To hell with the paperwork
Mood has a powerful effect on perception. Touch a hot pan--a minute can feel like an hour, put your hands on a hot body, well that same hour can evaporate into a minute. It's all relative. Transient. And right now, as I slid out of the back seat of the chauffeured sedan, the towering stretch of Ronin Estates seemed...less.
The whitewashed walls appeared dull. The once bright, blue denim sky--stark and flat, all of it, worlds away from the vibrancy and colour and texture of only last week. Everything was different. Changed. And I wasn't so foolish as not to know the source of it all stemmed from the dull ache throbbing in my chest.
The brutal, weeping hole Tristan had left behind.
Having explained the whole mess to my father via email, since I was now incapable of uttering even the slightest sound, I was greeted at the door by him and Sheila. Ushered into the main house and up to where I'd once slept. The room had changed since I'd lived here, now one of seven guest bedrooms, but the feel was the same.
The weight of memory, real and tangible as the bedding.
"My girl," Harold sighed, drawing me tight against him. His face severe with disapproval and worry and parental emotion. "Don't worry. I'll have the bastard's balls for this."
I wanted to argue but couldn't find the strength to voice them, thought he must have seen it in my eyes as he answered with, "No one touches my daughter and gets off easy. I've made calls, pulled strings. Long overdue favours and I mean to extract every last one. When it's over, I'll scrape James Verraster off the bottom of these here boots." And clicked his heels for emphasis.
Smiling, I shook my head. Oh Daddy, I love you.
The creases around his eyes deepened, the blue sparkled with mirth. "Love you, too, baby girl. Love you always."
#
The weather blew hot and heavy, the air thick with summer humidity that stretched over the flat, rolling grass; a wall of heat that had a body sweating outside of five minutes. True to his word, George kept Iconic's wheels turning with Teresa and Bobby on hand to manage the slack. With no incoming emails to keep me busy, I turned myself to labouring in the barn, handling horses and tack, mucking out stalls. Back-breaking work that had me exhausted and dropping into sleep like a stone, but I welcomed the oblivion. The more exerted I was by the end of the day the less I was plagued by emotions and dreams and thoughts of Tristan.
The first few days were the hardest with my voice a pale screech at best, but by Thursday the swelling had lessened enough so I could carry on short and easy conversations. Not that I really wanted to engage in any. For the most part people left me alone, offering a wave or a smile, but not much else unless I initiated it, which suited me just fine. I was here to get away, to escape and heal.
There was no point in denying that I missed Tristan with a vicious, primal intensity. Almost as devastating as the loss of a severed limb, learning how to cope and function again without it, but always feeling it's missing weight, the phantom twitch and ache. An odd and uncomfortable sensation.
But I had my pride and had to believe I would find the strength within myself to shed this empty, hollow grief and heal in time. My heart might've been shattered, but my spirit was still intact. I'd rise above this, over it, a phoenix from my own smouldering ashes.
Hauling out a bowl of potato salad, I set it on the picnic tables scattered under the backyard awning. Today my father had decided to treat the household staff and horse wranglers and a few friends with a barbecue lunch. Everyone pitched in with the cooking and set up, my father at the grill, slathering his personal blend of sauce over ribs he'd smoked for twelve hours.
Under that perfect sky and sweltering sun, we shared food and laughter, cold beers and pitchers of homemade lemonade. For the first time since the world had dropped out from under my feet, I felt the first shift in my mood taking that turn towards the better. Happiness was creeping back in, warming me to my toes.
At the clinking of a fork against a glass, I turned my face from that warmth--that light, to my father. He stood at the head of the table, hat tipped from his face, flush with heat and nerves. Blue eyes bright against the ruddy hue of his skin.
"I just wanted to say a few words," he said, clearing his throat, beer raised high in toast. Around the table we lifted our own in turn. "Most of you have been with me a long time, long time. There's a few new faces, but even then--we've grown close. Become a family." His gaze slid over each of us, settling, then touching last on Sheila.
"Years in the political gamut, in office, have taught me that it's the small things that are the most precious. The most vital. And that when something good comes your way, you need to take hold of it."
I saw something shift between them, and my heart kicked in growing understanding. Something was here. Something was happening. From the softening expression on Sheila's face, to the way his hand dropped so to clutch at hers.
