4. Isolde
Isolde
My alarm goes off at seven in the morning. It does so every day.
Sunlight blurs along the far wall, the shadows moving. The city is awake, but I continue to lie in bed.
Tristan Trevino saw me naked in the shower last night.
If this had been a porno, maybe everything would have worked out. He’d get naked, we’d fuck, and live happily ever after.
Only it’s not a porno. Which means I’m left with the horrible knowledge that a man I’ve crushed on for several years has now seen me naked.
The worst thing about my crush on Tristan? Everyone seems to know about it.
Lennie teases me openly. Ren smirked when she sent Trevino home with me last night. I don’t mean to stare at Tristan like a fucking puppy dog.
Men have never been my forte, but then again, neither are relationships in general. It wasn’t until I moved to New York that I felt like I really had friends. The kind where the bonds run deep. Not just the surface level, ‘we’re friends because we spend so much time together during our work shift.’
They listen to all the things I text about in the group chat.
But I decide, as I stare up at my ceiling, that I’ll take what happened last night to the grave. I’m not sure what the fuck he thought he was doing, barging in like that.
A deep, exhausted sigh rips from my chest despite just waking up. So much for feeling energized this morning.
You’re just going to have to get over it.
That was my family’s motto growing up. Or at least it felt like it, considering how often my mum and sister said those words to me.
I get up because they’re right.
Tristan caught me naked and crying in the shower last night, thanks to a panic attack. I can’t change that fact. Just like I can’t change the fact that Cade wants me dead.
I’ll have to figure this all out.
But first, I need to vacuum because that’s my task for Friday mornings.
Ren laughs every time she sees my cleaning schedule on the fridge. As if she’s not got radioactive leftovers at her place due to her messiness.
I pull on sweatpants, covering my naked legs, and put a bra on. There’s a blasé feeling inside me that wants to say who cares after last night, but I’m too shy to just walk around naked.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I creep down the hall. The guest bedroom remains quiet, the door firmly shut. I quickly pee, praying the sound of my piss doesn’t alarm Tristan on the other side of the wall.
The last time I had roommates, the thin walls didn’t matter. It was going to be loud no matter what. I guess I always wanted a calmer, quieter place after that. It’s not until I’m sitting on the toilet that I realize I have successfully achieved that.
“My own cozy nest,” I say to myself as I exit the bathroom, shuffling around in slippers.
I might give Ren a hard time about her place, but if I’m being honest, she’d fit right in with the Matheson women. Cleaning was an afterthought unless guests came over.
To try to mitigate this DNA trait, I’ve created a schedule. Today, I’ll dust and vacuum as well as wipe down the kitchen counters since I didn’t have a chance to last night. I might even try to do a quick scrub of the bathroom so it’s extra clean for Tristan.
I pull the cordless, stick vacuum from the kitchen wall—it’s designated spot—and roll it into the living room.
Tristan is already up. And he is shirtless.
As expected, and definitely not because I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about his body, his muscles are well defined. Tattoos spiral along his ribcage. If I didn’t suddenly need to study my slippers, I’d be tracing the artwork.
He blinks, awake but sleepy, before frowning at the vacuum.
“Sorry,” I automatically say, worried my creeping around woke him up as if the vacuum wouldn’t have done that soon enough.
“Don’t your neighbors get annoyed if you use that so early?”
“Downstairs is gone by now and Mrs. Greene doesn’t put her hearing aids in till later.” My next-door neighbor has lived here for almost twenty years.
Tristan runs a hand over his face. “I like getting up early to meditate.”
“Oh.” I’ll make a note on my chore chart to avoid this scheduling conflict.
“You’re much more a morning bird than Ren was.”
His use of the word bird doesn’t mean girl like it would in England, but my mind glitches as I hone in on the differences in language.
“Here give me that.” He holds his hand out, an intricate pattern of roses and thorns curl around his arm.
I grab the vacuum tighter. “It’s all right.”
He says nothing else, turning and wandering back to his room. I’m vacuuming the large green rug that covers the living room when he steps back out with a shirt on this time.
Turns out we’re both better off being fully clothed.
“Do you have a blender I could use?” he asks, or something similar, since the vacuum whirls.
Focus on your tasks.
The vacuum takes a mere ten minutes. I dust and fluff up the throw pillows on the sofa.
“I’m not just helping myself,” Tris says from the kitchen. “Whatever food we share, it’ll get listed as an expense for Hallow to pay.”
Should I get real pajamas since he’s here? I’m picky about what I wear. It’s got to be soft and oversized, preferably cotton, since that’s good for the planet. But maybe large T-shirts are too juvenile.
