Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(9)

Trystan.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Yes.



* * *



Wow.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Wow?



* * *



That's my favorite name.



* * *



Another long pause.



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Suit Monkey: So you're not a hacker but . . . are you a hooker?



* * *



ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?



* * *



There was no response. I looked out the window as we crossed the bridge into the city, the driver weaving in and out of traffic and lurching to a stop periodically when he misjudged the distance between cars. I was starting to get motion sickness.

I looked down at the phone in my hand and wondered how many times David was blowing up my phone that was probably in Trystan's pocket. Trystan. It fit. Somehow. And spoke to me in a strange punch to the chest. Sighing, I opened the screen on Trystan's phone again.



* * *



By the way, the wake is at 17 Laurens Street, your driver has the details. And Dorothy says you are also requested to attend the reading of the will. If you decide not to accept any inheritance money due to your pride or whatever, feel free to put it in my name: Emmaline Angelique Dubois. Social Security number XXX-XX-XXXX (now you can get your background checkers on me).



* * *



Suit Monkey: Definitely not a hacker. Maybe we should have a session on online safety. Never send personal information via insecure channels. French? You don't sound French.



* * *



Stop texting me. You're at a funeral. It's rude.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Luckily the only person who I'd be worried about disrespecting is dead.

Suit Monkey: Who's David?





5





Trystan





Even though I'm in the air-conditioned back seat, sweat is beading at my temple. I have to get myself under control. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes closed. The car stops, engine running, outside Grace Cathedral. I want to be pissed at Emmy or whoever she is for breaking into my phone, but I'm reluctantly impressed. More pressing though is the reality of where I am.

"All right?" my driver asks, staring at me through the reflection of the rearview mirror.

I blow out a breath. "Yeah. Are you okay with waiting?"

"Your dime. Your time." She shrugs.

I look out the tinted windows at the parked cars and the people milling around the entrance. I don't recognize anyone. Not surprising as I haven't had anything to do with this family since I was a child. Not by choice back then. But by choice now.

The phone on the seat next to me buzzes. I expect it be yet another call or voicemail from “David.” Boyfriend? Jealous husband? Hacker contact? Who am I kidding? Emmy is no more a hacker than I'm the prodigal son. I don't know what possessed me to suddenly accuse her. I guess I felt uncomfortable with our instant and surprising intimacy, and her admission she'd broken into my phone gave me a perfect out that I grabbed with both hands. I look at the phone, stalling for time before I have to get out and walk into that church. She's in New York. In my city. And I'm in hers.

As soon as most of the people congregating outside have moved into the church, I do my top button back up, pull my tie back to my neck, and step out of the vehicle.



* * *



On my way toward the entrance of Grace Cathedral, I see my cousin Beau. At least I think it's Beau.

"Trystan?"

"Yeah, Beau. Wow. Look at you." He's grown up and thinned out. I can't help smiling at his warm brown eyes that remind me of happier times in my distant childhood.

"Me? What about you?" His eyes rake over my suit, the Patek Filipe on my wrist and down to my Gucci loafers. "Something tells me this is your normal dress code, and you're not just dressed up of the funeral. Unlike me. I'm normally in shorts and Dockers." He tugs at his collar. "I'm dying in this suit."

It's a little ill-fitting, but I don't comment on it. "You're looking good though."

"Yeah, no longer the chubby kid. Damn, I'm glad you're here. I was hoping you'd come."

"I didn't want to."

"Probably not, but I've been following your successes, and I was hoping you'd come down and rub their faces in it."

I bob my head back, surprised.

"What? You think I didn't think they were fucking psycho for throwing you guys out?"

I swallow and grab the back of my neck. "No, I just, uh, didn't think you knew. We were kids."

"Well, I didn't for years, I just thought you and your mom moved. I was bummed.”

"We did move."

"I mean, moved by choice. But then, well, I overheard some shit growing up. If it's any consolation, they fought about it until the end. And I'm sorry about your mother."

Scowling, I let the words roll over me, unsure how they make me feel.

"Come on," says Beau, oblivious to my discomfort. "Let's get you inside. I have to help carry the coffin. Just waiting on the hearse to arrive." He grimaces.