by Melissa Blue
“Do you know how ironic that is?” And much to her surprise she laughed.
His gaze softened. “Aye.” He lifted his hand and let it drop back down to his side. “I know.”
*****
The banquet hall buzzed with conversation. Her already frayed nerves started to unravel. Tristan shifted in his chair, removing his hand from the table to rest it on her knee. The pristine white napkin on her lap fell to the floor and she wouldn’t pick it up, she wouldn’t move.
His fingers rested above her knee and steadied the nervous leg twitch. His fingertips were an anchor, something all her focus shifted to, and whatever Montgomery droned on about transformed into a hush. She could see the man’s mouth move, but a heat climbed up her thigh, filled her stomach, and she choked back the moan-like sigh.
Tristan laughed, crinkling the skin around his eyes. She noted the tension in his shoulders, but that smile came easily. Was the tension or the smile real? His hand, his long fingers and wide palm, warmed the space right above her knee. It was a thoughtless gesture that soothed and distracted her. Did he know it worked because he knew women or because he knew her?
Her head felt muddled so it took a moment to hear Montgomery say her name. Where had the other people gone? At least two other members had loitered at the table. Their plates were left untouched.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was up late the past two days. Work interceded.”
Montgomery looked troubled. Had she said the wrong thing? Tristan moved his hand and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into him. She caught his gaze before he leaned into her ear. Her stomach clenched. The quick flash of fear and worry she’d seen dug deeper. She didn’t flinch at his breath feathering her earlobe.
“Get up from the table and get your things out of the room.” His voice hardened into something that shouldn’t be argued with. “Now.”
She tried to pull away but his hand tightened on her shoulder. He added, “Don’t argue. Just go. Get in your car and go.”
What would put that kind of look in his eyes? He pulled away, brushing his lips against her cheek. He was smiling again, but it didn’t reach his gaze. He faced Montgomery.
The genial expression the older man usually had couldn’t be found. His gaze was hard, his jawline clenched. Oh. Oh. They were caught. Didn’t take a scientist to figure that out. She started to rise.
“Sit—” Montgomery barked and she froze.
“You do not speak to her,” Tristan said, his voice low and filled with a quiet threat. He leaned on the table. The subtle action drew a line in a sand. One that made Montgomery sit back in his chair. “If you have a problem, then you talk to me. Don’t even look at her again.”
The man nodded, struggling to keep his gaze on Tristan. He cleared his throat. “I had a nice conversation with a former colleague of yours. He told me your brother came into the museum. Spitting image, except his brother looks like he works outside and can lift cars.”
Shit. Shit. This was about to go nuclear. She wasn’t the woman she pretended to be and she damn sure wasn’t a con. She didn’t have a smile or a cold, menacing tone to fall back on. Her limbs refused to obey and make a run for it. How could Tristan act like he was in the position of power?
Right. They’d ventured into his area of expertise. The only conceivable reason Tristan would tell her to run—her legs finally got the message.
Tristan said, “You’re a reasonable man. Let’s come to a beneficial deal for the both of us.”
She stood from the table, not bothering to turn around to see if Montgomery had any reaction to her sudden departure. Could Tristan talk them out of this? The ring felt heavy on her finger. Yeah. He could. The difference twenty minutes made. The same behavior that had twisted her gut made Keri unbelievably grateful.
The hotel continued its usual buzz that pounded at her temples, but she barely noticed. At some point she entered an elevator, packed her cousin’s clothes and once again stood on an elevator. The whole process probably took fifteen minutes but then she stood at her roadster. Tristan’s car was still parked next to hers. How long did it take to talk your way out of jail time?
She tossed the luggage into her car and foolishly waited, worried about him, because fifteen minutes should have been more than enough time.
Grab your clothes and run. That was going to be their goodbye. Yes, what he did still ate at her…but this was it? Him taking the fall for something they had both willingly done. Blackmail and bribery only worked if you went along with it. Him bearing the brunt of all responsibilities… Her mind called her all kinds of harsh names, but she had to know he’d be okay.
She searched for him at the hotel’s entrance for another five minutes. She was pissed, hurt, but just leaving without so much as— It wasn’t polite. Her fingers shook so it took her a few tries to stuff her keys into the ignition. Ten more minutes and still no Tristan. She’d look like an idiot if she stayed, only to have him remind her they were over. They were finished the moment he told her about his past. Was that his goodbye and this just the nail in the coffin? The only thing they’d ever truly been the past few days were partners in crime, and they’d failed at that.
They were done. She could sit in the parking lot for an hour and that wouldn’t change the truth. She threw the car into reverse, but her heart ached as she pulled away. “Goodbye,” she said anyway.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
People snapped pictures with their mobiles, with a flash, on the sly despite the sign above the photograph. Tristan’s eighth museum visit in the past month and that became something he could rely on. Everyone was dishonest in their own way. Should have been a salve, but he wasn’t the kind of man to look for rationalizations.
“Take the picture.” Ian ran a hand through his hair, a clear sign of his impatience, but he continued to stand at his brother’s side.
“What?”
