B

Frederick Chase stood in the marble foyer of their San Francisco mansion, rubbing his temples as the chaos of vacation prep swirled around him. Suitcases were being lined up by the staff, and the air smelled of expensive leather and travel-sized perfumes. He looked at his watch, then at his daughter, who was currently preoccupied with checking her reflection in a gilded mirror.

Annabeth was a vision of summer chic. Her brown skin glowed against the white silk sundress she wore, and her light brown knotless boho braids were pulled back into a high, effortless ponytail that cascaded down her back. At eighteen, she had a way of commanding a room despite her petite five-foot frame.

"Annabeth, sweetheart, the jet is fueled and ready," Frederick said, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. "But we still haven't finalized the security detail. I’ve got a list of the top-rated veterans from the agency. Men with twenty years of experience in the Secret Service, former Mossad—"

Annabeth turned away from the mirror, her brown eyes dancing with a mischief that usually meant her father’s wallet was about to get lighter. "Daddy, you promised. You said if I got straight A’s in my freshman year of college, I got to pick the guard for the summer."

Frederick sighed. He did remember saying that. It had seemed like a safe bet at the time. "I know, I know. But these are dangerous times. A man of my standing has enemies, and you're my only daughter."

"And I want someone who isn't going to spend the whole trip talking about their prostate or telling me stories about the Cold War," Annabeth countered, crossing her arms. "I want someone who can actually keep up with me when I’m shopping in Paris and Tokyo. I want Percy."

The name hit Frederick like a bucket of ice water. He froze. "Percy? Percy Jackson?"

"That’s the one," Annabeth said, a wide, triumphant grin spreading across her face.

"Annabeth, he’s... he’s practically a child!" Frederick protested.

"He’s twenty, Daddy. He’s two years older than me. And he’s the best marksman and hand-to-hand specialist the agency has produced in a decade. You said so yourself when you hired him for the gala last Christmas."

Frederick groaned, leaning against the mahogany banister. He remembered Percy Jackson vividly. The young man was a walking contradiction. He had messy, curly blonde hair that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed on a beach, and eyes so blue they looked like the Caribbean Sea. He was six feet of lean muscle and had a smile that seemed to charm even the most stone-faced board members.

But more than that, Frederick remembered how Annabeth looked when Percy was around. She laughed more. She stayed out a little later. She seemed less like a sheltered heiress and more like a girl having the time of her life.

"He’s unprofessional," Frederick muttered.

"He's funny," Annabeth corrected. "And he's nice. He doesn't treat me like a piece of glass, Daddy. He treats me like a person. Plus, he’s way better at carrying shopping bags than those old guys."

A heavy knock sounded at the massive front doors. One of the house staff opened it, and there he was.

Percy Jackson stood in the doorway, wearing a crisp black suit that looked slightly too tight in the shoulders. His blonde curls were somewhat tamed, but a few stubborn locks fell over his forehead. When his blue eyes found Annabeth, his face lit up.

"Hey, Wise Girl," he said, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. "Ready to cause some trouble?"

Annabeth beamed, walking over to him and letting him take her hand in a brief, friendly squeeze. "You’re late, Seaweed Brain."

"Traffic was a bitch," Percy said, then immediately glanced at Frederick with a sheepish look. "Sorry, sir. Language."

Frederick sighed, realizing he had already lost this battle. "Jackson. I expect you to keep your eyes on my daughter, not on the scenery. And for heaven’s sake, try to keep her away from the Chanel boutiques for at least the first forty-eight hours."

Percy gave a mock salute. "No promises on the shopping, Mr. Chase, but I’ll keep her safe. You have my word."

***

Three hours later, they were thirty thousand feet in the air aboard the Chase private jet. Annabeth was lounging in a plush leather seat, a glass of sparkling cider in her hand, while Percy sat across from her, looking decidedly uncomfortable in his suit jacket.

"You can take it off, you know," Annabeth said, gesturing to his coat. "My dad is in the bedroom at the back of the plane. He’s probably already on a conference call. He won't see you being 'unprofessional.'"

