Chapter 33 #2
Glenna leaned into him and kissed the edge of his jaw. “Yeah. She did.”
Tyrone’s arm came around her, and for a while they stood there watching Kelsey attempt to convince Zombie that Pumpkin hadn’t meant to land on his head.
There was no such thing as quietly having a bad mood at Mason del Tempio.
Somebody always noticed. If Glenna disappeared, one of the women found her.
If Tyrone got too quiet, Gunnar appeared like an emotionally constipated gargoyle and stood near him until he talked or threatened violence.
Kelsey had acquired so many honorary aunts and uncles that Glenna had given up keeping track of who was teaching her what, although she had recently imposed a blanket ban on anybody teaching her knife skills before she was twelve.
Gunnar had argued for ten. Glenna had threatened his balls. Twelve had been accepted.
Tyrone shifted beside her. “You hungry?”
“Depends. Are there crayons?”
His brows narrowed, and he smacked her butt lightly. “Keep pushing, woman.”
She smiled. “Maybe a nice blue one.”
This time, he squeezed her ass.
“Tyrone.”
“What?”
“There are people everywhere.”
“They know I like your ass.”
“Pretty sure they don’t need regular demonstrations.”
“I thoroughly disagree.”
Glenna was still laughing when Kelsey ran back toward them, and the next hour disappeared into the ordinary business of a compound full of people finding reasons to congregate around food.
Nobody announced lunch. It simply happened.
Someone carried plates outside, someone else opened wine, children appeared from directions Glenna hadn’t realized contained children, and by the time she sat down, Tyrone had already stolen something from her plate and denied it while chewing.
Kelsey ended up between them, talking around a mouthful of pasta about the gate. “I think it looks at your face.”
Tyrone glanced at Gunnar. “Biometric?”
“Partly.”
“I can make my face older.”
Gunnar slowly put down his fork. “Show me.”
Kelsey pulled her mouth down, squinted her eyes, and pushed her chin forward until she resembled a deeply disgruntled eighty-year-old.
Tyrone nodded solemnly. “That might work.”
“It will not fucking work,” Gunnar said.
Kelsey dropped the expression. “How do you know?”
“Because that’s not how biometrics work.”
“What if I stand on something?”
“Also no.”
“What if I use Mommy’s face?”
Gunnar stared at her, Glenna stopped chewing, and Tyrone covered his mouth with his fist.
Kelsey looked between them. “What?”
Gunnar pointed his fork at Tyrone. “Your problem.”
“Our kid,” Tyrone said.
“Exactly.”
It happened again twenty minutes later when Kelsey whispered something to Tyrone, and he answered too quietly for Glenna to hear. Nothing about that should have been suspicious, except her daughter immediately looked at Glenna, then snapped her attention away with all the subtlety of a neon sign.
Glenna narrowed her eyes at them but Tyrone kept eating.
“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re looking at me.”
“I do that sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because I like your face.”
Kelsey giggled, and Glenna looked between them. “What have you two done?”
“Nothing,” they answered together.
That was when she knew there was definitely something going on. She considered interrogating Kelsey first because six-year-olds were notoriously vulnerable to ice cream and direct questioning, but Tyrone seemed to anticipate the strategy.
The moment lunch ended, he recruited her daughter to help him with something in the garage, and Kelsey followed him with a smug expression, his co-conspirator.
She let them go. Mostly because she wanted to see how long they could keep it up.
She helped clear lunch, spent half an hour talking with the women, answered an email she’d been avoiding, and eventually found herself sitting beneath the shade with a book she barely read because every ten minutes somebody passed through and interrupted her.
She caught glimpses of Tyrone and Kelsey together. Once near the garage. Again crossing the courtyard with Gunnar, all three of them immediately changing direction when they saw her.
As intrigued as she was, she didn’t chase them. Whatever Tyrone was planning, the anticipation had begun to feel good. His surprises usually meant he had decided she needed something she’d never have bought for herself. Or sex. Occasionally both.
By late afternoon, the compound had acquired a strange current she couldn’t quite identify.
People weren’t disappearing exactly, but there seemed to be movement happening beyond her peripheral vision.
Someone carried boxes through a side door.
Two of the women vanished after whispering together.
Gunnar took a call and walked away when Glenna approached, which would have been less suspicious if he hadn’t glanced directly at her before doing it.
Eventually Kelsey appeared and caught Glenna’s hand. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“You have to get ready.”
