Текст книги "Lovely Trigger"

Автор книги: R. K. Lilley

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I was just finishing up at work the next day when he called.

“Let’s go out tonight.  I want to take you someplace special,” Tristan’s deep voice started purring into my ear before I’d even managed to get a ‘hello’ out.

I took a deep breath.  “I can’t tonight.”  After the fit he’d thrown about a lunch with Andrew, I knew to brace myself for the worst.

There was a long pause on the other end.  “Why not?”

He’d never been a shy one.

“I’m going out to dinner with a friend of mine.”

“Is this a private dinner, or can I come along?”

I thought about that dynamic.  I didn’t think Dermot would like him.  I couldn’t see the two men getting along well enough for a quiet meal.  They were both too overprotective of me in completely different ways.  “It’s just kind of a monthly thing.  It’s complicated, but I don’t think you’d get along with my friend.  I’ll tell him about you.  Maybe next time, after I’ve given him fair warning.”

Of course, he only heard one part of my statement.

“Him?”

“Yes.  We’ve been over this.  I have male friends.”

“Are you going on a date tonight?”

I sighed.  Caveman post therapy was still caveman.  “No.  I am going out to dinner with a friend.”  I debated telling him that Dermot was my brother, but decided to ask Dermot about that.  His father was still married to his poor mother, and I didn’t want to cause any problems in his family, so I kept it under wraps.  Tristan could keep a secret, so I knew I’d be telling him about it, but I wanted Dermot’s go ahead first.  It didn’t feel like my secret to tell.

“A male friend.  That’s a date.  What’s his name?  Where does he live?  I bet I can take him.”

I giggled, though he was only half joking.  “It would only be a date if we were romantically involved, which we’re not.  Listen, it’s complicated, but I promise to explain it to you, after I talk to my friend about it.”

He was so distraught after that I almost canceled.

He wasn’t yelling, or screaming, or even trying to talk me out of it.

He just became so quiet and withdrawn on the other end that I could barely stand it.

“Okay, you know what?  You need to knock it the hell off.  Do you see me telling you that you can’t be friends with Mona anymore?  No.  And you’ve slept with her.  I have never slept with Dermot.”

“His name is Dermot,” he interrupted dully.

 “Yes, Dermot, who I would never sleep with, not in a million years.  Not even if we were characters in Game of Thrones.”

That drew him out of it, or confused him out of it.  “What the hell does that damn show have to do with anything?”

I’d recently started making him watch it, and he went from grudgingly liking it to hating it from one episode to the next.  He was only on the first season though.  If I just got him through the one, I knew he’d be as hooked as I was.

I smirked.  “You’ll figure it out, eventually.”

I tried to tell him goodbye.

“I want to come with you,” he growled into my ear.

I took a deep breath.  Why on earth did I still have such a hard time telling him no?

“Boundaries, Tristan.”

He let me off the line, but I knew he wasn’t happy.

Dermot and I never told anyone that we were related.  We never had to.  Neither of us were answerable to anyone, so the world just thought we were close friends, or so I’d assumed.

It hadn’t occurred to me that my meet-ups with Dermot looked like dates.  I’d never had to worry about it before.

Andrew had been the kind of boyfriend that was understanding to a fault.  He’d never even questioned that I often liked to go out to dinner with another man.

“I’m seeing someone,” I told Dermot, after we’d ordered our food.

He looked surprised but not displeased.  “Well, that’s great.  Is it serious?”

My mouth twisted.  “Like a heart attack.  Whether we have a shot at anything lasting is another matter entirely.  I’ll keep you posted.”

“Have you known him long?”

It was the strangest thing.  I’d been raised with Dahlia, but Dermot was so much easier for me to open up to.  It’d been like that with us from the start.

And somehow, I found myself telling him our story, the long version—The Saga of Tristan and Danika.

The battles and the victories.

The defeats and the triumphs.

The tragedies and the trials.

Somewhere in the middle, I had him tearing up, which I’d never seen him do, and I tried to tell it all with less dramatic flair, but it was what it was.

“Wait, so you haven’t told him that you can’t…?” he asked, somewhere near the end.

I looked down at my lap.  “I don’t know how.”

“I’m so sorry, Danika.”

I shrugged it off.  “Anyway, do you mind if I tell him that you’re my half-brother?  I thought I should ask first, because of, well, you know.  And as I’m sure you’ve gathered, he’s the insanely jealous type.  He was none too pleased when he heard I was going to dinner with a man.”

