Chapter 12 Ainsley
AINSLEY
I'm not sure what's stranger about this situation.
The fact that I actually have to attend my cousin's funeral and pretend I'm sorry about his tragic death.
Or the fact that my date to the funeral is also the man responsible for it.
There's got to be something wrong with me, right?
I can't shake the feeling as we sit through a service conducted by a man who clearly never knew the person he's talking about.
"When we think of Paul, let us not think on the tragic way in which he so suddenly left us.
Rather, let us remember the happiness he brought us.
The laughter. The good times. Let those memories console us now… "
Seriously? If that's the case, there won't be a lot of consolation for anybody.
Talon snorts softly, which earns him a gentle nudge from me.
Let's not make this look too obvious. It's bad enough I feel absolutely nothing right now beyond the nagging sense that there's something wrong with me for being involved with someone I know is a hitman.
Not only involved, either. Happily involved.
I don't need to burst out laughing on top of it.
Though it's not easy to keep a straight face when my mother lets out a choked sob. Barely choked, at that, the sort of sound designed to attract attention. It's a good thing I'm wearing sunglasses, or else everybody would see the way I roll my eyes. "She's really playing it up," I whisper to Talon.
"I didn't know they were close," he whispers back.
"They weren't." But anybody witnessing her act would think she raised him. I doubt she would make a scene like this if it was me lying in a coffin, surrounded by elaborate floral arrangements.
Who am I kidding? She would never.
Being with Talon has changed me already.
That's the only explanation for how I feel now, witnessing all of this.
Would I have seen it for the hypocrisy it is only weeks ago, before Talon ever stepped into my life?
Or would I have sat and cringed inside at the sound of Mom's elaborate grief, just counting the minutes until it's all over and I can go home where nobody's judging me?
Talon's hand covers mine and I'm glad. I hope everybody sees and knows our wedding date wasn't some random one-off. We might be the most genuine part of this entire charade. I wonder how many people sitting around looking mournful actually care.
When it's all over and we go through the process of leaving a flower on top of the closed casket, Talon turns to me. "Do we get to leave now?" he asks through his teeth, for my ears only.
I wish it would be that easy. "I think we're expected to show ourselves at the luncheon."
He lifts a shoulder. "I've never turned down a free meal." Yes, that's probably the best thing I could say about the event. At least it's free.
Monetarily. There are other ways to pay. "At least you remembered to wear black." The sound of Mom's judgment reaches me before she reaches my side, falling in step beside me. "For once, I'm not completely ashamed."
Talon's hand tightens dangerously around mine. "Hello to you too," I murmur, since she didn't bother greeting me when I first arrived.
"It's just that I expected you to show up in a princess dress or something similarly unsuitable."
I don't know where it comes from. The thought pops into my head and falls out of my mouth. "My princess dress is at the cleaners."
The way her mouth falls open, I wish I had said something like that a long time ago. But I didn't have the courage then. I'm not sure I even have the courage now, since as soon as she reacts, dread threatens to drown me. I'm really in for it now.
"We better get moving," Talon interjects before she can say a word. "Wouldn't want to be late to the luncheon."
He pulls me away while Mom sputters in shock. "Good work," he whispers. "I would not have been so diplomatic."
"Is that what that was? Diplomacy?"
"Much more than telling her to go fuck herself," he replies. The idea of that and the mental image of her shock makes me laugh out loud before I can stop myself. Now I'm the girl who burst out laughing while leaving a gravesite. I am really batting a thousand today.
I guess years of absorbing so much disappointment has made me more resilient, since the disapproving looks and snickers don't make a dent in how I feel about myself.
Of course, there's a more obvious reason for all of it, and he's still holding my hand as we return to the car.
Just like at the wedding, he gets more than a few looks—and depending on who's doing the looking, they range from curiosity to disbelief to blatant jealousy.
Not that anyone is jealous of him, far from it.
I notice a few girls eyeing him up like they're starving and he's the main course they can't wait to sink their teeth into.