"I'm a lucky man," he continued. "Blessed to say I was once married to a wonderful woman. A woman I loved more than breath, who gave me two incredible children. But life is hard, and often can be cruel. I've lived without knowing that light and love for some time. Until now. I found it in this incredible, passionate woman right here." Lifting her hand, he kissed her fingers.
"And now I want to know if she'll do me the single greatest honour marrying me. Of sharing what's left of my life and years, not just as my best friend, but as my wife."
A gasp exploded out of Sheila, winged around the table in laughter and congratulatory applause. My father swept down to one knee, a ring box in hand. Cracking it open, Sheila's hands flew to her face. Stunned. Thrilled.
God, I was so happy. And so sad.
So terribly sad. My heart so full of love for my father and Sheila while weeping for the loss of its own happily ever after.
A short while afterwards, I excused myself from the celebrations and conversation. Needing air. Needing space. I walked the long, winding path down to the stables. There, in the paddock, I watched Stargazer, a proud and preening new mother, enjoying the rolling afternoon sun and soft, scented breeze.
Lulled by her simple joy, I watched them quietly as she whickered and tossed her mane, playing with the frisky colt, eager to spend his boundless energy.
"Mind if join you?" Sheila hiked up to the fence, forearms draped over the whitewashed wood. "I know...this might've come as a shock," she began; the pair of us watched Starshade cantering with his mother. "Had I known what he was planning, I swear I would have insisted we come to you first. Not blindside you that way."
"Sheila, please." Turning to her, I gathered the woman in my arms, squeezed tightly. "I'm happy for you. So happy for you."
Sheila's body slackened with relief a second before her arms swung up to embrace me in return. "Oh thank god for that," she whispered, and drew back to flick away tears. She was never a weepy woman, a trait I'd always admired and respected.
Pushing the sunglasses off my face, taking her hand, the ring on her finger-new and dazzling--captured the light. A simple platinum band and stone--expertly cut and beautifully crafted, the size appropriate when considering my father's political image, but not so grand as to overwhelm Sheila's simple nature.
"It's gorgeous. Daddy always had great taste."
Shy, Sheila slipped her hands into her pockets. "I honestly didn't expect...I mean, we only just started...well," embarrassment and nerves flushed her cheeks a rosy pink. "After your mother passed, you could say I had a bit of a crush on him. Never saw him that way before. But after...well, he was always a fine figure of a man. Guess I never thought he'd look twice my way. I'm nothing like how she was. Such a wonderful lady. So sophisticated and refined, but decent, too. Hardworking. Educated. I barely finished college." Sheila snorted at some stray thought, then flicked her gaze back to mine. Gauging. Assessing.
"You favour her, you know. Not just in looks, but in temperament. She was awfully proud of you. Your father too, but your mom especially. I think she admired your grit, the way you took off into the world and made it spin to your beat, and not the other way around."
"I had a lot to prove," I sighed, leaning against the post. "How long?"
"We've been...seeing each other?"
I nodded.
"Oh, well," Sheila blew a stray curl out of her eyes, "not long. Not long at all. But if you consider how long we've known each other...well, it made things happen easily, if you catch my meaning. Feels like we've been together so much longer than we have. And it happens differently when you're our age. Time is more precious. You don't have a lot of those things getting in the way that often present as issue for you young'ens. Careers, children--hell, even just a desire to see the world before getting roped into marriage, we've both lived and loved, we've both explored the world and ourselves. We know who were are, what we want. With age comes perspective, so my mom always said."
"Mine too," I smiled, angled my head, "he's loved you for a long time. And I think you did, too, now that I look back. Really look back. Mom's been gone for five years. That's a long time to be alone. He needed to move on. I'm glad he has. And I'm thrilled it's with you."
Once more, Sheila dabbed and flicked away tears. "Oh, well now. Jeez, look at me? Never figured I'd be one to make a weepy fool of myself, but it means a great deal to have your blessing. Truly does."
"Well, you have it."
Stroking a hand over my back, Shelia pressed her head to my shoulder, held there. "It's good to have had you around, these last few days. You haven't been yourself. That's plain as the bruises on your neck, though thankfully they're fading."
"I've had a lot on my mind."
"Hm. I gathered. Nothing to do with that handsome fella who's dropped by the house looking for you?"
Stunned, I swung my gaze back to her, heart kicking in my throat. "What?"
"Tristan. He's come to the property. That's why I came out this way--to fetch you, and well, to have little word first. Woman to woman, and all."
