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.
Whatever strange rules they had for each other, though (and there were a lot) it seemed to make perfect sense to them, and no one could say it wasn’t working.
I knew more about the inner workings of their relationship than most. Bianca had opened up about it over the many hours I’d posed for her.
For instance, she had a gorgeous choker around her neck that I’d just thought was an obscenely expensive piece of jewelry. I’d learned that not only did James refer to it as her collar, but he never let her take it off, in fact it was locked on, and he had the key.
Apparently, it was a very big deal.
But who could really knock their methods?
I couldn’t, not when I’d seen firsthand the way they looked at each other.
Estella arrived at our row next, and she hugged me and the untouchable Bianca.
I knew what that was about. Frankie had me well versed in BDSM etiquette.
Estella and Bianca were both subs, which made all the difference when it came to friendly, casual touching.
Estella sat next to Frankie who sat beside James, who took up possessive residence on Bianca’s other side, his arm thrown over her shoulders. You couldn’t have slid a credit card between the two of them, he was plastered so close to her.
And then there was me, on the end of the chain, watching as Tristan got felt up at a funeral.