother. He was falling in love with Christine. It was the worst thing he could do, but he had no idea how to stop it. He was not even sure he wanted to stop it
Away from Erik's parents' farmhouse on the outskirts of Qom, Christine listened as he ran through the correct way to load and hold the gun. They had made the two-hour journey from Tehran to Qom in tense silence.
Erik had appeared perfectly calm as he drove them from the city as if teaching a woman how to use a gun was a normal occurrence. For once, he did not seem disturbed by the fact that he was breaking tradition by driving in a car alone with a woman. He seemed completely at ease with their pseudo marriage and was certain he would be able to convince anyone who pulled him over that Christine was his wife. Christine, however, was not so relaxed. She sat in the seat beside Erik, her hands clenched until her knuckles were white. As she thought of what was ahead of her, learning how to shoot a gun, her throat tightened with anxiety and even if she had wanted to talk she would not have been able.
Now, she was standing in the summer sun, a gun in her hand, trying to take in everything that Erik told her. Her brain was overloaded with information she doubted she would remember any of it in a few minutes. The gun was heavy and awkward, making Christine feel uncomfortable.
"Hold your gun in your left hand, support it in your right. Aim for the barrel over there. When you're ready, pull the trigger."
Christine nodded, squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger. Not expecting the recoil, her arm flew back, frightening a squeak from her. She dropped the gun and turned to Erik.
"I can't do it. I just can't."
"You can," he assured her calmly as he picked up the gun and placed it in her hands, wrapping his hands around hers. "You wanted to learn how to protect yourself and, I admit, I'd feel better knowing that you can defend yourself. I spend too much time worrying about your safety, Christine. If I know you can look after yourself, then maybe I wouldn't worry so much about you."
"You worry about me?" Christine asked, suddenly breathless.
"All the time. Now, before I die from worry, focus and learn how to shoot the gun."
Christine wanted to protest against the way he ordered her around. But realising that this was something that she wanted, she wisely stayed silent. His worry for her wellbeing and safety touched her.
Her hands were shaking beneath Erik's. Maybe this was not a good idea. She was not even sure she would be able to shoot someone. She could not even remember a time when she had killed a spider. If it came down to shooting someone or surviving, she was not sure what she would do.
"Erik-"
"You can do this, asalam. You've proved to me over and over again that you can learn anything. I cannot think of another Frenchwoman who is fluent in Persian, can speak four other languages and wants to learn how to use a gun. Think of learning how to use a gun as another skill – just like learning a language."
Bolstered by Erik's words, Christine nodded, prepared to try again.
Neither said anything as Erik stood behind Christine, his chest pressed against her back, his arms around her body as he corrected her stance and helped her aim for the barrel. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, warming her even further in the warmth of the sunny afternoon. His lips next to her ear, he spoke her through every step so she knew what was happening and why.
Christine's heartbeat sped up. His lips were so close she could feel his breath stirring the hair that had escaped from her headscarf. All she would have to do was turn her head and she could kiss him. Surprised by how much pleasure that thought gave her, she would have dropped the gun if Erik's hands had not been covering hers. His grip tightened, focusing her.
"When you're ready, pull the trigger. I'll help you support the recoil," he ordered softly once he had steadied her grip on the gun. "Make sure you keep your eyes open. You need to make sure you hit whatever it is that you're aiming for."
Christine did as instructed and this time, when she pulled the trigger, she did not scream. With Erik's arms around her, there was nothing to fear
Christine thought learning how to use a gun was frightening enough. It was nothing compared to spending time with Erik's parents. Erik had ushered her into the farmhouse after her lesson and at his mother's urging, had sat her down for a glass of traditional abdugh, a watered yoghurt drink and mixed with salt and spearmint.
Sitting opposite Villette, Christine felt Erik position himself behind her chair in a protective and possessive gesture. He rested his hand on the back of her chair, so close that his knuckles brushed against her shoulder. Without thought, Christine leaned into his touch, delighting in the feelings that were overcoming her. Everyday she was becoming more attracted to him. She longed to stand, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, putting an end to the feelings that had been becoming increasingly had to ignore. But she could do nothing with his mother there, watching them.
Recalling that Erik's cousin and mother both were convinced that she and Erik were in love, Christine glanced at Villette in time to see her smile knowingly. She must have seen her reaction to Erik's touch. Luckily for them, she was French enough not to comment.
"Where is Pedar?" Erik asked in Persian, aware that his father would not join Christine and his mother. Despite marrying a Frenchwoman, his father was quite traditional when it came to the relationships between men and women. Rashid would allow Villette to do almost anything, say anything to him, but he still insisted that some of his Iranian traditions be upheld in the house, despite the influence of his French wife.
"He's outside. You had best join him, Erik, he would not approve of you staying here with Christine. And be prepared for a lecture, bébé," Villette warned, her dark blue eyes, so much like her son's, dark with foreboding.
Erik sighed grimly, already aware of the nature of the reprimand he was about to get. He allowed himself a final luxury of caressing Christine's shoulder and left the house.
Once the two women were alone, Villette helped Christine remove her headscarf before speaking animatedly in French, asking how the weapons lesson went and exclaiming her surprise that a woman had been taught how to use a weapon. When Christine commented that it really should not be such a surprise since she was a Frenchwoman, Villette smiled.
"I have lived here since I married Rashid. The culture has become second nature to me. It bothered me to begin with," she admitted. "I cannot tell you how frustrating I found it when we were dating. All I wanted was to be alone with him but I couldn't. But I learnt to accept it, particularly if I wanted to be with Rashid. Besides, once we were married it was all right.