He stuffed his hands in the jeans and the plain white T-shirt hung loose on his lean frame. “We’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes. This is the one. Take the picture so we can go.”
“It’s not the one.”
No high, airy ceilings in this museum. Flat best described it. Whoever designed the building believed the art and relics should matter. Basically, a dumb fuck designed the building, but at least the curator managed to work around it. They’d spread the European paintings, statues and clothing in a way that told a clear story—grief and loss during one plague or another.
Worry creased the skin around his brother’s blue eyes. Tristan added, “It’s not the one, because the painting makes me think of a funeral pyre.”
“Interesting,” Ian said. “Watching you do this to yourself feels about the same.”
“I had to cough up a few thousand dollars, kiss arse and then I lost Keri. I’ve every right to brood.”
Ian scoffed and looked at him as though he was mad. “You had to go and tell her the truth.”
“I don’t lie, not like that anymore.” He hooked his thumbs into his jeans.
“You don’t date so you wouldn’t know that’s something you confess at least a month or so in. Not a few days.”
“Right,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “because you know what dating is like.”
A woman turned around, interest lighting her gaze. Tristan avoided eye contact. He didn’t want her. He wanted Keri. The past few weeks should have lessened the ache of her loss, but it only deepened. A few days spending every waking hour with her and it wasn’t enough. He was heartsick. Sort of depressing and unlike him, but he welcomed the change.
“Joce gave me a primer,” Ian said.
He’d have made the whipping sound, but he was pining over Keri. He had no room to mock. “Newlyweds are sickening. By the way, are you settled in?”
His brother grinned. “Aye. She’s throwing a housewarming party this Saturday. If I’d known you were this good at conning, I wouldn’t have talked you into reform.”
“I’m still a con man,”
he said darkly.
“No. You’re not.” Ian’s voice lowered and anger simmered. “If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d take the job I offered.”
He pffted, warmed by the insistent offer. “I’m not working for my little brother.”
“Why?”
“You’re an arse.”
“So?”
He clapped his brother on the shoulder and moved on to the next display, a brooch. He felt the shift inside him. He didn’t bother to read the placard, and unlike everyone else he obeyed the warning to not use a flash.
“You’re an arse who comes with me to do this,” Tristan said. “I’ll consider your offer. You need a salesman. Your demeanor is shite on the best of days.”
“Are we done here? I can go home to my wife?”
“Mother Mary,” Tristan cursed. “This is why I’m on the fence about working for you. I’ll have to look at your face while you talk about your wife and your dog. And then I just start to wonder if she has your balls in one of those mason jars Americans love drinking from.”
“Fuck you.” Ian laughed. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what did you say to Montgomery?”
Tristan smiled. “I told him the truth too.”
“The truth?” His brother sounded incredulous.
“And then I wrote him a very large check. Amazing how the man started singing my praises and didn’t mind letting the two of you move in.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket and smiled at him. “Since you’re leaving for that home, tell Joce I said hi.”
“Her reply as usual would be to bugger off. Give her time.”
He sighed, glancing back down at the brooch. “I have been. Hopefully she’ll forgive me soon.”
“Aye,” he said. “I’m starting to fucking hate museums.”
*****
Keri pulled the earbuds out as her cousin marched up to the lab table.
Jocelyn handed over the envelope. “I want you to know, again, I’m giving you this under protest.”
As usual she ignored the grouchy preamble. “When did he give it to you?”
“An hour ago.”
“For a woman in protest, you brought it pretty fast.” She ran her hand over the wax seal. The man had flair. She could give him that. Her heart fluttered as she slit the side to spill out the contents. She’d stopped telling herself the reaction was wrong and that she should listen to her brain. Romance left little room for rational thought.
She unfolded the letter. A picture slipped out. She inspected the photographed brooch. European cut, floral design, and at a glance she remembered that a slew of them had been made in the 1950s intimating the style. This one held no diamonds but a pearl accentuated the elaborate design. Someone handcrafted the silver in such a way that no other gems were needed.
When she opened the letter she could see, as he’d done over the past month, Tristan didn’t give her any of the details. He told her a story.
I know families with money usually owned pieces like this. What use would a farmer’s wife have for something so highbrow? Feels right in my bones to believe this brooch was the one of two things she had left of her family. The other would be a locket—pictures of her parents inside and a lock of her baby hair. She was loved. Not abandoned, but it would feel like it because the plague took her parents, leaving her in an orphanage.
But how did she become a farmer’s wife? Was she happy? When did she wear it? You tell me.
P.S. The answer to your questions are 15,000 nerve ending fibers in a woman’s pelvic area, but 20,000 in the foreskin alone. It’s why when we see an injury coming, we protect our dick first. Amongst other reasons, of course.
Tristan
Jocelyn sighed and leaned beside her. “I can tell from the smile you’re going to answer this one too.”
He went to museums. He found artifacts and wrote her stories. He wrote her letters. For a month. The first one he’d given to Jocelyn had stopped her heart. She hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Why bother to continue to woo her? They were done. They’d had their goodbye, as shitty as it was, but that letter told her in a subtle way, they weren’t done. They were only starting. She had hoped it was after reading the first line. She had prayed it was after laughing out loud at his last line.
