I have a full day to wonder if giving Ruby the letters was a mistake. I see her, of course, but we don’t talk again until Tuesday. That gives me plenty of time to wonder whether she’s been caught with them, whether we’re now under suspicion because we were seen talking in the garden.

I swear to God, this house is making me crazy. Before I started this gig I wouldn’t have believed the sheer level of scrutiny I’d be under here, from her family alone.

But Ruby’s siblings, their friends, her father’s aides and employees all do a good job of keeping me paranoid. I don’t know if one of them might overhear something and tell her parents. I feel like I’m living in a very small police state.

Monday afternoon I follow her into the laundry room. I know that Ruby’s probably desperate for a few minutes alone most of the time, so I don’t follow her every step: as long as I know where she is and that I can get to her in seconds, I’m fine. This house is well-secured already. She doesn’t need me three feet away at all times.

When I enter, she looks up, then glances through the door behind me, still taking clothes from a laundry basket, shaking them, and pushing them into the washing machine.

“There’s no one in the hallway,” I say, meaning no one saw me come in. “I just had a question about getting a stain out of a shirt.”

“Just let me get this started and I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she says, shaking a man’s shirt until the cuffs come unrolled, then shoving it in.

“It’s a mud stain,” I say, just to keep talking. “You know that bright red clay they’ve got around here? That stuff stains like there’s no tomorrow.”

She pours detergent into the tray of the washer, closes the lid, cranks the dial, and the machine starts.

“It’s the bane of every gardener in the state,” she confirms, leaning against the washer and folding her arms. “What kind of fabric did you get it on?”

The machine hums, half drowning out her last few words. Good to know I was right about talking in the laundry room.

“You read them?”

She swallows and looks at the wall in front of her, face stony.

“I did,” she says. “You were right. They’re bad.”

“I’m—”

“Gabriel, I swear if you apologize again I’ll tell my father you’ve got the Satanic Bible hidden in your apartment.”

“It was the one thing I had left, Ruby,” I tease. “Now I’m a broken shell of a man.”

She glances at me, swiping me up and down with her eyes. I lean against the doorway, inviting her to look as long as she wants. She’s more than welcome.

“I think you’ll be okay,” she says. “The letters are still in my room, though. I didn’t want to risk walking around with them stuffed into my undergarments all day.”

I swallow.

“And?”

The washing machine pauses its hum for a moment, then kicks into the next part of the cycle, water swishing back and forth inside it.

“And I think you’re right,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. “I must have stolen the wrong ones last week, because they were way tamer — he called me a Jezebel and a harlot and all that, but they didn’t go any further. They didn’t threaten anything… specific.”

“Ruby,” I say.

She looks over at me, and I realize that her green eyes are shiny with tears. My stomach clenches, with sympathy, but also with rage. What kind of father is the Senator that him faking a stalker is a reasonable possibility?

Before I know it, I’ve got Ruby in my arms, in front of the washing machine, her head against my collarbone, and I’m holding her tight.

“Don’t,” she whispers, but she hooks one arm around me, her hand tentative on my back.

“No one is going to hurt you,” I murmur into her hair. “I promise.”

Ruby doesn’t say anything, just leans into a little harder, just for a moment.

I know full well this is stupid, that I shouldn’t be holding her like this, here, in the laundry room. Anyone could walk in and I’d be permanently screwed out of a job, and she’d probably be sent off to some sort of boot camp for misbehaving women.

But there are some things I can’t fucking do. I can’t see Ruby frightened and about to cry and not hold her, tell her everything will be okay.

I protect people. It’s what I do, what I’ve always wanted to do, and right now I especially protect Ruby.

She takes a deep breath. She squeezes me tight, with both arms, and then she pulls away from me, cold disappointment slithering through my veins.

Footsteps sound in the hallway. The washing machine swishes and hums.

“Go,” she says. “I’m fine.”

I frown, because I don’t believe her, but she turns away, picks up another basket, and starts unloading the dryer, glancing over her shoulder at me.

“Don’t do all that only to get me in trouble by standing there,” she says, almost playfully. “Go on. Get.”

“Yes, Miss Burgess,” I tease, then walk out of the laundry room.

* * *

Between the letters, the barn, and the laundry room, I nearly fucking forgot about Ruby’s date with Kyle. It’s probably because Kyle is completely forgettable, even as the guy who’s taking Ruby on a date.

I’m reminded when her father calls me into his office Tuesday morning and informs me that I’ll be accompanying them, along with her sister Pearl. I’m Ruby’s bodyguard — obviously — and Pearl is their chaperone.

“You’ll also be functioning as their chaperone, of course,” the Senator says, standing tall in front of his window, gazing out, hands locked behind himself. “Ruby is well aware of what’s expected of her, but there’s to be no touching above the wrist, no sultry talk of any kind, and no salacious mannerisms from either of them.”

Somehow, I keep a straight face, even when he says sultry talk.

It’s not going to be a fucking problem, I think.

“Furthermore, Mr. Pickett and my daughter are not to be left alone. At least one of them should be within your range of vision at all times. If Ruby uses the ladies’ room and Kyle says he needs to use the men’s, you follow him. Also, you are to sit at a table, not a booth. No alcohol. No excessively spicy food.”

I desperately want to ask him if booths are the seating arrangement preferred by Satan, but I bite my tongue.

“Yes, sir,” I say instead.

“They are to be home by 9:30 sharp, barring an act of God,” he says, and I’m positive he means that literally. “To put it bluntly, Gabriel, Ruby’s virtue is already quite suspect within the community due to her past, and it’s my job as her father to see that her reputation is pure.”

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, because every word he says just makes me angrier. I’m pretty fucking sure it’s Ruby’s job as an adult woman to see that her reputation is whatever the fuck she wants it to be, but I don’t say that.