And he has my name tattooed over his heart. I swear, I still feel like I need to pinch myself, but then that would mean waking up. If this is a dream, I don't want that. I want to stay in it for as long as possible. Forever.
"What was that like for you?" Now that we're alone in the car, I can relax a little and ask him what's been on my mind ever since we approached the grave. "Are you okay?"
"It was a job," he reminds me. Completely flat, matter-of-fact. "Now, was that the first time I've ever attended the funeral of someone I was contracted to kill? Yes. For sure."
"I guess I was just wondering if maybe it felt a little weird for you."
"The only thing even slightly weird is how many people pretended the world lost somebody worthwhile," he replies, following along with the rest of the supposed mourners on our way to my aunt and uncle's house, where lunch is being catered.
"For all I know, the person who hired me was at the cemetery. "
He says it like it's no big deal, but the idea sends a shockwave through me. He's right. They could've been there the whole time, whoever they are.
And how do I feel about that? The answer is, I don't feel anything. I guess all I can do from now on is live my life in such a way that I don't give anybody a reason to have me murdered. I like to think I've already done that.
Still, it's on my mind as we park at the far end of the block, since so many people have already arrived, then walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. "Nice area," Talon murmurs.
"And they never let anyone forget it," I tell him. "This is what my parents expect me to live up to. A mansion set far back from the street, with a fenced-in pool out back, and somebody who comes in to maintain the landscaping once a week."
"I like the way you do things better," he decides. "Less pretentiousness. More authenticity."
Where has he been all my life? He makes everything sound so simple, obvious. He finds a way to put into words what I've held in my heart my entire life. I don't want pretentiousness. I want something real, something that's me.
For now, there's no choice but to walk up the driveway. A white van is parked with its back end facing the open garage door.
And somebody in the garage is mad. No, they are furious. Beside themselves.
"What the hell do you mean, a mixup? I'll say this is a goddamn mixup!" My aunt, barely stopping short of screaming. "How in the hell do you mix up a funeral repast with a five-year-old's birthday party?"
We stop dead—no pun intended.
I look at Talon. Talon looks at me.
He snorts first. I clamp my free hand over my mouth and bite my tongue as hard as I can to keep myself from laughing.
"Well, forget about it now! Take everything back, take it to the birthday party, bring our food here?
That will take forever! Our guests are arriving and expecting food.
" I do sort of feel bad for my aunt, at least until she adds, "Then again, what else can I expect?
You barely speak English. No wonder you made such an egregious mistake! "
Sympathy? Out the window.
"I need to see this for myself," Talon murmurs, and now the two of us walk faster, hurrying into the house. Tension is obvious, thick enough to cut with a knife. People are looking at each other, shrugging, shaking their heads.
And when we reach the dining room, I can see why. The food has been laid out on the long table, and in the center?
A unicorn cake. I'm talking about a two-tier, bright pink, edible-glitter-and-cotton-candy-clouds unicorn cake.
There's even a great big unicorn horn sticking out from the top layer at a jaunty angle.
The food? Mini hotdogs wrapped in pretzel dough.
Bagel bites. Sandwiches cut into triangles—I see what looks like ham and cheese, what could be tuna salad, even peanut butter and jelly.
"I don't know about anybody else, but I'm starving." In front of everyone, Talon grabs one of the pretzel dogs and pops it into his mouth. "Good. Still warm."
I love him. I love this man.
To my surprise, familiar laughter floats our way before Mom briskly claps her hands, standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen. "That's the right idea. Come on, everyone. Paul would want us to make the best of the situation, wouldn't he?"
More lies, but at least it breaks the awkwardness a little.
While guests start moving toward the rather unique buffet, my mother approaches us, then gives Talon an appraising look that ends with a faint smile.
"I don't think much of your taste, but you know exactly what to do in an uncomfortable moment. "
His taste? It doesn't take long for me to understand that was yet another unnecessary dig at me.
