The Bodyguard's Portrait

I had my grievances with the outcome of my painting. I’d been repainting the pores of this man within my portrait for the past couple of days, and satisfaction never came to relieve me from this excruciating task. His brown eyes were too light, his lips weren’t full enough, and his jawline could be sharper. Reference photos and my memory weren’t the best ways to capture how his imperfections created a visually stimulating, irresistible hunk. Stop, these were intrusive thoughts.

Dakota was not a hunk.

I couldn’t simply label this as an intrusive thought. Intrusive thoughts did not manifest into dozens of hours of hard work. My excitement about being around him had grown significantly. His intimidating look was solely for protection, not for malice. We had been stuck in each other's proximity for a year now, and his true self crept through his virile facade, and experiencing him exposed was intoxicating like a drug. I hoped that he would interpret me as more than a rich brat, but as an intriguing person. More than a descendant of someone powerful, someone who held her own special power within a smaller circle. Hopeless romantic, or just hopeless?

I heard the doorknob jiggle. Oh no, it’s Dakota. I scanned the studio for a sheet to cover up the painting. Just in time, as he opened the door ajar and poked his head through it.

“Miss ClaraMay, you got a visitor,” announced Dakota.

It was Mehri. She was the only person I spent my time with outside of family. If anyone else came to visit, Dakota would scare them off due to his understanding of my patterns and... overprotectiveness? I was confusing reality with my amorous fantasies. It was his job and responsibility to protect me.

“She can come in,” I said. “You do not have to ask for my approval to let her in, you know.”

“Relationships change. Y’all might be friends now, but what bout tomorrow?” he queries.

“You would be the first to know.” Was that too obvious? Too direct about my true feelings?

He smirked. “I appreciate that.” Dakota closed the door behind him.

I felt how heated my face had gotten from that minor interaction and splashed water for my dirty brushes onto my face. I couldn’t handle this dynamic much longer. He’s only here because it’s his job. I was simply confusing our close environment with inappropriate emotion.

Mehri burst into my studio with animated energy. “Claire, I have news for you!” She held onto a stuffed duffel bag. “What’s on your face?” She grabbed a tissue to wipe me dry.

“It’s nothing. But you seem to want to tell me something,” I said, shifting the conversation to her.

“I found an opportunity for you! An amateur art expo and contest. You can make a name for yourself, Claire!” Mehri struggled to contain her pure excitement for me. She saw some sort of potential within me.

“You know I can’t do that,” I answered, truthfully. “My father’s name could disrupt the fairness of the competition, and I would win because I was known, not talented.”

“I’m not gonna accept that as an answer. We can give you a makeover. You would look good in a blonde wig and some makeup that’s heavier than what you would usually wear- not saying you aren’t beautiful as you are. But a fake ID with a name change as well can make you someone new. Someone other than the daughter within the infamous Roman family. Your dad’s corruption shouldn’t be your punishment.” Mehri pulled out a fake ID with a photoshopped picture of me with the name “Travo, Mia.”

“Thank you, Mehri—”

“And I happen to have all the supplies you need to start your double life,” Mehri interrupted while dropping the bag onto a table beside me full of supplies.

I zipped open the bag to expose Mehri’s promises materialized. A long, luscious blonde wig to replace my tight afro. Glittering bright eyeshadow and lipstick to shine through my muted and simplistic palette. Bedazzled low-rise jeans to reveal my shape, in substitution of my conservative two-piece suit. I held both fearful and mesmerizing emotions.

“I- I can’t do this. The business would suffer if they found out,” I said.

“The business? The business you want nothing to do with? The very one that’s preventing you from living your life as you want?” Mehri tore off the sheet, exposing my most pitiful, cloying feelings.

Mehri froze at the sight. She saw my other works but not this one. Seconds felt like an eternity. It was not unambiguously a portrait of Dakota. It contained my pure yearning connotation of love. With colors of blues, purples, and pinks enmeshed within my interpretation of him, I professed my differing feelings of love and despair for him without definitively uttering it.

“Claire, this is…” Mehri paused.

Ring! Ring! It was my Father calling. I excused myself from this intense exchange and slid into the hallway before answering.

“Father,” I said as a greeting. He only called me if it involved work.

He cleared his throat loudly into the phone. “I have an opportunity for you.”

I quickly grew tired of opportunities and desired to return to my trivial days of creating and daydreaming. I paced down the long hallway.

“Your Uncle Raymond had an early retirement and there’s an opening for you to take over operations,” my Father continued.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure if I am prepared to take over.”

I heard a door closing and faint, quick footsteps. I twisted my body towards the studio’s door. No one was there.

“Babygirl, I ain’t putting you anywhere dangerous. With your breeding and education, you would thrive anywhere you go. I’ll get you set up tomorrow.” He hangs up.

I returned to my art studio, and Mehri was gone. So was my painting from its easel! No! Mehri’s impulses were usually innocuous, yet her inability to tolerate stagnancy influenced her to do something so inconsiderate and reckless. Conveniently, her bag of my alter ego remained with the flyer to the expo. Clearly an intentional ploy to follow through with my passion. But why that painting? It felt incomplete and inadequate compared to my other works. Possibly, I felt that way about myself?

I didn’t have time to analyze my internal conflicts. I had to play her game to get that painting back.

I urgently but meticulously transformed into the Mia alter ego Mehri had created for me. Taking off my glasses and doing my makeup significantly altered how I routinely appear. I became the girl I idolized as a child. Britney Spears, Ciara, and Destiny's Child were the muse of this style. Confidence, or ego, filled my body, and I intuitively shifted how I stood and walked.

Lost in self-infatuation, I didn’t realize Dakota came in, seeing my costume change.