“What? Are you going to prance around in sexy lace?”
I blink at Sammie. My sister’s ghost arches one eyebrow as she stares at me mockingly from the sofa.
She wrinkles her nose, her sarcasm clear as day, even when in ghost form.
I jerk when a kitchen drawer shuts.
Sammie disappears, and I’m horrible because I’m relieved. What kind of freak would Tris think I am if he knows I’m haunted by my dead sister?
I sink into the corner of the sofa, the same spot from last night. Ren’s already texted me.
Ren: Has he made you a kale smoothie yet?
The message arrives at the perfect time because Tristan appears in front of me. Holding out a kale smoothie as an offering.
For a second, he towers over me, and I catch a glimpse of his perfect face.
He’s always serious, but I never think he looks angry.
Even last night, when his shoulders remained bunched up tight.
His jaw is sharp, his eyes incredible. Shadows hide him in the early dawn since most of the lights are off.
“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep still.
My stomach swoops.
I nod, but he doesn’t move back.
Holding up the smoothie, I offer my thanks. “Kale, right?”
He snorts, the tiny noise breaking a barrier. I inhale easier, my lungs filling with important oxygen.
A second later he dips his head and runs a hand over his head.
I’d like to touch him. To run my tongue over his abs. To swirl my tongue over the crown of his cock before sucking him into my mouth.
I’m good at that. Sucking cock. A feminine goddess buried deep within me is pleased at this talent.
My fingers squeeze around the smoothie, the glass cold.
Yeah, no. Under no circumstances am I to mention to my bodyguard that I’m desperate to suck his dick.
Tristan picks his chin up, and a current runs between us. An awkward one, as we both remember our interaction last night.
“I’m sorry about. . . the bathroom thing.” His words come out much easier than if I’d tried to say anything. He doesn’t quite meet my eye, but he doesn’t look crestfallen or giggle.
Not that I think he’d giggle, but he’s less self-conscious than I would’ve thought.
“Yeah, it’s all right.” I take a drink of the thick, green liquid. I’m not sure what Ren was on about—the kale’s really not that bad.
“Are you. . . Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I stand up and walk to the fridge. I add the note about Tristan’s meditation time and then scribble down some ingredients on my grocery list. “There’s a sale on, so I’m going to go to the shop later.”
“We can send Luis.” He leans against the wall that partially tucks the kitchen away from the living room. He’s not exactly relaxed as he speaks, though.
“Why would we send Luis?” I open the pantry, making sure my grocery list is accurate.
“Because last night Cade tried to kill you.”
I set down a can of soup. I’m not sure how Tristan is supposed to say Cade’s name, but there’s something in his voice that I can’t decipher. Why does he say the name in such a familiar way? Like he’s started to do his research.
He’s being paid to protect you, I remind myself.
I ignore the drumming that begins to pound against my skin. “Cade’s not going to take me out while I’m doing my shopping.”
He tucks his hands into his pockets, crossing his ankle as he continues to lean casually. “Matheson, I’m here whether you like it or not.”
“And that means I can’t do my own shopping?”
Ren ranted about how Tristan didn’t believe in online shopping. We can’t send off Luis all the time.
And I’m not going to cower. Cade won’t get that from me.
Besides. . . “I have to go on my morning walk.”
He snorts. Actually, snorts like I’ve said something funny. “Seriously, Matheson?”
I point at the fridge.
Goals for keeping a healthy life:
Walk daily
Keep the place clean
Eat vegetables
At least the kale smoothie is pulling its weight. Unlike someone I know.
“You can stay here,” I mutter as I walk back into the living room. “And Luis and I will do the shopping.”
Tris has no response to my tantrum. But he does have questions. “Matheson, who is he?”
Thoughts fly through my mind, going out just as quickly as they come in.
A piece of shit guy. Someone who deserves to die. I bet it would feel good to strangle him to death.
For a second, I worry my smoothie is about to drop out of my hand. I squeeze my fingers around the glass tighter.
Talking to the Ghost about death should be easy. We are, after all, well-versed in it.
I can tell him the truth. That when it comes to Cade and me—one of us is going to die.
I think he would even help me. If only because there’s begrudging respect between us now that he’s hung out at Fujimori’s.
But my mouth doesn’t open. The thoughts and feelings swirl around, battling for airtime. In the end, I bat it all away, because like always, it feels too hard to explain.
A knock on the door helps me out.
Tristan straightens, ducking around me before I can even move. I don’t even squabble with him about how he thinks I can no longer answer my own front door.
His hand slides to the back of his waistband because, of course, he’s got his gun on him. His shoulders relax a moment later when he peeks through the peephole.