Three gets out of the hospital a week later, and all attempts to identify her have failed. Nobody knows who she is, so she's taken straight to the police station, sleeping there. It appears as though the police are trying to interrogate her first, and if all attempts fail, they'll bring me in. This makes sense, they usually only involve me when they have no other option.

So, I'm thrown back into my hero work, and life carries on as usual, while I await news from the police.

"You didn't get me wheat bread. I told you to get me wheat bread. You got rye." Lacy notifies me, holding up the loaf of rye bread I mistakenly bought. I got home from the store about 30 minutes ago, and she got back from work about 30 seconds ago. I'm currently in the process of getting my equipment ready for work tomorrow, and she felt the need to meet me in the bathroom as I do so and inform me about how displeased she is with my grocery trip.

In my defense, I just worked a twelve hour shift, partially because I'm still dealing with the fallout of breaking a vehicle worth hundred of thousands of dollars into pieces. It didn't take them long to supply me with a new one, I just have to fill out a lot of paperwork and reports.

I glance up, watching the woman enter her own closet, hearing her begin to change into some more comfortable clothing. Said comfortable clothes typically consist of spandex shorts and t-shirts, essentially anything that isn't lingerie.

Despite the fact that she's quite literally a lingerie model, she's doesn't enjoy wearing it. She says the lace irritates her skin, which is funny because of her name. I don't understand why she doesn't just model spandex shorts and t-shirts.

"I'm not going back," I tell her simply. I hear her huff, and then she's standing in the doorway again. She's in only a robe, now, which means she's likely going to take a shower before changing.

"Mm-hm. Well, you also got the wrong olive oil. I needed extra virgin." She continues. "You know I'm on the Mediterranean diet now, right? You forgot my strawberries, too."

"I'm still not going back," sorry, but I'm just not. She has a different diet every other month, and she at least used to like rye bread. I probably just read the label on the olive oil wrong, though, so that one's on me. I didn't exactly receive the best education growing up, so misreading isn't an uncommon occurrence.

She doesn't need a diet, anyway. I know her agent is borderline abusive when it comes to controlling what she eats, but still. She's a fucking model for a reason, she doesn't need to limit herself like this. She doesn't need to try, period. She's beautiful.

"Yeah, I didn't think you would," she snaps, whatever that means. She then turns around and walks away, presumably to take said shower. I just sigh, going back to my previous activity, and by the time I'm done she's completely finished with her entire post-work routine, now in the living room, eating a salad she must've made for herself. She glances up at my entrance.

"There's more on the stove," she notifies me, and I'd rather not eat salad for dinner. I'd prefer something with more substance, but I also don't feel like making anything for myself. So, I grab the large bowl of the remaining salad, which there's quite a bit of, as well as a fork, before entering the living room as well. Lacy doesn't say anything about me eating directly out of the leftover container, though she does give me strange looks. I don't know why. She doesn't like leftovers anyway, and salad doesn't hold well.

I take a seat next to her, finding some sort of soap opera playing on the TV. I turn it down, ignoring the noise of irritation it earns me. Lacy stares at me in expectation, and I take my first bite of the salad, which honestly isn't that bad. I'm also really hungry, though.

"What? Why'd you turn it down?" She asks me. I take another bite, then answer.

"Wolfe is retiring," I notify her of something everyone knows. Confusion and annoyance adorn Lacy's features, so I continue. "He's having a party. I need you to come with me."

Lacy nods, seeming to think about this. I'm unsure why, since she doesn't have much of a choice, here. Our public appearances together and the extent of how high-profile our relationship is, generally, is the entire point we're together. Her protection and my—well, Wolfe's—reputation.

"I guess," she tells me, frowning. That's likely because she's already in a bad mood, though. "If he's leaving, will you finally find a real girlfriend?"

My reputation has never been all that great, but it was getting especially bad about a year ago. My general attitude and unorthodox backstory landed me an entire devoted fan base of people who liked my 'bad boy edge'. Not a great sentiment to hold towards a hero. I never cared, because why would I, but Mr. Wolfe didn't like it. Wolfe HSA takes itself and its relationship with the media quite seriously. The company is pristine, they don't want that kind of publicity.

So, he had the idea to get me a girlfriend, in hopes it would help with that. He thought it would make me seem more down to earth and family oriented, I guess. A lover. It worked. The media backed off, after Lacy and I went public.

"I don't know. If I do, will you find a real boyfriend?"

Lacy used to be an adult film actress. Within the last few years, she's gathered a lot more fame and traction, and has left that industry entirely. She's now strictly a supermodel for Loveless Lingerie, but either way, her fans were getting to be too much. They were starting to threaten her, and she, her agent, and her family were beginning to genuinely fear for her safety. It was getting so bad she couldn't be trusted to leave the house without an insane security detail.

So, what better way to fix that than to give her a superhero boyfriend? It was a mutually beneficial agreement, even if she and I don't always get along the best. Our relationship isn't all that romantic, but I do consider us pretty close friends, at the very least. That's only because one time, she got drunk, and told me that she loved me because I was the only man who didn't expect anything from her.

I was confused, because I do expect things of her. More specifically: making public appearances with me in exchange for protection, though I'd obviously protect her either way. She was actually referring to sex, which took me a while to figure out. If that didn't happen, I'd never have known the fondness she holds for me. She's not exactly the most affectionate person, but neither am I, so it works out in the end.

I see her scrunch up her face at the concept of being with another man. Of being in a real relationship, with someone who will expect her to do romantic and sexual things with them. She's never liked that idea.

That's what it all boils down to. Our lives are easier with the other in them, so I can't see a realistic situation where we split up. I plan on marrying her, eventually.

Lacy changes the subject, which I saw coming from a mile away. She hates being confronted with that. With how vulnerable and defenseless she is. With the fact that she will always need some kind of security detail, whether it's me or her actual guards. With how much people fucking suck.

"How's the salad?"

I turn the volume back up. "Good. Thank you."

Lacy goes to bed once she's done eating. I finish my bowl as well, but I end up falling asleep on the couch, because I'm so exhausted after the work week I've had. I wake up a few hours later, covered in a blanket I didn't put there, with my dishes cleaned up for me.

Lacy is a difficult woman to please, but I've learned: she cares in her own way.