It had been:
P.S. Yes. You do giggle, especially when I kiss your arches.
Before she could think about what she was doing, she’d started to reply:
Not, yes. Aye.
And then logic had set in and she brushed aside the longing, the hope and praying.
“It’s polite,” Keri argued.
“Polite? Polite?”
Keri laughed at her cousin’s incredulous tone. “They’re just letters.”
“It’s dating.”
“Is it?” She played innocent and ripped a blank page from her workbook. “Tell me again why you hate him so much?”
“He seduced you, then made you cry.”
“I happily let him. Seduce me, that is. The crying was an unexpected byproduct of our affair.”
Joce crossed her legs and leaned in closer as though seeing the whites of the woman’s eyes would somehow change Keri’s mind. She frowned down at her cousin’s feet. Beautiful heels. She missed wearing them but didn’t have the time to go buy herself any.
Ian hadn’t written her a glowing reference. He pulled strings and got her hired on at the Langston Museum. She didn’t hold any guilt over the nepotism, because the quick work she’d done with the statue spoke for itself. Once her second paycheck deposited into her bank account, she’d move out of Ian and Joce’s new home.
She’d have done so sooner if the home didn’t have a guesthouse with its own amenities. One would think they’d get tired of sex, but way more than once she’d made an impromptu visit only to have her cousin answer the door flushed and disheveled, while Ian looked irritated and rumpled. After that she waited until Joce came by for her daily are-you-over-Tristan-yet visit.
Worked filled most of her waking hours for the past three weeks. Crocs and big shirts filled her closet once again. She didn’t go out for dates, no matter who her cousin tried to shove in her path. None of the men looked capable. Or had dark auburn hair. Or smiled despite their pasts haunting them. They didn’t write her letters and give her inane sexual facts because she asked. She hadn’t giggled in a month either. A ridiculous thing to miss. What adult female wanted to giggle?
“You know what I think?” Keri asked her cousin.
“What?”
“I think you don’t hate him at all. You just had this vision of him in your head and the moment you found out the truth, he disappointed the shit out of you. He’s so smart, why would he choose to do that, of all things?”
Joce’s eyes widened and she started to straighten. “Uh…”
“What a dick. And you know what? Despite being a fast talker he has a shitty delivery. Before he touched me he should have been truthful. Or around the fourth time we had sex. No. He waited until I was stupid over him and pumped up full of dopamine and envisioning us six months down the line to tell me just how scummy he used to be.”
“Uh…”
“I’m mad at myself, though. I romanticized what con men did, because he did it so effortlessly and made it fun.” She picked up the letter. “This is a con. I should know that and rip these up. But I write back. I can’t help it. I want to talk to him, but I know if I see him face-to-face, I’m fucked. And then that whole thing with his mother.” Her voice sounded vicious. “I’m pissed on his behalf. He may have made peace with it but I just want to cut a bitch. She hurt him. She—” Made Tristan feel broken and like there was something wrong with him.
Keri’s throat felt thick and she couldn’t finish the rest of the sentence. She could understand that feeling all too well. It was why she’d been so pissed at him. All the insecurities that had fallen by the wayside rose back up with a vengeance when he confessed to her.
Joce grabbed her face and the shocking action shut Keri up.
“Breathe or you’re going to pass out.”
Since her cousin’s expression looked a bit wild, she listened and breathed. Joce sighed and let her hands fall away. “He’s not conning you. He never did.”
Keri’s brows rose. “But—”
Her cousin put up her hand to stop her. “I can say a lot of shitty things about Tristan—you know I’d love to—but you haven’t seen him with Ian. Or with me. Ian had to blackmail him into going to that class.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I didn’t know you believed he’d conned you. I thought you were just pissy the way everything turned out and how he told you.”
Joce’s expression pinched into a scowl. “He spent over a decade of his life conning. So he’ll always have that skill, but he doesn’t hurt people anymore. I don’t know what he did or said with you, but it was real.”
Was she making excuses and feeling sorry for him? “So why did he tell me like that?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he wanted you to know.”
But why?
Her heart skipped as her mind tripped up on an answer. It mattered that she knew everything. He could have said goodbye when he told her to run—hell, when he told her about his past—but he wasn’t walking away. He had his chances, plenty of them, but he never took them. Wasn’t that why she agreed to stay for a few more days? They both could have made the argument that they’d fulfilled their end of the bargain. He’d even started to pack and stopped to join her in the shower.
Tears stung Keri’s eyes. “Shit.”
“I know that look on your face. Shit, indeed.” Joce rolled her shoulders. “No need to write the letter. You’ll see him tomorrow at the housewarming.” The other woman sighed. “Tristan lives at my old place. So he’s in town. Has been for a month. Ian’s trying to talk him into working for him. So…” She gave her a once-over. “Go shopping. Get your hair done. Make him grovel and then do what you already planned to do. I can attest that makeup sex is fantastic.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m married to a Baird. I know the insanity. You’re worse off because Ian’s the watered-down, broodier version. Their da is something else.” Jocelyn checked her watch. “I can talk to Langston for you and we can have an extended lunch. The man adores me.”