CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
About twenty minutes later, Ricky slipped into the bedroom. I started to rise. He held out a hand to stop me.
“Gabriel wants us to stay here,” he whispered. “Something about an encounter you had earlier? Is there a problem?”
“No, he’s just being cautious. I’d prefer to go to my place.”
“So would I.” He rolled his eyes toward the door. “But I’d rather not piss him off when he’s sticking close to help.”
Ricky peeled off his shirt. I tried not to watch—I hate window-shopping, and there was no chance of a purchase tonight. When he got to the jean-shucking, though, my resolve buckled.
“Keep looking at me like that . . .” he murmured as he folded his clothing onto a chair.
“I know.” I sighed. “Just too damned tempting.”
He chuckled as he climbed into bed. “While I’m perfectly willing to satisfy that temptation . . .”
“It’s not the time or the place,” I said. “I know.”
He pulled me against him. “About earlier. What I was trying to say is that I feel like shit about . . . well, about . . .”
“James?”
He exhaled, air hissing through his teeth. “Yeah. Definitely not what you want to talk about.”
“I’d rather talk about it than lie awake worrying about what’s bothering you.”
He nodded. “It’s just that I feel bad. I was so pissed off at him. For good reason, considering how he was treating you. But whatever James did, it was hard for you hearing me talk about your ex like he was some dirtbag psycho. That obviously wasn’t the guy you got engaged to. I mishandled the situation, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t hurt me or mishandle it. Yes, it was tough. I felt like it reflected badly on me, plus it might scare you off. I’m just sorry that it happened. That all of it happened.”
I was about to pull back, a fresh wave of grief rising, but he took my face in his hands and pulled me down into a kiss. When it broke, he held me there.
“You could never scare me away, Liv. I hope you know that.”
I nodded, and he tugged me into an embrace. When at last I shifted to settle in for sleep, he looked up—way up. I followed his gaze to see TC perched on the headboard.
“That’s a little unsettling,” he said.
“TC? Down.”
He did jump down—onto Ricky, who let out an oomph. I went to scoop up TC, but he gave me a baleful glare and lay down on Ricky’s chest and curled up.
“Congratulations,” I said. “You now own a cat. Don’t forget to take him when you go.”
“Didn’t I just say I’m not going anywhere?”
“Damn. Well, at least he likes someone.”
“Oh, he likes you just fine. This is a warning. If I try to jump you in the night, he’ll rip my heart out.”
I laughed softly and he pulled me against his side. I closed my eyes, and before I knew it, I was asleep.
—
I was in the kitchen the next morning, helping Rose with breakfast. Gabriel was at the table, busy on his laptop. Ricky had taken over the parlor desk to work on an assignment for school. As I washed berries, I said to Rose, “So, do you feel like you’re running a boardinghouse?”
“Starting to,” she said, putting a tin of muffins into the oven. “I might charge rent. And impose curfews. Seemed like doors were opening and closing half the night.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Ricky and I planned to go back to my place, but—”
“No,” Gabriel said, without looking up from his computer.
“I don’t see why—”
“Would you like a list? Let’s start with the fact that you seem to be sliding into visions randomly and end with the one where at least two very powerful fae really would prefer your boyfriend went home. As long as—”
My phone rang. “Saved by the bell,” I said, then looked down at the incoming call and blinked. “Oh, hell. Shit, shit, shit.”
“If that’s a reporter—” Gabriel began, his hand extended for the phone.
“No, it’s my mother. I completely forgot, she’s coming home this weekend.”
It’d been weeks since I’d spoken to her directly. Lena hadn’t taken the media onslaught very well. She’d fled to Europe to hide under the wings of protective friends. When I wouldn’t do the same . . . well, I’d like to say she was angry because she thought that was best for me, but I suspect it was because it would have made things easier for her. Everyone has people like my mother in their lives. They’re frustrating and flawed, and there are things both in them and in our relationships with them that we’d like to change, but ultimately we have to accept who they are.
I answered the phone with, “Hey, Mum.”
“Olivia. I heard the news. I’m so sorry.”
Shit! Of course.
“I should have called you,” I said. “I just . . . I’m the one who found him, and I haven’t been thinking clearly. I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t blaming you for not calling. Despite what happened between you two, I know how much you cared for him.”
I exhaled and lowered myself into the chair across from Gabriel. “Thanks. Yes, the situation makes it awkward. I’m holed up avoiding reporters. I don’t know what I’ll do about the funeral and . . . Maybe we can talk about that. How to handle it. When are you getting in?”
“I’m not coming home, Olivia.”
“What?”
“Given what’s happened, this would hardly be the time.”
“But the funeral—he was . . . he was almost your son-in-law, and you’ve known his family forever.”
“I can hardly go to the funeral of a man my daughter left at the altar.”
I gripped the phone. “I did not—”
“James stuck by you, Olivia.”
“Um, no, he—”
“He got over the shock of your parentage and tried to make amends, and you wouldn’t let him. You had your reasons, but to outsiders, it does not reflect well on our family.”
Gabriel pushed his chair back, a hard look in his eyes. Eavesdropping and making no secret of it.
“I understand you wanted to tough it out,” Mum went on. “My concern is . . . You’re twenty-four, Olivia. In a few months you’ll be old enough for your trust fund, reaching the age where your father and I agreed you’d be mature enough to handle the responsibility. But in recent weeks you broke off an engagement to a wonderful man, and began investigating your birth parents’ crimes with a man that our family lawyer has nothing good to say about. Now James is dead—murdered—and you’re dating a member of a motorcycle gang. All I can hope is that last is some misguided publicity stunt to divert attention from your birth situation.”
“No, I—”
“He’s a biker, Olivia. And according to the papers, he’s two years younger than you.” She said it as if that was as bad as dating a criminal.
“Whatever’s happening to me has nothing to do with attending James’s funeral. We need to pay our respects—”
“We?” Her voice rose. “I certainly hope you don’t intend to go.”
“I was engaged to him, Mum. I’d never march up and stand at his graveside, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go, discreetly, and pay my respects.”
“After you . . . ?” She trailed off.
“After I what?” I said, my voice thick with warning. “What exactly did I do that strips me of the right to mourn James?”
You killed him. Maybe you didn’t wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze the life from him, but you caused this. You know you did.
I didn’t catch what my mother said; I only heard the accusation in my head. I lowered the phone. Gabriel reached over to take it, but I lifted it again to discover my mother had hung up.
—
“I know it’s important to you to go to the funeral,” Ricky said as he peeled off his muffin wrapper. The four of us were at the kitchen table. “You could do it exactly as you suggested. Go to the graveside service, where you can hang back—”
“There’s no reason for her to hang back,” Gabriel said. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
“It’s about propriety and respect,” I said. “I’d hardly honor his memory by turning his funeral into a prime-time news event.”
“Obviously, I’d like to go with you,” Ricky said. “But that would extend a big middle finger to his family. I’ll be nearby, in case you need me. Someone, though, should escort—”
“I will,” Gabriel said.
“Actually, I was going to ask Rose. James had you charged with assault and his mother was the one who called the police.”
“His mother won’t see either of us. For anyone who does spot us, my presence would merely signal that Olivia should not attend without accompaniment.”
We debated it some more, but Gabriel had made up his mind. If I was going, so was he.