"Just because I moved across the world to be with Rashid did not mean I had to forget my own upbringing and culture. It's about joining French and Iranian cultures, not about one overshadowing the other. Erik is much a Frenchman as he is Iranian. I have done my best to teach him to respect others regardless of their thoughts or religion."
Christine just shook her head. "It all seems ridiculous that Erik and I can't be alone together even though he's just doing his job and protecting me. He's my bodyguard! What can be so wrong with that? He's just a bodyguard."
Villette nodded as she took a sip of her abdugh, not believing a single, protesting word Christine said.
"Pedar."
Rashid looked up from his task of weeding when he heard Erik call out to him. He flicked his son a disapprovingly look and then turned his attention back to his task.
Erik knew not to say anything while his father was in one of these moods. It would not be long before his father lectured him as he often when he had been a teenager. He was not quite the same doting father he had been while Erik was a child, but that had only changed because he had grown up. Through those stern talks, Erik had the knowledge that he was responsible for the protection of the family's honour drilled into him.
"Why did you accept the position of bodyguard for a woman when you knew you be spending a lot of time alone with her?" Rashid asked quietly.
"Her father requested my protection. He thought Mama's French genes would help with his daughter. It also helps that I can speak French fluently. Apparently Charles had no idea his daughter can speak Persian."
Rashid shook his head, not at all impressed. His brown eyes were filled with disapproval. "Are you sure you're acting as a bodyguard, Erik?" he asked. "I saw the two of you together while you were teaching her to use a weapon. You are well aware that you should not be touching her. You're lucky it was only your mother and I who saw you and no one else.
"I don't want you to forget the way we raised you. I sometimes think I let your mother raise you less as an Iranian and more as a Frenchman." Rashid shook his head. "You should not even be spending time alone with a woman you are not related to. Pretending to be married to her does not justify it! What will you do if the Niroye Entenzami approaches you, asking about your relationship with Christine?"
Erik said nothing as he recalled the time that law enforcement had stopped him and Christine and checked their papers. His father would not approve of the lengths he had gone to in order to ensure that Christine was safe. Rashid would not be happy to know that Erik had a forged marriage certificate.
"It is your responsibility to protect the Milani honour and also Christine's," Rashid continued. "Spending so much time with her will dishonour both our families. She is the treasure of her family. Do not do anything that could bring disgrace to either our families."
Christine stepped into the apartment behind Erik and stood by the door as he did his usual sweep. She was hot and tired and felt filthy after an afternoon learning how to shoot a gun that she hoped never to use. Leaning against the wall, she pulled off her headscarf, boots – she would have worn sandals in the summer heat but Erik ordered her to wear enclosed shoes – and then began to unbutton her Manteau.
"It's all clear. You can-" Erik returned from his sweep of the apartment in time to see Christine drop the top on the armchair. He could not help but stare at her; she wore nothing but her snug-fitting jeans and a white and gold bra. He had heard stories of women not wearing tops beneath the Manteau in the middle of summer but this was the first time he had seen evidence.
He wanted to gaze at her body and the curve of her breasts as they peaked out the top of her bra. More than gazing, he wanted to run his fingers over the skin, which looked like cream and would probably feel like silk. Uncomfortable, he walked away from her to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water and turn down the air conditioning.
Suddenly realising that she was not wearing a top and was the cause of Erik's discomfort, Christine went to her bedroom and pulled on a loose-fitting top that left her arms bare and swapped her jeans for a skirt that stopped well above her knees. Her summery look tormented him.
"I'm sorry, Erik," she apologised when she joined him in the kitchen, noting that he had changed his long sleeved shirt for a t-shirt.
"Make sure you always carry a gun with you, Christine. It should hide nicely beneath your Manteau," he said, his face pink, unable to look at her. "It won't be enough to stop someone from harming you, but it should buy you some time to get away."
"I said I was sorry, Erik," she said in Persian, hoping speaking in his first language would calm him. "Would you like me to put the Manteau back on?"
"No!" He looked up at her with dark, wild eyes. "There's no need for you to be uncomfortable in your own home."
Christine smiled and walked around to where Erik was standing, still tense. She wrapped her hands around his upper arms in the same way he often did with her and gazed into his eyes. "Thank you for teaching me how to use a gun. I know I'm not the easiest of students – or charges – but I'm happy I'm not completely incapable of protecting myself."
Erik chuckled and shook his head, his own hands closing convulsively around Christine's upper arms. "I did it for myself," he admitted as he stroked his thumb over her soft skin. "I was just so terrified at the thought of something happening to you that I needed to know that you can protect yourself if I can't be there."
"You'll always be there, Erik," she informed in confidently. "I don't doubt it. You're the only bodyguard I've had who I completely trust with my life… and my heart."
"What?"
"I love you, Erik," she said so there could be no confusion in his mind. When he did not answer, Christine hung her head. "I understand if you don't feel the same. I've caused you so much trouble."
It was not possible for him to love her. She had been such a nuisance that it would not have been surprising if he hated her. She had believed Dorri when she told her that Erik loved her. She had listened and put too much faith in Erik's cousin's observation. It would have been better for Christine to trust her instincts rather than believing what she had been told.
Erik hands were still around Christine's arms and he tightened them when she tried to push out of his grip. "There is an unspoken rule when it comes to being a bodyguard."
"What is it?" she prompted when he looked as if he was not going to continue.
"Never fall in love with your charge."
"Oh." Her face fell and she pressed her hands against his chest, trying again to push out of his embrace.
"But I've broken that rule. I fell in love with you long ago, eshghe man. When you slipped out of the apartment to go to the museum, that was when I knew I loved you and that you were the perfect woman for me."
