Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(87)

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.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

James leaned forward, aiming his electric gaze in my direction.  Of course, he looked good in black.  James looked amazing in everything.  “He holding up okay?” he asked me.

I nodded, eyes wide.

“Are you holding up okay?” he questioned, looking concerned.

I nodded.  “I didn’t even know Tony.”

“That’s not what I meant.  In general, are you okay?”

My mouth twisted ruefully, but I just nodded.  I had to bite my tongue to keep from making any comments about what was going on in the front row.

But seriously, it was ridiculous.  Mona was as plastered to Tristan as James was to Bianca.  And there was so much ownership in it, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, as though she did it every day, as though he was hers.

Tristan had his arm around her, and seemed to just be taking it in stride as she nuzzled into his chest.  I didn’t even think she was crying, so it looked more like canoodling than it did mourning.

I told myself I’d never lost a father, hell, never even had one to lose, so I could hardly decide what form Mona’s grief should take.

Even so, I was upset, and that upset was growing into something stronger by the second.

I must have been showing some outward sign of what I was feeling, because Bianca, who was not normally demonstrative, reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

Tristan kept turning his head, trying to catch my eye, but every time he did it, I looked away, pretending to pay attention to the ongoing eulogy speech by Tony’s tearful wife.

Finally, I stopped glancing their way altogether, which is how I should have handled things from the beginning.

Finally, Tristan got up to say a few words, going largely over Tony’s mentorship and career and how it had affected his own life and work.

It was a touching speech, and I marveled at how polished he was at public speaking.  When I’d first met him, he’d been a good performer, but I thought this new articulate speaker part of him must have come from performing in front of a large audience five nights a week.