Adrenaline spiked under my skin, leaving my dizzy and breathless. Thoughts spun, emotions surged. Why was he here? What did he want? After days--days--of nothing but cold silence.
"Go on," Sheila nodded towards Ronin. "I've got to see these two inside. You should find them out back."
The walk was endless, but I was grateful for the time to regain my composure, to find my nerve. To find my temper. If he'd come all this way to issue an apology, well--he was going to have a hard, uphill battle in front of him.
Circling around to the back, sure enough I found Tristan with my father right where Sheila had left them. The only two at the table, laughing and smiling, sitting casually together like old friends enjoying a leisurely afternoon.
And God just seeing him there, so casual and right made my throat ache all over again, a tight fist circling around and squeezing until I could hardly breathe.
Sensing me--because the man always knew when I was close--his gaze shifted, found mine. And held. The distance was too far for me to read their emotion, if in fact there was any to be found, but I could feel their heat. Their intensity.
Sliding my sunglasses back on to my face, grateful for the shield they presented, I started towards them.
"There she is," still flushed with proud joy from his earlier announcement, my father rose, swung out an arm, gesturing me over. "I was just telling Tristan here all about my pending nuptials."
"You must be so thrilled," he answered, the sexy slide of his voice had my nerves tingling to life and dammit, that made me even more furious. To know my body could still be so responsive to him felt like the ultimate act of betrayal, knowing that all he had to do was crook a finger and, pride be damned, I'd want to crawl back to him.
If this was love, it was weakness. And I despised weakness.
Furious, I set my chin. "Give us a sec, dad. I need a private word with Tristan."
Clearing his throat, my father slid his gaze between us, rocked back on his heels.
"Right. Can see you two got some catching up to do." He may have winked at Tristan, I couldn't be sure as I was presently drilling holes through my lenses.
"What do you want?" I demanded soon as we were alone. The wind shifted around me, soft as a kiss, clouds diffusing the oppressive glare of sun. The whisper of trees and lilt of birdsong, Tristan held there for a moment.
Almost a week since we'd last seen one another, and only now did I see the haggard edges of fatigue chaffing away the refined polish. He looked beaten. And somewhere the distant echo of an old conversation when I'd asked him about nights were we'd be apart.
Know that I will suffer. And suffer greatly. Apparently that statement rang true, and I wasn't above feeling a measure of satisfaction. Good.
"How are you?" he asked, his eyes shifted over me, sweeping from head to toe, not missing the smooth skin on my throat where the bruises were fading patches of purple and blue. Reaching for me, he stroked a finger there, careful to avoid the sorest parts.
I wanted to pull from him, to avoid that simple touch, but apparently I was still weak. I needed that stroke of skin over mine. But like any addict, I quickly wanted more. And hunger bloomed inside of me, so bright and hot and fast. Seven days without him had been torturous hell...
"Why are you here?"
Sighing, Tristan dropped his hand. "I guess it's safe to assume you haven't been paying much attention to the news of late?"
Shrugging, I pulled down my shades so he could see my eyes. "Why would I? It's the same old shit--war torn country over here, politicians cheating and lying over there, celebrities getting into messed up trouble only to bail themselves out, the stock market dipping and diving like yo-yo." Bored with the tedium of it all, I sighed. "Why don't you spare me the sales pitch and just spit it out already? What do you want, Tristan? Because last I remember, once you close a door you never reopen it."
A lump in his throat bobbed, uncertain fingers swiped through his hair. "Fuck, Laura. I was an idiot, alright? I lashed out. I'm sorry."
"Nope," I shook my head. "Not good enough. Not even close. Even if I could over look the little snit-fit in your office where you shut me out, cold. I can't so easily ignore that after the board meeting you just took off. Not concern. Nothing."
Silver glinted with a dangerous edge. "I care, Laura. I care a great deal that that animal put his hands on you. That you were assaulted."
"Funny way of showing it."
"I'm sorry."
"Not good enough."
"I'm really sorry."
"Not fucking good enough. You walked away from me. Cast me off." Furious, seething, I paced, unable to sit still. "Have you any idea what I've been going through the last few days? How much pain you've put me through?"
Crossing his arms, Tristan edged closer. "Ask where I went after the meeting."
"What does that-?"
"Ask me."
Huffing out an angry breath, I tossed up my hands. "Fine. Have it your way, as fucking always. Where did you go after the fucking meeting?"