I've always heard about the final straw. The one that breaks the camel's back. I never knew the time would come when I faced one insult too many.
But here I am, and something in me has snapped.
"What do you get out of that?" It's a whisper, but it's fierce, and it's filled with everything I've kept inside for much too long.
She has the audacity to look shocked. "Excuse me?"
"No, I will not excuse you," I reply, "because there is no excuse. I don't know when you decided I wasn't good enough to love, and I don't know why, but I know I'm sick and tired of it. It's over. I'll never give you another opportunity to put me down."
People are watching, listening. Let them. This has been coming for much too long. I'll be darned if I swallow my anger one more time.
Dad comes over when he hears me, looking as disapproving as ever. "Excuse me, young lady, but I think you forget who you're speaking to."
Then, glancing at Talon, he adds, "It seems your friend's bad behavior is rubbing off on you." Obviously, he's still angry over the way Talon put him in his place at the wedding.
"No, Dad, I think I'm changing for the better," I retort. This feels good. This feels right. Why did it take me so long to do this?
"There's a time and a place for your little temper tantrums," he whispers sharply, his eyes hard, staring daggers at me. I am not going to fold under the weight of his stare. Not this time.
Meanwhile, Talon just grabs another pretzel dog and pops it in his mouth, looking back and forth between us like he's watching a tennis match.
"Frankly," Mom adds as if anyone asked for her opinion, "I don't understand how you're with her."
She's talking to Talon, I realize, and my blood runs cold when I hear the undisguised hatred in her voice. I can't help it. She's still my mom, and it still hurts to know she'll never like me.
But maybe that doesn't matter, because Talon does. He stands up a little straighter, towering over my parents, and scoffs softly. "Why wouldn't I want to be here with the woman I'm going to marry soon?"
Whoa. Hold everything.
I'm barely able to keep my mouth from falling open. Mom and Dad are not. "What?" Dad snaps.
Looks like the catering mixup won't be the only thing that people are talking about once today is over. If anything, my aunt should thank us for taking the heat off her.
"I believe you heard me," Talon replies in a calm, even voice. "Now, since it seems neither you nor your wife are capable of acting like adults, we'll be leaving."
He looks at the cake, frowning. "It looks good, too." We won't be having any, because he takes me by the hand and leads me from the room, then out of the house. It's a good thing, since I'm completely in a daze. He couldn't have meant that. Could he?
He's muttering angrily to himself by the time we're in the driveway. "Lucky we were in front of so many people… The fucking nerve…"
"Thank you for getting me out of there," I finally whisper once I find my voice. "Their surprise was worth it."
"I hope they don't expect invitations to the wedding," he mutters, throwing a dirty look at the house before we turn onto the sidewalk.
"Wait a second." My feet root themselves to the ground, making him stop when he realizes I'm incapable of moving. "You didn't mean it, did you? You were only saying it to shock them."
His head tips to the side and he frowns at me the way I've been frowned at so many times before.
Like I'm some creature who's impossible to understand.
An alien life form. "Where do you think this is all headed, Ainsley?
Do you think I get just any woman's name tattooed over my heart?
Of course, I plan on marrying you. Did I not make that obvious enough? "
Once I've managed not to choke on my tongue, I blurt out a disbelieving laugh. "You're serious? Really?"
"Absolutely." He takes my face in his hands, smiling down at me like I'm something precious. Something rare, something worth protecting. "I want to marry you. I want to live the rest of my life with you. And as long as I live, no one will ever hurt you again. I swear. Do you believe me?"
That's an easy answer. "Yes."
The kiss he plants on the tip of my nose melts me inside. "Good. The rest of the details, we can discuss later. Let's get the hell out of here before the stench of suburbia makes me sick."
Now, I'm able to walk with him, feeling lighter and happier than I can ever remember feeling. He told off my parents in front of the rest of my family. He put me on a pedestal, like I'm something special. I would go anywhere with him.