“I don’t mind at all.  I don’t keep our relationship under wraps, Danika.  I’m sorry you thought that I did.”

“Well, I just thought, because of your mother, you’d want to keep it secret.”

“You’re not a secret, you’re a person.  My parents’ mess of a marriage is their business, and it will never affect the fact that you are my sister.”

That warmed my heart.  He was a good brother.

I went straight to Tristan’s after dinner.

He was still tense and upset, but nothing like he’d been when I’d gone to lunch with Andrew.

“Okay, let me have it,” he started in on me right away.  “What’s the big mystery about this buddy of yours?”

“He’s my brother.”

That deflated all the sass right out of him.  It was kind of nice.  I had a brief moment of wishing I could bottle that ability up.  It would make a good superpower.

I found myself storytelling for the second time that night, giving Tristan the full rundown on my deadbeat dad.

“Your dad hit on you?” he asked, shocked.

“You saw my mother.  I look just like her.  I guess he has a type.”

“Don’t try to pretend that is even remotely normal!  I ever see that guy, I’m kicking his ass.  Period.  That is happening.  Fuck, I think I’ve met that dude.  Un-fucking-believable.”

I thought that about summed it up.

He started tugging me through his house, up the stairs, straight to his bedroom.  He cornered me against his unorthodox bed and started stripping me.  “You just tortured me for hours,” he said, voice low and gravelly.  “Now it’s my turn.”

TRISTAN

She loved to make cracks about what she called my ‘kinky’ bed.  I thought it was time I showed her what it could do.

I stripped her down to her little tiny thong and blindfolded her.  I looked my fill of that intoxicating sight before I took her into the bed and made her stand.

I fastened her arms above her with padded leather cuffs that attached to the ceiling of the sturdy bed.

And then I went to work on her with my mouth, starting at her jaw, working my slow way down her neck, her collarbone, spending extra time sucking at her puckered nipples.  Gripping her breasts into two perfect handfuls, I rolled them against my tongue, kneading.

I loved her body.  In fact, it was a little alarming how obsessed I was with it, the vast amount of hours I’d spent fantasizing about this right here.

I fisted my cock as I nuzzled into her navel.  I was loud with it, and when she heard me working at my own fist, she moaned and squirmed.

I knelt in front of her and buried my face between her thighs, throwing her legs over my shoulders.  I shoved her panties to the side and went to town, using every tongue trick I had to bring her, again and again.

And then I went to work on her with my hands.

When I finally stood up and started fucking her vigorously, she was pliant under my hands.

After I came, I just kept pumping into her, letting her milk at me for a long time.

This right here.  Heaven.

“I love you,” I told her, not in the throes of passion, but in the clear moment after.  I would keep telling her, conditioning her to it.  I’d keep trying forever, if I had to, to make her trust me again.

I knew she still loved me.  I could see it now, even if she was still in the throes of denial.  She didn’t have to say it in words.  She spoke to me in so many other ways.  Her love spoke to me in every surrendering line of her body.

It spilled out of her pure silver eyes every time she looked at me.

She was mine again.

And, even when she hadn’t wanted me, when I’d lost all faith, I’d always, always been hers.

I took her down and arranged her on her back.  I peeled off her panties and parted her legs.  She was so satiated that she was as good as limp, so deliciously pliant that it made my brain go a little fuzzy with the heady pleasure of it.

My fingers slid along the soft skin of her thigh as I straightened, catching one of her sexy little feet and digging into it, rubbing until, even in her complete relaxed limpness, she began to make little writhing motions on the bed.

I kissed the arch of her foot, then her slender ankle.  She was so delicate and soft under my hands that every touch I gave her held a shaky restraint.

I loved this body, this slender waist, these lean hips, her slim thighs.  I adored that what appeared so dainty had a core of steel so strong, so relentlessly solid, that it was the only thing I’d found on this earth fit to cast my lot with, to make my home.

She humbled me to this day.

My hands were reverent, my lips worshipful as I made my trembling way up her trembling body, so thankful for every touch she allowed me that I was giddy with it, shaking with it.

Because, whether she would admit it or not, every time we gave in to this hunger, this unforgiving passion, we showed our true feelings to each other.  She couldn’t give herself to me without showing me her vulnerability, and I couldn’t take her without revealing my utter devotion, my forever love.

I never could keep the filthy diatribe in when I got my hands on her perfect little body, but more and more, the words were as desperately emotional as they were dirty.

