22. Tristan
Tristan
Ididn’t forget my father’s birthday. It’s been on the calendar for weeks. I just wasn’t expecting all of my employees to want to go.
“We’ll just take Blue with us,” Luis had said days ago. At the time I wasn’t inclined to take Isolde, a woman I’d just bent over the couch and fucked, to meet all of my family.
I’m still not inclined.
But thanks to my lack of planning, here we are.
“You want me to come?” Isolde asks, her blue eyes unblinking.
I give her options. “You can hang out with Ben at Fujimori’s, spend time with Hadrian, or come with us.”
“You don’t like it when I hang out with Hadrian.”
I’d prefer if she never said that asshole’s name, but I have to face the facts. They have a fucked up friendship. One built on a shared history involving someone who is dead. He’s done right by her in every way. He got her to New York, and he’s paying for an armed guard to protect her.
“I hate him,” I admit, going through a dresser drawer, looking for clothes. My dad’s birthday means I need something relaxed but nice. I can’t don tactical gear and remind him that my job is to quite literally stand in front of a bullet. And I’ll get teased to hell if I show up in a suit.
It’s been a perfectly lovely morning. Isolde on her knees had hardened my cock immediately.
I should be embarrassed with how my own knees almost gave out, she sucked my dick so well.
I might have tangled my fingers in her hair and forced her mouth to take me, but the effect Isolde has on me goes down to the bone.
Her pussy soaked from the morning’s activities, she showered, and now stands in the doorframe in just her towel. “I’ll go to Ben’s.”
My thoughts war against one another.
I’ve done everything to keep my personal and professional lives separate, but there are multiple good reasons to bring her to my dad’s party.
For starters, she’s my best and most important client. And it’s not because Hadrian is paying.
I don’t think anyone will harm her at Fujimori’s, but the worry would never leave me.
Plus, I just want her next to me. “Come with me.”
“Your family wouldn’t mind?”
“Nah.” There will be so many people there—family, friends, and neighbors. “There will be a ton of food, and everyone is friendly.”
Too friendly, but I don’t let myself worry about that yet.
“They won’t think it’s weird?”
They’ll fucking love it when I show up with a female.
I clear my throat. “I’ll tell them the truth. You’re a client that needs 24/7 protection. They won’t pry, I promise.”
“And it’s not weird you’re bringing a client?”
“No,” I lie. My aunts might not ask her nosy questions, but they’ll sure as hell wonder why I’m suddenly bringing work home.
“How should I dress?”
“Casual. And I’m sorry to be an asshole, but we don’t have much time. I need to run by the store.” I’ve got my dad’s gift, but I can’t come empty handed. The plan is to arrive early to help set up.
I expect a fuss, but Isolde merely walks to her room. A short while later she comes out in jeans and another blue tank top. Without her hoodie on, she looks almost shy. Her eyes tilt up at me, questioningly.
I kiss her forehead. “I’m not crazy, but Adeline left all the clothes she brought over, didn’t she?”
The first night we fucked, while she was in the shower, I’d gone to her dresser and discovered all of her clothes were almost the exact same. Mainly soft and oversized clothes. There’s an alarming amount of new items now.
“I would wear shorts,” she says, glancing at the summer sun outside. “But. . .”
I grab her hand. “No one will make fun of you if you want to wear shorts.”
Luis would probably try to touch her scar again, the fucking pervert, but the one thing I can confidently say about my family is they don’t judge a person by their body.
She shakes her head, choosing to deal with one new thing at a time. She does, however, squeeze my hand as I lead her down the stairs, at least until we get outside.
Luis hops out of the car, opening the door for her. “You’ve got no idea how the Trevinos celebrate!”
“We’re trying not to scare her off,” I remind and then get into the driver’s seat, taking Isolde by surprise.
Luis doesn’t mind a bit, though. To my annoyance, he slides into the backseat, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, fuck yeah, you can chauffeur me around.”
“Come sit in the front seat.” I don’t like how he keeps wagging his eyebrows at Isolde.
“You never drive,” Isolde says.
It’s wrong, having Luis drive me to my dad’s. Especially with Isolde.
“Blue, you take the front.” The entire ride, Luis tells Isolde every thought and story and insight that pops into his head.
I feel her tiny little glances, her blue eyes studying me as Luis points out the old school we attended as we drive by.
Or the bodega where we used to buy energy drinks.
I remain remarkably calm when Luis tells her about a time he spotted me on a particular street corner kissing my first girlfriend.
“It’s not Yorkshire,” Luis says as we pull up, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
The backseat is now crowded with a shit ton of groceries and beer. Last minute items Luis’s mother, my dad’s sister, texted us about.