Percy didn't need to be told twice. He shucked the jacket, revealing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms that showed he spent a lot of time at the gym.

"Thanks," he sighed, leaning back. "Your dad scares the hell out of me, Annabeth. I feel like if I blink wrong, he’s going to have me exiled to a deserted island."

Annabeth laughed, the sound bright and melodic. "He’s just protective. But he knows you’re the best. That’s why he actually let me pick you."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Is that the only reason? Because I’m the best?"

Annabeth felt a slight heat rise to her cheeks. She took a sip of her cider to mask it. "Well, you’re also not a boring ass old man. Do you remember the guy he hired for my graduation trip? Paulson? He fell asleep while I was in the middle of a fitting at Dior. I could have been kidnapped and he wouldn't have known until the credit card bill came in."

Percy chuckled, a deep sound that Annabeth felt in her chest. "Yeah, I remember Paulson. He’s retired now. Lives in Florida. Probably still napping."

He looked at her then, his blue eyes softening. "You look good, Annabeth. The braids suit you."

"Thanks," she said, reaching up to touch one of the light brown twists. "It took ten hours. You better appreciate the effort."

"Oh, I do. I’m just wondering how I’m going to protect you when every guy in Italy is going to be staring at you."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide her smile. "Please. I have you for that. You just have to look intimidating."

"I can do intimidating," Percy said, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes in a mock-glare. It didn't work very well because he ended up looking like a very handsome, very grumpy golden retriever.

"You look like you lost your favorite ball," Annabeth teased.

"Hey! I’m a professional," he defended, though he was grinning. "So, what’s the itinerary? Are we doing the 'important rich person' museums, or are we actually going to have fun?"

Annabeth pulled out her iPad, tapping through her organized folders. "A bit of both. We land in Florence first. Daddy has some meetings with architects—he’s obsessed with the Brunelleschi dome—but while he’s doing that, we are hitting the shops. I need a new pair of boots, and there’s this leather artisan I’ve been following on Instagram."

Percy groaned playfully. "Boots. Right. How many pairs do you own now?"

"Not enough," she shot back. "And then, there’s this little gelato place near the Ponte Vecchio. I heard they have a sea salt caramel that’s life-changing."

"Now you’re talking my language," Percy said. "Food I can do. High fashion? I’m just the guy who carries the bags and looks pretty."

Annabeth looked at him, her gaze lingering on the way his blonde hair caught the light from the cabin window. "You do look pretty, Percy. It’s one of your best qualities."

Percy blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her bluntness. He cleared his throat, a faint pink tinge appearing on his neck. "Yeah, well... you’re not so bad yourself, Chase."

***

The first day in Florence was a whirlwind of heat, ancient stone, and luxury. Frederick had vanished into a boardroom at the hotel almost immediately, leaving Annabeth and Percy to their own devices.

The heat was intense, but Annabeth looked effortlessly cool in a yellow linen co-ord set. Percy, however, was starting to regret his "guard attire." He had swapped the suit for a black polo and tactical trousers, but he was still sweating.

"If you complain one more time, I’m buying you a dress," Annabeth threatened as they walked through a crowded piazza.

"I’m just saying, humans weren't meant to walk this much in ninety-degree weather," Percy muttered, though he was scanning the crowd constantly, his hand never far from the communication device clipped to his belt.

"We are going inside now. Look," Annabeth pointed to a sleek, modern storefront tucked between two Renaissance-era buildings.

For the next two hours, Percy played the role of the dutiful guard. He stood by the door, arms crossed, looking sternly at anyone who lingered too long near Annabeth. But every time she came out of a dressing room to show him an outfit, his resolve crumbled.

"What about this one?" she asked, stepping out in a silk slip dress that was the color of liquid gold. It hugged her curves and made her skin glow.

Percy felt the air leave his lungs. He forgot to look at the door. He forgot to check for threats. He just stared.

"Percy?" she prompted, tilting her head.

"It's... uh... it’s fine," he managed to choke out.

Annabeth pouted. "Just fine? Percy, this is Versace."