“How did we do without this, sweetheart?” I asked against her satiny smooth belly.  “How could we think that was an option?” I nuzzled along her ribs into the underside of one plump breast.  “How could I ever stop this?  You know we can’t go back now, don’t you?  We can’t go back to that.”

She didn’t answer me.  I hadn’t expected her too.  I knew she was far past the point of a coherent sentence.  I’d always loved her smart mouth, but at times like these, I liked it even better when it was incapable of forming whole words.

I took off her blindfold and covered her.  I took her again, hungrily, desperately, like a man starved.  Even as I was twitching inside her, still shaking from my release, I felt that hunger.

Just on the edge of sleep, I caught it.  “Fucking Game of Thrones,” I muttered.

She laughed beside me.

We fell asleep entwined, and I woke up still wrapped around her from behind.  In fact, my hard cock was right in the middle of trying to find an entrance before I’d even blinked awake.

I sat up, rolling her to her back.  It was like eyeing up a feast.  I didn’t know where to start.

Her jaw was slack in sleep, her lips parted.  My hard-on told me very clearly to start there.

I climbed up her body, and managed to dig one knee into the bed next to her head, the other stretched clear of her body.  I pushed my tip between those inviting lips, trying to go slow, but once I got to her throat, a knee-jerk reaction had me shoving in a little too forcefully.

I gagged her twice before she pushed me away, laughing.  “You’re too big for that angle,” she told me.

She made a good point.

“I wasn’t quite awake yet when I thought of that.”

She pushed at me, and I sprawled out on my back for her.  “Next time, just wake me up.”

Her head started bobbing, and I gripped her hair.  “Anything you say.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

TRISTAN

I always felt the date approaching like a magnet, my mind constantly pulled to it.

This year was a little better.  I got out the black wristband and put it on with a lighter heart than I’d had, well, since his death.

Having Danika back in my life helped me with this, there was no question.

Even so, I’d tried to talk to her about it, tried to tell her what was coming up, and hadn’t found the voice to do it.

It was the morning of and I’d slept over at her place.  I was in her kitchen, sipping coffee and staring off into space, when she finally realized something was off.

She studied me for a while, checked her phone for the date, I think, and then approached me looking contrite.

“Oh, Tristan,” she said softly, wrapping her little body around my big one.  “I am so sorry.”

I kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll call in sick to work.  Tell me how you handle this day.”

“Frankie usually comes over, and Cory and Kenny, if they’re around.  We tell stories about him.  Good stories.  We watch all the videos I have of him.  We never focus on the bad.”

We got dressed and went to my house.  Frankie and Kenny showed up at noon.  Cory was out of town.

I baked a ridiculous amount of cookies, keeping Danika hostage in my kitchen the entire time.

We all sat down in my living room and talked about Jared.  I started.

I held up a chocolate chip cookie.  “Jared’s favorite.  He’s actually the reason I learned to bake.  As a kid, he had us all wrapped around his little finger, me, my mom, his dad.”  I looked down at my hands.  “This one time he got hurt.  I’m not even sure how it all went down, but he was horsing around with Dean in his room, and wound up falling out of the second story window.  I was twelve, and I was supposed to be watching him.  It was terrifying, but he hadn’t broken anything.  I think he was just scared, but he wouldn’t stop crying.  He was inconsolable, and the only thing that got him out of it was the promise of cookies.  We didn’t have any cookies, but we always had baking supplies, so I learned to bake cookies that day.  He loved them so much that he started to fake getting hurt, just so I’d bake.  I never minded.  It was never a secret; I’d have done anything for that kid.”

How do you recover from a loss like that?  One day at a time was the only way I knew how.  We’d been so close that he was still a part of me, always would be.

Danika, who’d been sitting directly to my right, hugged me hard.  I threw my arm around her.  Having her here, right now, meant everything, and I savored it, even amidst the bittersweet reminiscing.

Kenny went next.  “It was Jared and I that originally started the band.  We both picked up the guitar, but he was always so much better than I was.  I was so impressed with that kid.  He was five years younger than the rest of us, and he put me to shame, talent wise.  He never had an ego about it, though, he just enjoyed it.  He had the purest love for his craft.”

Frankie was bawling by the time we got to her.  She didn’t hide her grief and that had always made it easier for me to express mine.

