Convincing Anastasia

Mom frowned, "What do you mean, honey?" Jeremy just smiled back. "In my culture, women are valued and respected. But with respect must come some ground rules to keep them... safe."

Mom blinked, her long lashes fluttering like she was trying to decipher a foreign language. "Safe? What do I need to be safe from?" She laughed, the sound light and airy, as if the concept of danger was as absurd as algebra. Jeremy’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on her strap. His smile never wavered, but his eyes flicked toward me—cold, assessing. "From him," he said simply, nodding in my direction.

The air thickened with tension as Jeremy’s accusation landed like a hammer blow. My pulse roared in my ears so loudly I barely registered Felix’s stifled snort beside me. "From *him*?" Mom echoed, her brows knitting together in that adorably confused way that made her look like a lost puppy. She turned to me, her blue eyes wide and guileless. "Lachlan would never hurt me!"

Jeremy’s chuckle was velvet wrapped around steel. "Not physically, perhaps." His thumb traced slow circles on Mom’s shoulder, his other hand lifting to tap his temple meaningfully. "But boys his age... their thoughts can be... impure." The way he said it—like he wasn’t currently imagining her naked—made my stomach churn. Tom let out a low whistle, nudging Felix, who was practically salivating at the spectacle.

Mom’s lips parted in that slow, clueless way they did when her brain was processing something too complex for her—like taxes, or why men stared at her chest. “Impure thoughts?” she repeated, tilting her head so a strand of blond hair slid over her bare shoulder. Jeremy’s fingers twitched like he wanted to tuck it behind her ear. “I... guess you're right."

I couldn't believe this was happening. Felix and Tom were practically drooling beside me, their eyes glued to Mom's oblivious expression as she chewed her lower lip in that vacant way she did when trying to comprehend something beyond her grasp. Jeremy's fingers tightened possessively on her shoulder, and I saw the moment Mom's eyes widened—not with understanding, but with sudden, childlike excitement.

"Oh!" she gasped, clapping her hands together, making her breasts jiggle dangerously beneath the flimsy fabric. "You mean like a bodyguard!"

Jeremy's smile widened, slow and satisfied, like a cat watching a mouse walk into its paws. "Exactly," he purred, his fingers trailing down Mom's arm in a gesture that was half-comforting, half-claiming. "And as your bodyguard, there will be... protocols." His dark eyes flicked to me, then back to Mom, drinking in her bewildered expression. "Starting now."