CHAPTER 47 Rowan
CHAPTER 47
Rowan
I n early March, my phone buzzes in the middle of the night. I startle and fumble for it, then rub my eyes and read the name on the screen.
A chill passes through my body. Now fully awake, and with a sense of foreboding, I answer. There’s one main reason why my father’s nurse would be calling me at two in the morning. “Hullo?” My voice wakes up Charlie, who stirs, pulling me closer.
“Is this Rowan?” Bettina asks.
“Yes.” I burrow further into Charlie’s embrace, a sudden heaviness on my chest that has nothing to do with his burly arm holding me like he’s attached with a rubber band.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought you would want to know that your father passed away about ten minutes ago. He was in no pain.”
The world seems to slow down, and my eyelids are hot. I nod, even though she can’t see it. I bite my lip. Charlie squeezes me hard. My phone’s loud enough that he can hear both sides of the conversation.
“Okay. Do you need help with anything right now?” I ask.
“No. The funeral arrangements are already taken care of. We’ll notify everyone for you. We just wanted you to be the first to know, since he listed you as next of kin.”
“Should I come by anyway?” I stare out into the dim room.
“No, there’s nothing for you to do. His body is being removed by the mortuary.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say, my voice quiet and my throat dry.
What else is there to say?
“I’m sorry, Rowan,” Bettina says quietly. “You were very special to him, and he loved you. I’m available if you need to talk.”
“Yeah, sure.”
We say goodbye, I hang up, and Charlie nuzzles into my neck. “I’m sorry, baby boy.”
A tear drips down my face onto the pillow, and I press my palms into my eyes. My nose starts to run.
“Even though I’ve been expecting this since the moment he told me, it still hurts. Bad. I didn’t know him very long,” I whisper into the dark. “But I wanted him my entire life.”
“I know, baby. You loved him, even for a short while.”
“I did.”
And I start telling Charlie all kinds of things he already knows, just because I need to say them out loud. How my father spent years trying to find me, and when he did, he went out to lunch with me, came to see me in Montecito, and invited me to his home in Pasadena, even though he was too sick to be comfortable, even though he surely had other important things to do, even though his time must have been more precious than ever, given how little he had left. How he was kind. How he accepted me for who I was and never told me that I should be different or more like him. How in the short time we knew each other, I felt he cared.
How I’m going to miss him. But even more, I miss what we weren’t able to have.
A week later, Charlie and I step out of a St. Thomas limo driven by a driver I’ve never met before—Hector and his family are attending the funeral as guests—close to my father’s gravesite in the grassy, private, expensive cemetery. Both of us are wearing black suits and sunglasses. My suit is Gucci. Charlie’s is something he already had, probably from Brooks Brothers or somewhere equally traditional. We look like we’re in Reservoir Dogs or something.
I’m numb, weighted down. Not sure how Charlie’s feeling.
For a man with such a famous last name, Remi’s funeral is small and intimate, because it’s private as per his request. It’s only an interment, and everyone will be going back to his Pasadena house later for a memorial.
Going up on my tiptoes, I whisper to Charlie, “This is the first funeral I’ve ever been to, which is perhaps not that surprising, given that I’ve never had the continuity of hanging around people long enough for them to die.” I bite my lip and admit, “Die in a way I didn’t have a part in.”
Charlie kisses the top of my head. “Don’t say that in public again. Even if we are alone.”
We walk, holding hands, over to a group of chairs under a sunshade. The grave is open, the casket gleaming off to the side, a huge flower arrangement on top. The place smells like cut grass and fresh dirt. It looks out over a freeway to houses and hills in the distance.
I hope Remi likes this as his final resting place. He chose it, after all.
In the seats are Bree, Anastasia, Nana, Barbara, and Gideon, as well as a few nurses and close helpers or staff. Bree and Anastasia give me sidelong glances, but whatever. I’m never going to be friends with them.