“He was just the nicest,” she began.  “I’ve thought about this a lot.  I spent so much time with him.  We had a lot of fun together.  And in all of that time, I can’t ever remember him saying one negative thing about anybody.  How is that even possible?  He was just so good.  I miss being around him.  I miss his smiling face, and how he’d come to me when he needed help solving a problem, no matter how silly the problem.  To Jared, the sweetest angel in heaven.”  She took a big bite of her cookie, like it was a toast.  You had to get creative around alcoholics like me.

I held up my cookie like a toast, then took a big bite.

I hadn’t expected Danika to say anything, I don’t know why, but of course, she did.  She’d always had a way with words, a way to shape them into something that could bring me comfort.

Her mouth quirked up in a half smile before she began.  “He used to call me sis.  I loved that so much.  And I loved talking to him on the phone.  For hours.  He was the best talker.  And listener.”  She bent down and reached into her bag, pulling out a flip phone.  The thing was a relic.

Her smile died, turning into the face she made when she was trying hard not to cry.  “This thing can’t keep a charge for ten minutes, but I’ll never get rid of it.  I didn’t find this until after he passed.”

She pushed some buttons, and then the sound of Jared’s voice came out of the phone.  “Hey sis.  I know you’re upset with him, but trust me when I tell you he regrets everything he said.  Just give me a call.  We’ll talk it out, okay?  The Vega brothers love you, sis.  Never doubt it.”

That one gutted the room, and no one talked for a long while.  Even with the way it’d hurt, it’d still felt so damn good to hear his voice.

“Remember that night he and I got completely blitzed at the sportsbook in the Cavendish casino?” Danika finally spoke to say.  “We had so much fun.  He was always so much fun.”

Frankie smiled, mascara trails all over he pretty face.  “I remember that night.  You were off with Jared, while Tristan and I complained, for hours, about how crazy women are.  Your name might have come up a time or two, in the crazy column.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I’m sure I took up most of the crazy column.  Hell, I probably had my own page.”

I’d pieced together every video ever taken of Jared years ago.  There were only a few of us as kids, but thank God there had been several years worth of camera phones before he’d passed.  That made up the bulk of it.  We watched them all, then told some more stories.

It was a good day of remembering.  It hurt, sure, it would never stop hurting, but it was better with her there.  Everything was.

I’d missed a few calls over the hours we’d been reminiscing and had a few messages.  I grimaced when I saw that one was from Mona, and I almost just erased it.  I’d gotten her contracted to another act in two months, and she was not happy about it.  But she’d been acting strange since Danika and I had gotten back together, and it made me realize not to trust her, to in fact keep my distance, and that’s what I was doing.

Still, I listened to it, because it was unusual for her to leave a message.  I was a little stunned at what I heard.  And sad.  What were the odds, on today of all days?

I went to sit back with the group.  “Tony Biello just died,” I said numbly.  I knew the numbness wouldn’t last.  He’d been a mentor to me, a father figure.  He’d been scheduled to make a guest appearance in a few weeks.  “I guess I shouldn’t be this shocked.  He retired his act because his health was bad.”

Danika hugged me hard.  I’d never talked to her about Tony, but I had a feeling she knew everything.  She’d been more secretive about it than I had, but we’d both been keeping tabs on each other over the years.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

DANIKA

I showed up at his house already dressed in a conservative black sheath dress, my hair pulled back in a chignon, my makeup neutral and soft.  I was in full funeral mode.

I didn’t want to go.

I felt bad about it, but I still didn’t feel right about going.  Mona always tried to be pleasant, but her father had just died, she had to be hurting, and I just didn’t think she’d want me to be there.

I searched for the words to explain this to Tristan without sounding like an insensitive jerk about the whole thing.  He knew I didn’t like Mona.

As though to pre-empt my attack of the flake-outs, he came to the door just shrugging into his dress shirt.  It was still unbuttoned, and I ran my hand over his bare skin.  The crisp white against his tanned, tatted skin was just too delicious not to touch.

He caught my hand and pulled me inside his house, and then tight against him, kissing my forehead.  “Thank you for coming to this.  It means a lot to me to have you with me right now, and I know you don’t like Mona, so I’m doubly grateful that you’re willing to do this.”

I hugged him hard, feeling like a royal bitch for even considering backing out.  And for being so obvious about disliking Mona.  She’d really done nothing to earn it, aside from sleeping with a man I wasn’t speaking to at the time. (Logic meet feelings.  The two of you will never see eye to eye.  Let the lifelong catfight commence.)

