Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(86)

“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 cle**age 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.