Nana stands up first and turns to address the small group with a microphone handed to her by a cemetery employee. “My nephew Remi left his mark on the world. Most people will remember him as a powerful businessman who invested in tech communications but also loved the finer things in life.” After mentioning more of his legacy, she smiles at me. “While all of that is important, his greatest accomplishment, I think he’d say, was finding his son.”
When Nana is finished, Bree stands up and gives some sicky-sweet speech about how “Uncle Remi” was her favorite uncle and how sad she is that he’s gone. I don’t believe a word of it.
While most of me wants to remain silent, I stand up in my place and say, “I’m just glad we were able to spend a little while together and get to know each other before the end.”
Nana’s eyes are shining, and she nods and smiles, but Bree and Anastasia scowl.
I finger the knife in my pocket. I can handle them.
I think.
Remi’s Pasadena mansion is packed wall-to-wall with people wearing black for my father’s memorial. This is more like what I was expecting, given his stature in life. Despite the crowd, when I enter a room, people turn and stare. I recently redyed my hair, so it’s bright pink. Charlie and I are still in our suits, although I’ve loosened my tie.
“Want something to eat?” Charlie asks, nodding toward the spread of food off to the side. Although the vibe here is subdued, the mood is certainly less somber than at the cemetery.
“Nah, I’m not hungry. And I bet nothing’s spicy enough, anyway.”
He touches my nose. “Do you know anyone here?” he asks. “Besides the family and employees I’ve already met.”
“Just a few of the nurses. I invited Xavier, but I don’t see him yet. Where did all these people come from, anyway? It’s more than were at the St. Thomas Christmas party.”
“Society types who want to be seen.” Charlie swivels his head, then perks up. “Speaking of society types, I see someone I know. Want to meet Tristan?”
I scratch my jaw. “He’s here?”
“His family must be close to yours.”
Yet another reminder of all the history I don’t know, because I didn’t grow up with the St. Thomases.
Do I want to meet Tristan? Knowing he’s fucked Charlie a hundred times or more doesn’t make me happy. My lips press together in a slight grimace. “Should I put him on my vengeance list?” I mutter, and Charlie barks out a laugh. Everyone looks at us, since the sound is much louder than the rest of the conversations, and a tall, very handsome man who’s about ten years older than me smiles and strides over.
“Hey, I thought I might see you here,” he says warmly to Charlie, shaking his hand.
My hand goes into my suit pocket again. Charlie sees me and rolls his eyes. “Tristan, this is my boyfriend, Rowan St. Thomas.”
That’s my legal name now. The lawyers got the name change published and the court order approved fast.
“Hi,” I say, wary. Charlie is twice my size, and this guy’s even bigger. And perfect and beautiful. He matches Charlie, unlike me: No visible tattoos, hair-colored hair, and he seems to have the polished mannerisms that I most definitely do not have.
“Nice to meet you,” Tristan says, sounding sincere, which makes me want to scratch his eyes out. “I can see why Charlie’s so fascinated by you.”
I scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He holds up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not stepping on your toes. I just wanted to meet the man who captured the heart of this perpetual grump.”
I want to say Charlie’s mine and push Tristan away with the point of my knife, but he seems … nice. Ugh. I’d hoped to hate him .
Charlie shoves Tristan’s bicep. “Whatever, Tris. Don’t you have some relatives to go antagonize?”
“Oh, me hanging out with you will do that, never fear.”
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and my heart does flips when I see who it is. “X!” I leap into his arms, and he catches me easily.
“Hey, Ro-Ro. How are you, man?”
“Oh my god, you made it! I haven’t seen you in so long.”
He sets me down. “I needed to come and pay my respects, even if I never met the man.”
I remember that I should have some semblance of manners. “Charlie, this is my best friend, Xavier Martinez. X, this is Charlie and his … friend, Tristan.”
Charlie shakes X’s hand, and then I notice that Tristan’s staring at X like he just got hit by a truck. Like Charlie, X is tall and dark-haired, though his tan skin is much darker than Charlie’s. Does Tristan have a type? X seems equally affected.
That’s interesting.
They shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” Tristan says.
Could there be a spark between Tristan and Xavier? X could do worse than Charlie’s nice, rich ex.