“Of course.  Want me to pick out your tie?”  Of the two of us, I was the only one that cared enough to try at fashion.

“Yes. Thank you.”

No matter how I tried to look at it, I didn’t like the woman.  The fact that she seemed to like me just fine didn’t sit right.  I was torn between thinking she was completely, convincingly fake, or worse, that she was just that bigger of a person, because I couldn’t act like I convincingly liked her for even a minute.  It was all I could do to be civil.  Though, with her dad recently passed, I knew that even I would have no problem offering her sympathy today.

But, fake or not, bigger person or not, I just couldn’t convince myself that she’d want to deal with me today.

The point was moot, since Tristan had expressed his need for me to be there.  I never was any good at telling him no.

I went straight to his closet and picked out a soft gray tie for him.  He stood very still for me while I knotted it, his eyes closed, head tilted slightly back.

“I like this, you knotting my tie,” he said quietly.  “But I’m afraid to ask where you learned to do it.”

My hands paused for a moment, then continued to tie the knot.

His breath shuddered out.  “Andrew,” he guessed correctly.  His mouth twisted down on the name, like he couldn’t say it without scowling.

I finished, started straightening his collar, smoothing it, and then running my hands along it, just touching for the sake of feeling.  “Don’t.  You wound up with kinky cage beds, and learned to tie knots; meanwhile I learned to knot a tie.  Rehashing this stuff, over and over, isn’t healthy.  And if this is going to work, it has to be healthy.”

He nodded, mouth still shaped into a deep frown.  “You’re right, but it’s not easy.  I’m still…processing.  I need a grace period for adjustments.”

“Me too.  Trust me, going to your girlfriend’s dad’s funeral is not something I ever thought I’d be doing.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.  She never was my girlfriend.”

I really didn’t want to get into it, but I couldn’t let that one go.  “Well, she isn’t now, but you can hardly say that she never was.”

“You know what?  You’re right, let’s not talk about this right now.  I’m in a shitty mood, and we don’t need to actively work at making it shittier.”

I winced.  I’d forgotten for a minute what was going on today.  He was putting a good friend in the ground today.  I needed to remember to be more soothing of a presence.

I put my arms around his waist, laying my cheek on his chest.  “I’m sorry.  How you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay, just in a foul mood.”

“That’s understandable.  Would it help if I promised not to antagonize you for the rest of the day?”

He squeezed me, kissing the top of my head.  “Frankly, your antagonism has never been the problem.  In fact, I kind of like it, for the most part.  You leaving is my problem, so it would help if you promised to stick around for the next few days.  I could use the company.”

I thought this was a result of all of his therapy.  Back in the day, he’d needed me plenty, but he’d never been able to communicate in such a specific way before.  “You got it.  I have to work tomorrow, but I could bring a few things over, stay at your place, if you want.”

“I want.  Thank you.”

“Of course.  Anytime you need me.”

“I always need you,” he said solemnly.

I shut my eyes and swayed against him, feeling like I was floating.  Whether it was floating on a cloud, or floating unmoored, in the middle of the ocean, I could not have said.

The verdict was still out.

He pulled back after a time to study my face.

I just blinked at him.

I tried to get my bearings, but I had no time to recover, not from being back on solid ground, hell, not even from being off it.

The funeral was an ordeal, though I didn’t breathe a word of complaint.  Funerals weren’t supposed to be pleasant, and who could be picky about the method of unpleasantness, really?

It was a huge event, and the itinerary was daunting.  There was a private eulogy with close friends and family, followed by an open casket to the public, where anyone could pay their respects for about five hours.  I wasn’t judging, but I would have found that to be a difficult way to handle things, if I’d been his family.  For their part, they were being generous with what remained of him.

Mona seemed remarkably composed.  She was holding court at the entrance to the casket room.  Her hair was pulled back tight from her face, her makeup heavy.  She was conservatively turned out, from the neck up.  The neck down, now, that was a different story.  She was dressed in a sexy black dress that had a slit up the thigh, and showed off enough cleavage that I was surprised she’d worn it to a funeral.

Maybe they didn’t make dresses that could carry that much boob without some of it spilling out, I thought snidely.  Yes, I knew it was bitchy.

The only telltale sign of her grief at first sight were her slightly red eyes, and the fact that she threw herself into Tristan’s big arms the second she saw him.

I determined not to say a word.  They’d been close friends for years, and I didn’t blame her for needing a hug.  There was endless comfort to be found in Tristan’s arms.  I never imagined I’d been the only one to notice.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I told her.