"It’s great, Annabeth. Really. You look... incredible," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

The saleswoman, an elegant Italian woman, smirked at Percy. "Your boyfriend has good taste, signorina. He cannot take his eyes off you."

Annabeth flushed. "Oh, he’s not—he’s my bodyguard."

The saleswoman raised an eyebrow, looking Percy up and down—from his messy blonde curls to his broad shoulders. "A very handsome guard. You are a lucky girl."

Annabeth didn't correct her again. She just bought the dress.

As they left the store, Percy took the heavy shopping bags from her. "You know, your dad is going to kill me if he sees the bill for that one."

"Daddy loves me," Annabeth said, swinging her hips as she walked. "And he likes you. He just doesn't want to admit it."

"He likes me because I haven't let you get kidnapped," Percy pointed out. "If he knew I was letting you spend his retirement fund on gold silk, he’d have my head on a pike."

"Oh, shut up," she laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Let’s go get that gelato. You’ve been a good boy."

They found the shop Annabeth had mentioned. It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall with a line stretching down the street. Percy stood close to her in the queue, his tall frame acting as a shield against the bustling tourists.

When they finally got their cones—blue raspberry for Percy, because he was obsessed with anything blue, and sea salt caramel for Annabeth—they walked down to the river.

They sat on a stone wall overlooking the Arno. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of violet and orange.

"This is nice," Percy said, taking a huge bite of his gelato. "Way better than guarding a boring office building in San Francisco."

Annabeth leaned her head against his shoulder. It was a bold move, one that blurred the lines of their professional relationship, but she didn't care. Percy didn't pull away. In fact, he seemed to lean into her.

"I’m glad I picked you, Percy," she whispered.

"Me too," he replied. "Even if I have to carry forty pounds of shoes."

"It was fifty pounds, and don't you forget it."

He laughed, and for a moment, the world felt very small. Just the two of them, the smell of old stone and sugar, and the sound of the river below.

"Annabeth?" Percy said after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"If your dad asks... I was totally stoic and professional all day. I didn't laugh at any of your jokes, and I definitely didn't think you looked pretty in that dress."

Annabeth pulled back to look at him, her brown eyes shimmering with heat and humor. "You’re a terrible liar, Percy Jackson."

"I know," he sighed, looking down at her. "It’s a miracle I’m still employed."

"You’re still employed because you're the only one who can handle me," she said, reaching up to brush a stray blonde curl from his forehead.

The air between them changed. The playful banter died away, replaced by something heavier, something that had been building since they were sixteen and Percy had first been assigned to her detail. He was her guard, her protector, but he was also the only person who truly saw her.

Percy leaned in, his gaze dropping to her lips. Annabeth held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Suddenly, Percy’s radio crackled to life, the loud static breaking the spell.

"Jackson, report," Frederick’s voice boomed through the small device. "The meeting is over. Where is my daughter?"

Percy jumped back as if he’d been burned, fumbling for the radio on his belt. Annabeth let out a frustrated groan, burying her face in her hands.

"Uh, yes, sir! We’re at the river," Percy said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Just... securing the perimeter, sir. Gelato in hand. We’ll be back at the hotel in ten minutes."

"See that you are," Frederick barked. "And Jackson? I saw a charge from Versace on the card. I hope that was for a bulletproof vest."

Percy looked at Annabeth, who was now giggling uncontrollably.

"Uh... something like that, sir," Percy muttered.

He clipped the radio back to his belt and looked at Annabeth, who was still laughing at his panicked expression.

"You're in so much trouble," she teased, standing up and smoothing out her linen set.

Percy stood, picking up the shopping bags with a sigh. "It’s worth it. But seriously, if he fires me, you’re hiring me as your personal assistant. I’m not going back to guarding banks."

Annabeth looped her arm through his, pulling him toward the hotel. "Don't worry, Seaweed Brain. I’ll just tell him I’ll stop shopping if he keeps you on. He’ll do anything to save a buck."

Percy grinned, looking down at the girl beside him. "You’re a genius, Wise Girl."

"I know," she said, leaning her head back on his shoulder as they walked through the darkening streets of Florence. "That’s why I picked you."