"First, I went to see Martha."
That jerked the vertebrae in my spine, popping each one into a single, straight line. "You...did what?"
"I went to see Martha. I wanted to see the place-where he attacked you, for myself. We spoke for a while, she made me tea. Earl Grey." My belly clutched and I pressed a hand there.
"Immediately after that, I followed up with the courts to make sure that Jim was going to be held to the full weight of the law regarding your assault. Not that I would have reason to be concerned on that note, because by then apparently your father had rolled over half the city, making calls to the attorney general and district attorneys."
Shaking his head, Tristan's frustration eased. "Afterwards, I came back to my apartment. And I sat there for a while-drinking bourbon. I needed to think. To clear my head. I wanted to go to you-straight to you, Laura."
Reaching for me, he took my hand, squeezed hard, eyes blazing with such furious passion. "But I realized, because of my actions I was unworthy of you therefore any attempted apologies I could hope to make would be meaningless and flat unless I could think of a way to undo all the damage I caused. So I gave you time. Time to think, and more importantly, time I needed to resolve other areas of my life left unfinished."
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled to something, and then turned the screen so I could see. Emblazoned there, bold and black with an image of his wife split down the Center.
Shade divorced finalized in an unprecedented 450-million dollar settlement.
Staggered, I could only blink.
"That was two days ago."
"How...how...?"
Tristan slid his phone back into his pocket. "I didn't contest. I gave her whatever she wanted, no matter how ludicrous or insane. Apartment, cars, stocks and bonds, RRSP's and savings...she cleaned me out of mostly everything," he smiled at that, shook his head, "but I don't care. None of that matters. The money is finite. I can earn it back if I really wanted to. I started with less, I can make it work, but what is important, Laura, is that life without you in it is nothing. Meaningless and empty. I can't face the days or years to come without you."
Knees weakening, I lowered to a lawn chair and Tristan sank into the one next to me, his hands still gripping mine, thumbs sweeping over the backs.
"That night after the film fest, I'd chastised you for not having enough faith in me, for not trusting me, and at the first test of that faith and trust I betrayed you by walking away. I will never be so blind and stupid again. I know I don't deserve it, but I'm begging you for a second chance."
Drawing breath was a struggle, and the hot sting of tears blurred my vision. Shifting between us, Tristan lowered to his knees in front of me as I swiped at my eyes, struggling for composure.
"Laura," he whispered, and I pulled my hands away. Look at him. Looked down.
"Holy shit," I gasped.
There, cradled in his palm, was a ring. The cushion cut stone was simple and elegant. Perfect.
"I held on to enough to ensure I could pay for this," he said, lifting the little circlet between his fingers. "Laura Pierce, I love you with every breath in my body, with every facet of my soul. And I will endeavour every day to be worthy of you. With you I have known no greater joy, and have experienced a fulfilling passion unlike anything I thought possible. I want you to be my wife, the mother of my children." At my weepy laugh, he smiled, stroking away fresh tears.
"Marry me," he said, drawing closer, his lips skimming over mine. "Give my life purpose and meaning and love. Marry me. I need you."
Emotion swelled, cresting inside of me like a summer storm, all vibrancy and colour and intensity. Wild. Vital.
"Yes." The word broke from me in a sob and he drank in that simple sound, kissing me deeply, thoroughly. Holding me. With the joy came laughter and stunned, I watched as he slid the ring on to my finger. A perfect fit.
Of course, I thought. Leave it to Tristan Shade to get it all just right.
"Mo chroí. M'anam. Mo grá," he whispered into another kiss. And my heart lifted, swelled.
"What does that mean," I asked, angling back to look at him. He'd said those words to me once before. The night we'd first kissed.
"Haven't you figured that out by now?" At the shake of my head, he sighed. Taking my hand to his lips, he kissed my palm, glanced at me bashfully. "It means my heart, my soul, my love."
And there it was, the words I had so longed to hear. Needed to hear. Now knowing he'd already said them. Always said them, somehow changed everything.
"I guess we'll need to update our agreement," I teased, threading my fingers through his hair. "Update the contract with new clauses and appendices and amendments and-"
Gathering me to my feet, he hauled me into his arms and shut me up with another kiss. Pressed there. Held there, smiling against my lips.
"To hell with the paperwork. The only document I'm interested in is the one that makes you my wife."
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