She didn’t look at or acknowledge me, throwing her arms around Tristan’s neck, and burying her face against his throat.

Tristan patted her back, sending me a helpless sort of look.

I gave a little shrug.  It was awkward.  I didn’t know what to do either, so I gave them space.

I offered my condolences to the rest of Tony’s family, who all stood in a line.  I didn’t go to the casket.  I didn’t think it was necessary.

I was infinitely relieved when I saw a familiar face in the form of Bianca.  I rushed to her, giving her a quick hug.

She looked good in black, her light skin luminous.  She barely wore a scrap of makeup, just a touch of mascara and some light pink gloss on her lips, but she didn’t need any more than that.  She was stunning, with those incredible icy blue eyes of hers.  They were hauntingly pale and expressive.  Her all black attire only seemed to enhance the effect.

“Hey,” she said in a hushed voice, a world of affection in that one neutral word.

“Did you know Tony?”

She shook her head.  “No, I’m just here for James.”

I glanced around.  “Where is James?”

“Talking to the family.”

I spotted him even as she spoke.  He was patting Tony’s wife’s hand while she spoke to him earnestly, tears running down her cheeks.

“You’re here with Tristan?” she asked in that soft-spoken way of hers, studying my face.  I knew we confused the hell out of everyone.  No one could ever keep track of if we were even speaking to each other.

“Yes.  I didn’t know Tony either.”

“Let’s sit down.  I don’t think anyone cares if we make our rounds and mingle here or not.”

I smiled at the way she said it, as though mingling were the bane of her existence.  “Does James make you mingle often?” I asked.

Her nose wrinkled.  “He tries.  Now ask me if he succeeds.”

I bit my lip, trying not to smile.  “I don’t think I need to.”

“I guess you could say I mingle if by that you mean, does he stay glued to my side wherever we go.  He has to talk to people.  They come up to him everywhere.  I don’t see why that means that I should have to talk to them all or listen to them, for that matter.”

“You make a good point.”

“Where is Tristan?” she asked, looking around.

“In the foyer with Mona.”

“Oh.”

The way she said it made a corner of my mouth turn up.  I shot her an amused look.

“You’re surprised that I left him out there with her,” I guessed, my voice a low whisper.

“Yeah, that’s what the ‘oh’ meant,” she whispered back.

“It’s her dad’s funeral.  I’d feel like a bitch if I got jealous about her grabby hands today.”

“Just how grabby are they?” She sounded intrigued.

“I have a feeling you’ll get to see for yourself.

As I spoke, Mona and Tristan passed by our seats, going to the front row.

Mona was walking with both arms wrapped around his waist, her head on his shoulder.

I had the uncharitable thought that she was milking this for all it was worth.

Tristan sat down with her, his head bent down to hers.  He was speaking quietly, his voice too soft for me to hear from this distance.

It seemed to take a lot of time and effort, but he disentangled himself from her, and stood, striding to where Bianca and I sat, and taking a seat close at my right.

“Hey,” he said to Bianca with a small smile.

She smiled back.  “Hey.”

“I’d hug you, or shake your hand, but James threatened to put a hit out on me if I so much as touched you with my pinkie.”

She bit her lip to hide a smile.  “I think you made that up.”

“Keep living in that dream world of yours, where James isn’t a nutcase, but if you ever get over the Stockholm syndrome, just signal to one of us, and we’ll get you out.  Wink three times if you want us to help you escape.”

She covered her mouth, her eyes twinkling.  “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“I know you are.  I look forward to it.”

He turned to me, his face turning serious.  “Tony’s family has asked me to sit up front.  Would you like to come with me, or are you more comfortable sitting with James and Bianca?”

I didn’t hesitate.  The idea of sitting in the family row at a funeral of a man I’d never met made me highly uncomfortable.  “I’ll stay with Bianca.”

He just nodded and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before getting up and going back to Mona.

I didn’t realize Frankie was there until she was stroking a hand over my hair as she moved past me down our aisle.

She and Bianca were friends, but Bianca’s hair didn’t get the same treatment.  James had very strange rules about who could touch Bianca, even if it was just casually.

For instance, I could hug her, or kiss her cheek, or stroke her hair right now, and he wouldn’t be bothered.  At least, I didn’t think he would.

If Frankie or Tristan did any of those things, though, it was a fact he wouldn’t take it so well.

James was crazy about Bianca.  Literally crazy.