“Of course, sir,” I say.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he says, dismissing me.

* * *

Even though I forgot about Ruby’s date with Kyle to begin with, by 6:05 pm I’m fucking pissed. Pearl and I are sitting downstairs, on opposite ends of a very fancy couch in the sitting room.

Yes, this house has a sitting room.

Kyle’s late. He was supposed to pick up Ruby at six, and it’s been five minutes. What kind of asshole is late for his first date with a girl?

And what kind of asshole is late for his first date with Ruby?

I’ve had the whole day to stew about this, the fact that some perverted prostitute-fucking unwanted-dick-pic-sending asshole gets to go on a date with Ruby, sanctioned by her father, and I have to chaperone.

Meanwhile, if I make too much eye contact with her in public, it makes her whole family suspicious.

I’m jealous. Not jealous of Kyle, really — he’s a dopey sad-sack who’s always going to be known as the guy with the cartoon porn, who I don’t think could find a woman to date without paying for her or arranging it through his father — but I’m jealous that he gets to do this.

On the other side of the sofa, Pearl sighs. She’s just sitting there, not doing anything, staring ahead blankly while I impatiently flip through the pages of Helpmeet magazine. This month’s issue has a feature called “Should You Let Him Decide?” with a list of important household and life decisions listed below it.

Surprise: the magazine advocates giving your husband complete and total control over every decision it lists, including what kind of house to buy, what to wear, and how many children to have.

At 6:07, the doorbell finally rings. I’ve been informed that the Senator will be answering it, but I’d fucking love to do it myself, let Kyle see what he’ll be dealing with tonight.

“Good evening, Senator,” I hear Kyle’s reedy, wimpy voice say.

“Hello, Kyle,” the Senator says. I can hear the frown in his voice. “I thought you said six.”

For the very first time, I feel a tiny glimmer of affection for the man.

“Sorry, sir,” Kyle whines on. “You know how that stoplight at Courthouse road doesn’t have a left turn lane, and so sometimes if there are a couple of people making a left turn there it takes a few light cycles because the traffic from the opposite direction blocks it? There was this car making a left there and this guy just would not go…”

That’s why you give yourself extra time, you dumbass, I think. You’re on a fucking date. Do it right.

Still talking about this stoplight, the Senator walks Kyle into the sitting room. Out of politeness, I stand, and after a moment, so does Pearl, still looking dour.

“Kyle, this is Gabriel, Ruby’s bodyguard, and you know her younger sister, Pearl.” the Senator says. “They’ll be accompanying you tonight.”

Kyle sticks one hand out.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, in a tone of voice that makes it clear he thinks it’s anything but.

“Likewise,” I say, matching his tone.

“Pearl,” he says, nodding.

“Hi, Kyle,” she responds.

Then we just stand there. He’s got grocery-store flowers with him, still wrapped in cellophane, the rubber band around the bottom, packet of flower feed attached, and it crinkles every time he moves.

Take the plastic off, I think. Fucking pretend you tried.

After a moment, the Senator clears his throat and gives Pearl a look.

“I’ll go see if she’s ready,” she finally says, and leaves the room.

The Senator turns to Kyle, his hands in his pockets. Kyle suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights, and in this moment, I don’t pity him. I’ve felt the full brunt of the Senator’s glare before, and it’s not a good place to be.

I stood up to it better, though.

“Son,” the Senator begins. “I didn’t want to say this in front of my daughter, but now that we’re in the company of men, I don’t mind telling you that I’m well aware of your problems with pornography and prostitutes, and if you dare to bring any of that near my daughter, you’ll think you’ve been struck down by the Lord God himself.”

Kyle turns white, then bright red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. I feel another tiny glimmer of affection for the Senator, despite myself.

“Yes, sir,” he finally manages to get out.

“You are not to speak inappropriately to her tonight,” he goes on. “You are not to touch her. As far as she’s concerned, pornography and prostitution do not even exist. I’m fully aware that my daughter is no longer pure, and in the past she has been bedeviled and led down the wrong path, but you are to treat her as if she is untouched as the driven snow. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle says, his voice a whisper-squeak.

On the stairs, we hear voices, and all three of us turn. Pearl appears, still sullen, followed by Ruby, dressed for her date.

Jesus Christ she’s a knockout. Even though she’s wearing a dowdy skirt that falls below her knees, a shirt that’s at least one size too baggy, and a black cardigan that comes down to her wrists, none of it can hide how fucking beautiful she is, how tempting her curves are, or the way I can see her body move, graceful and lithe and full of secret promises, below her clothes.

Kyle steps forward, holding out the flowers. The Senator and I both watch him, and for this one short second, I feel oddly united with the older man.

“Hi,” Kyle says. “I brought you these daisies, because I’m sure we both remember the sermon from Valentine’s day when the Reverend discussed the appropriate types of flower…”

Ruby’s smile stays frozen on her face as she listens to Kyle prattle on, but after a moment, she glances at me.

I don’t say anything. I don’t do anything. I just lock eyes with her while the man who’s actually taking her on this date makes a total ass of himself.

It’s a fucking stupid situation that I’ve gotten myself into, going along on some other man’s date with this girl I’ve kissed once and talked to a handful of times, but who I want like there’s no fucking tomorrow. I don’t know how I got myself here and I’ve got no clue how the fuck I’m going to resolve it.

But when she looks at me like that, like she’s thinking of the secrets we share instead of listening to him, my jealousy fades into nearly nothing, because if I were jealous, it would mean that I thought Kyle was some kind of threat. That he actually had some chance of winning Ruby tonight.

I’m not jealous of Kyle. There’s no point.

Still looking at Ruby, I wink.