What on earth were they planning? She was going to need more information to know what the heck she was getting ready for. “For what?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“It’s a secret.”
How had this child kept the secret all freaking day? That should have been impossible.
“What secret?”
Kelsey sighed with weary patience, forced to explain basic espionage to an amateur. “If I tell you, it won’t be a secret anymore.”
“Fair point.” She paused and waited, hoping Kelsey would fill the silence with another little nugget of information.
“Uncle Zorro said I can’t tell.”
I knew it was him.
“Interesting.”
Kelsey’s eyes widened and Glenna bit back a smile. She’d managed to get the tiniest bit of information.
“Did he tell you not to tell me that he told you not to tell?”
Her daughter froze, and she almost felt guilty…Almost.
“I have to go.” Kelsey fled.
Glenna laughed all the way upstairs. She paused just inside the bigger Operator suite they’d moved to when they’d come back from the United States.
Where did that come from?
A dress was waiting on the bed. It wasn’t formal enough to answer any of her questions. The soft fabric was elegant without being ridiculous, and exactly the sort of thing Glenna would have admired before deciding she had nowhere to wear it.
A note lay on top.
Wear this.
~Ty.
She pulled out her phone.
Glenna: Where are you?
The answer came less than a minute later.
Zorro: Busy.
Glenna: That better not be your entire freaking answer.
Zorro: Wear the dress.
She stared at the screen. Did he not realize that responding like this would make her want to smack him silly?
Glenna: Are you trying to get murdered?
Zorro: Probably.
At least he’s self-aware.
Another message appeared before she could respond.
Zorro: Please, Glens.
He knew exactly what that word would do.
Glenna: Fine.
Was he smart enough to remember that word didn’t always mean exactly what he thought it would?
Zorro: Love you.
She smiled, because no, no, he was not.
Glenna: Love you too, crayon eater.
Her phone rang immediately. She snickered and declined the call.
The next hour became another exercise in accepting that the people around her had planned her evening without consulting her.
Chari appeared to help with her hair, denied knowing anything, and then laughed when Glenna called her a lying bitch.
Petra delivered champagne she refused because she wanted all her faculties available when she discovered what Tyrone had done, and by the time she was finally alone again, the woman in the mirror looked like a version of her she’d once assumed belonged permanently to the past.
Not younger, which was a good thing, since she didn’t want younger.
Younger-Her had loved Dwight with everything she possessed, but she’d also been uncertain in ways she hadn’t recognized at the time.
She’d believed adulthood meant eventually reaching a point where people knew what the fuck they were doing, and widowhood had cured her of that particular fantasy quickly.
The woman staring back at her now had lines beside her eyes. She’d earned them. She’d survived things she wished she hadn’t needed to survive and found joy after she’d stopped expecting it.
The knock on the door came once, and almost made her jump out of her skin. Tyrone let himself in, and when she turned to face him, he stopped in his tracks. The expression on his face made every second she’d spent getting ready worth it.
He’d changed into dark trousers and a pale shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows.
His hair was still slightly damp, and there was something about the contrast between the clothes and the tattoos visible beneath his sleeves that made Glenna briefly forget she’d intended to interrogate him.
“Jesus, Glens.”
She looked down at the dress. “You bought it.”
“I didn’t know it would look like that.”
Oh crap, he hates it.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m reconsidering the rest of the evening.”
Heat climbed her throat. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s filthy.”
“Better.”
His gaze dragged over her once more before returning to her face. Then she saw the nerves. She walked toward him. “You okay?”
“Yep.”
“Bullshit.”
His mouth twitched, but the nerves remained.
“Tyrone.”
He held out his hand. “Trust me?”
She looked at it for a moment before sliding her fingers through his. “Always.”
His fingers closed around hers as he led her downstairs, and Glenna felt the faintest tremor against her palm.
She almost stopped walking because she knew those hands, and she’d never felt them shake because of her.
When he glanced over, she caught the nerves he was still trying and failing to hide, and something warm expanded beneath her ribs until she had to squeeze his fingers.
“You look terrified.”
Tyrone gave her a look that would have been far more convincing if his thumb hadn’t immediately swept across the back of her hand. “I’m not terrified.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” She smiled as she moved closer, letting her shoulder brush his arm while they walked. “Whatever you’ve done, I’m sure I’ll forgive you eventually.”