Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

And I witness the moment she lets down whatever guard she'd had up, and I see the guilt.

I pull my hand out of hers, just hard enough to remain discreet, but stun her.

I'm angry enough to resent her today.

I turn forward, and take Giovanni's hand between both of mine, and rest them on my lap.

He's the only person I can rely on.

My eyes won't stay still. They catch onto Connor's gaze, which is already set on me. His mouth is slim, his eyes full of compassion. I never told him why I decided to take on Norman's company. He didn't understand my change of heart, and I kept the reason hidden for months. His gaze tells me he now knows why my one-track mind changed so suddenly.

We let Monica get her moment to lay down a white rose on Norman's coffin, giving the audience the façade of the grief they expect her to be going through, before we stand, retrieving our roses to place down.

I lay the perfect flower onto the wood and spin just as fast as I came, wanting to get far away from this place. I don't wait for everyone to set down their respects. I stride across the moist grass toward the car, where our security is waiting. They open the door to the back, and I slide in.

When he shuts me inside, my head drops to the leather, and I close my eyes, blowing out a breath. The walls surrounding me give me the illusion of safety, of completion. I've done my job, I've organized his funeral, I've sat through it, and I've said goodbye.

However, I've not been sitting more than one minute when I reach out and open the door, my whole body urging me for strength. For the past week, I've been a chaotic mess of nerves, constantly changing thoughts and emotions. My instability is hard to control when the rest of my world is exploding from every direction.

Dixon.

Pregnancy.

Giovanni's father.

The new job.

Tony's sentencing, which will hang over our heads until he's locked away.

I keep expecting the worse, and wonder when luck will turn in our favor. When this will become less hard. When we will snatch onto a piece of sunshine.

I cross the grass, and don't stop until I'm by Giovanni. He's surprised I've come back, but doesn't say a word about it. We both shake the priest's hand, thanking him, and the condolences begin, one person after the other. There is no reception being in a different city, so everyone feels it's important to apologize to Monica, and to us now.

When Giovanni's mother approaches, I stiffen, remembering the last time I came face to face with this woman. She kisses Giovanni's cheek, watching me as Valentina embraces me tightly and I watch her.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Valentina whispers, backing up when Giovanni's mother insists the space she's standing. I stare at her, refusing to grant her any affect. This is a funeral, and I doubt she'll bitch at me in it, but I prepare myself anyway.

"How far along are you?" she murmurs, her voice restrained. I can only imagine how much this woman hates me. Because of me, her son is in jail, she's losing her home, her husband has been labeled a crook and thief, the family's reputation shattered in the public eye, a name that used to hold so much weight.

"Two months."

"Not too far along," she says, conversationally. "Are you excited?"

"Mostly," I lie. Her mouth twists as she studies me. Giovanni's hand is on my back, completely still. We're both tense.