“But it’s home,” Luis finishes, opening his car door.
The house, in a much more affordable suburb full of working class families, is tidy. The small patch of grass in front of my childhood home is kept up. There’s garland wrapped around the small porch, and the door is open. No doubt a bunch of people are already here to help set up.
My family operates all big gatherings with three specific time periods: the hours long setup, the actual party, and the clean-up crew, which consists of our closest friends hanging out long into the night.
“You okay?” I ask Isolde.
“You okay?” she asks back.
It’s been a long time since I’ve brought a woman home. I know the questions I’m about to get asked. What I don’t know is what Isolde will think or learn about me in the next few hours.
“Let me help,” she offers Luis.
He heads up the porch. “And get called out for letting a girl help. Absolutely not.”
She wrinkles her nose, highlighting the light smattering of freckles on her pale skin. “Women can, in fact, carry heavy stuff.”
I take the bag she’s trying to get out of the car. “You’ve seen him struggling to lift weights at the gym, right? He’d let you help carry stuff anytime if he knew his mom and our aunts wouldn’t give him complete shit for it.”
“He is not wrong about that,” Aunt Rosalie says, coming out on the porch.
She’s colorful like always, her shirt a bright blue and her sandals orange. She’s the oldest of the aunts and acted more like a grandmother, since ours had unfortunately passed already.
Rosalie crosses her arms against the wind. “And who is this?” There’s a merry glint to her eyes, and I ignore the dread trying to dissolve in my stomach.
“Hi, I’m Isolde,” Matheson responds, her voice soft-spoken like usual but confident enough to carry.
“British?” Rosalie asks. “Oh, I do love a British detective show. So much better than the crap on our TVs.”
Luis laughs, walking around her with his arms full.
“Come inside,” Rosalie tells Isolde. “Make yourself at home.”
“Who’s that?” my cousin asks.
“I don’t know,” another one replies. There are already twenty people here, and that’s just to help get ready. The house will be packed before it’s all over and done with.
“Is that Tris?” Luis’s mom asks, peeking out of the kitchen. She visibly startles when she sees a female with us.
“Is my dad here?” I ask Aunt Marie, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“In the back,” she replies. “Apparently there’s an emergency with the grill. Who are you?” she asks Isolde.
“She’s British,” Aunt Rosalie replies, signifying that this is of great importance.
“Oh.” Aunt Marie nods, her brows lifted high.
What the fuck did I just let myself walk into?
“Can I help with anything?” Isolde asks, her arms clasped behind her back.
“Oh no!” Rosalie and Marie try to wave her away.
Aunt Susanah hands her a broom. At her sister’s nagging, she raises her hands. “What?” She motions to Isolde. “She asked to help. It’s your daughter who spilled an entire bag of chips on the floor.”
Aunt Marie grabs the broom out of Isolde’s hands, apologizing quickly. Then she mutters to her younger sister, “She’s Tristan’s guest!”
Aunt Susanah’s brows also lift. My misgivings grow.
“Did you actually bring a girl?” my cousin Rae asks when she spots me.
Luis opens his mouth, ready to answer, but thinks better of it when I slap the back of his head.
“Her name is Isolde, she’s a client, and she’s shy,” I tell Rae. Other than Luis, she’s my closest cousin. I know she’ll have my back and take care of Isolde if I’m not around.
“We call her Blue,” Luis adds and then flinches when I raise my hand.
Rae interrupts. “Client?”
“Client,” I repeat.
“Uh huh.” She glances over my shoulder. All three aunties surround Isolde.
And then my dad appears.
Juan Paul Trevino’s shoulders are perpetually slumped over. He is not frail or disheartened. He simply spent years and years working to provide for his family, and his posture has suffered for it.
A silent confidence has always run through my father like a cord, though.
He walks forward, stooping, with his hands clasped behind his back.
There is no telling how long people have been in his home.
Even with me gone and the place empty, someone is always in or out.
His sisters often prodding and poking him along.
He naturally gravitates to his sisters, peering over his glasses when he realizes there is a stranger in the middle.
“Who is this?” he asks, holding his hand out. “I’m Juan Paul.”
“Isolde.” She takes his hand. “I know your son.”
A tense beat goes by, simply because nobody bothers to pretend like they’re not watching this interaction. Isolde remains calm, despite her cheeks flushing slightly.
“I work with him,” she explains.
“Bodyguard, huh?”
I step forward. “Client. Happy birthday, Dad.” I give him a hug.
“Client?” Aunt Marie asks. “We’re bringing clients to the house now?”