“Clara?” Dakota said, in confusion, which made him drop all formalities.

I spun towards him. “Get out!”

He listened. I felt like a teenager caught by her dad. This was extremely embarrassing. Did he like the new look? I hoped he did. I did.

“What’s going on?” He asked as he spoke through the door.

I needed to convince him to let me go out alone, which defeated the entire purpose of a bodyguard. “I’m going out. Don’t worry about me.”

He barged in to face me. “Are you crazy? Like that?”

“I look good. Different enough to be unrecognizable,” I mumbled.

“Too good. You know how much attention you’ll attract?”

“What kind of attention?” I only required a glimmer of evidence that this wasn’t in my head.

“You ain’t getting outside without me stopping you.”

This painting had to be destroyed before he got exposed to my truth. He’s not intimidating me, but his strict tone drove me insane. I wanted him to keep the aggressiveness to continue. Stop, time was fleeing.

“Don’t you dare try to touch me,” I snapped. I wished he would, actually.

I strut around him and out the door.

The taxi I called conveniently pulled in front of the estate the moment I ran outside. I scurried to open the car door, and Dakota glided into the car in one swift moment. I knew he refused to allow me to go alone. And I lacked much time. So, I got in beside him. I scanned him from head to toe; he changed out of his suit into street clothes. He matched my aesthetic within minutes after our dispute. He grabbed my purse beside me and searched it. He discovered my fake ID. He narrowed his eyes.

“Mia, what happened with Mehri?” He questioned.

“Why, I can’t have any private moments without you prying?”

He moved closer to me. I believed that he could feel my heat. “Do you not want anything to do with me?”

“I mean, you don’t have a choice. If you want to grow in the family, taking this job opens doors.”

Dakota caught the taxi driver watching us through the rear-view mirror. He glared back at the driver, and he immediately disengaged. Dakota’s lips got close to my ear and I felt his breath on my skin.

“Why don’t you think I don’t want to be here?” I heard him licking his lips before continuing. “ I chose to be in this position, Miss ClaraMay.”

I lusted for a confession like this for a while now. But why did an act of rebellion have to motivate development in our relationship?

“Since I told you something, you can start answering my questions. Don’t you think that’s fair?” Dakota said.

He’s playing me. “I’m not that easy to manipulate. I’m going to meet with Mehri. That’s all.”

His eyes wandered down to my body. “Who are you tryna impress?”

“Who?”

“Clearly, your new look wasn’t self-inflicted. Not saying you don’t look good, but…” His words drifted into silence. He retreated to the other end of the car.

I looked up and this time, I caught the driver staring.

After an unbearable car ride of stolen glances and uncomfortable silence, we arrived at the art exposition. It was outdoors, in one of the city's larger parks. Speakers blasted someone mumbling into a microphone. It sounded like… they were starting the competition! The stage stood in the center of the park, surrounded by a sea of art enthusiasts. I forced my way through the crowd. Dakota attempted to trail behind me. Within the chaos, I was shoved both forward and backward. I became isolated in a crowd.

Where did Dakota go? He couldn’t see it. He just couldn’t. No one should discover my truth. What would Dakota think of me? No, it’s more than that. What if anyone within the family discovered that I had affection for Dakota? What would they do to him? What would my father do to him? He never touched me, but if this painting got out, the truth was what they believed. Would they kill him? How would they do it? My carelessness placed a target on Dakota. Why can’t I just accept my placement in this world? I’m from a multigenerational mob family. I was bred to take over. Why was that so difficult? Why did indulging in art, love, fashion, all those meaningless endeavors felt so right, and I craved it more than my purpose? Tears flowed down my cheeks as I fought to reach that painting. The more I traveled, the further I felt.

It was too late.

I reached the stage. And Dakota stood in front of it. With his portrait front and center. The people, the noise disappeared into the abyss. Just him and I remained. He turned to find me and matched my gaze instantly.

I ran. And ran and ran and ran and ran until I was hidden within a pocket of seclusion in an alleyway. I sank to the ground. The dirt between my fingers, ironically, helped me get more grounded.

I breathed and buried my face into my arms.

Someone touched my thigh and I flicked back to reality. It was Dakota, crouched down beside me. I hadn’t realized that my sleeves were soaked in tears. Makeup and glitter were smudged all over my face. My new armor was impaled. And I couldn’t help but smile. He was still here.

“I was trying so hard not to get exposed,” I confessed. “If this gets out—”

“Why does it sound like you’re the one protecting me? That’s my job.”

“If- when father finds out about this, he’s not going to let you leave freely.”

He went silent for a moment. “Do you wanna be an artist? You should be an artist.”

“What’d you mean? What are you talking about?”

Dakota stood up and pulled me up with him. “You deserve to paint the waterfalls. Mountains. The places where it ain’t that complicated.”

“I will always be complicated,” my voice creaked as I spoke.

“It don’t gotta be. Not with me.” He caressed my face as he claimed me as his, with his eyes. “Besides, Mia was the artist behind that painting. No one cares about Mia.”

He was right. Even if the right person was conveniently at this park to see Dakota’s face plastered on a projector, it wouldn’t immediately come back to me as the artist.

“But what does ClaraMay think?” He teases.

My anxieties faded in an instant. It was just Dakota and me. No Mehri, no mob, just us. I melted in his hand, then yanked on his graphic tee and kissed him. His lips were full and soft, and addictive. I placed my arms behind his neck to pull him closer. I wanted no space between us anymore. He agreed with the notion and tightly wrapped his long arms around my entire waist. He pulled back his lips as I desired more of him.

Within our heavy breathing, he asked me, “Do you wanna run away with me?”