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He frowns and stuffs both hands into his wrinkled pants pockets. “Yes, my daughter is quite hard to say no to.” He turns his gaze to me. “And this must be the boyfriend everyone is talking about. Hello Thomas, I’m Matilda and Miranda’s grandfather. You can call me Papa too. Everyone does.” He offers me a weak smile and holds out his hand.
I shake it, unsure how the man already knows my name. “Not her boyfriend,” I clarify, though I don’t want to. It’s purely for Tilly’s sake. Until she defines our new relationship, I’m not going to push things more than I already have.
“Then I would suggest you stop groping my granddaughter in front of her family.” His tone turns sinister, and I feel a chill at his words. But Tilly laughs it off.
“Papa! Don’t tease. Tommy is being a perfect gentleman.”
“Gentleman or not, I’m not a fan of all the touching.” Papa’s eyes scan me up and down, like he’s gauging how hard it would be to fight me, and the cold feeling in my veins only grows. He might look old and tired, but he’s exuding a confidence and power that I’ve never seen before. It’s an eerie combination.
To my surprise, Miranda comes to my defense. “He’s harmless, Papa.”
I give him a smile, trying to dispel some of the tension. “My mother lives up here. I figured it would be nice to visit and spend more time with Tilly.” Tilly’s head snaps to me, a curious expression on her face. I realize I haven’t had the opportunity to tell her about my mom yet.
But Papa’s not impressed. “I see. Brave man. What’re you drinking, Thomas?”
“Erm, seven and seven.”
He laughs, and the girls join in. I look at each of them in turn, not understanding the joke. Tilly puts a hand on my chest. “It’s Tia’s favorite. Again, the gossip train will get word to her. Like I said, Miranda is looking out for you. She must like you.”
“Hardly. Just don’t want this to turn into a soap opera if she doesn’t like him,” Miranda says.
“Speaking of which, Matilda should go make an appearance,” Papa says. The three all grow quiet.
After a long stretch of uncomfortable silence, Tilly hands her drink, a red wine, to me and smooths her dress. She is nervous, and I hate it. In all my time knowing Tilly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so flustered.
“I’ll be right back,” she says, her chin held high. Without another word, she walks away.
I’m frozen in place with the two drinks, hers and mine, in hand. “Shouldn’t you guys go with her?”
They look at each other before Papa shakes his head. “Better to let her do it alone. Tia would probably ask us to leave them alone anyway,” Miranda says.
I’m not sure what their family dynamic is about, but watching her walk off among the wolves gives me a sinking feeling in my gut. I set the glasses down on the nearest table and start through the crowd after her. I can hear Papa and Miranda both objecting behind me but don’t slow down.
They might be okay with Tilly’s discomfort, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when I send her off alone and upset. Not after the promise I made earlier. I meant what I said: if she needs me, I’m there.
Chapter fifteen
Tilly
Inavigate through the sea of faces, recognizing most as family, though a few are strangers—likely my father's top clients, as he rarely fraternized beyond business dealings. The indifferent or fleeting glances from them barely register; my focus is solely on locating my Aunt, who I know will likely be positioned near the jazz ensemble at the front.
My assumption proves correct when her figure, along with three of my younger cousins, comes into view. The sight nearly earns an eye roll from me. She’s sitting in a different chair than the rest of us. Plastic isn’t meant for royalty, after all, and her chin is lifted like she’s sneering at everyone. Hell, she probably is. The cousins are loitering behind her like the twenty-something wannabe bodyguards they are. Were they expecting some sort of hit at this memorial? The family does dabble in illegal dealings, but I mean, come on, she’s not in danger around us.
Fucking idiots, I think as I approach their table. My cousins, Don, Justin, and Keaton, are so beyond entitled it’s nearly laughable. With suits that look straight from some gangster movie and slicked-back hair, I’m suddenly sure that’s what they want. Nothing says ‘mob prince’ like black Armani paired with a three-hundred-dollar haircut. They’re a trio I mentally dub the three stooges. Half because they are morons, and half because of the wrestling matches they indulged in as kids. Poking eyes, kicking each other in the nads, and whoopie cushions were all part of their normal repertoire. Spurring my hatred more, I know they are probably the ones that trashed my apartment.
As I approach, Tia whispers something to them, and they leave her side. Thank fuck. I have no interest in playing nice with any of them. But Keaton, the leader of the little squad of imbeciles, gives me a sardonic grin. “New dress?”
Refusing to be bullied, I stand up straighter. “It is, and it’s beautiful, no? Thankfully, someone encouraged me to update my entire wardrobe recently.”
His face goes stoic, but rage flashes through his eyes. “Joke if you want, Matilda. We all know who’s gonna have the last laugh.” He bumps my shoulder with his as he walks past, occasionally glancing over his shoulder with the same furious glare as he does. God, what I wouldn’t give for a shootable taser right now. You know the ones the cops use when alleged crooks go on the run? I’d aim it right between Keaton’s eyes. No, wait! The nads. Yes. Keaton needs a taser shot straight to the gonial sandbags.
When I reach the table, Tia, looking positively resplendent in her sequined purple gown, stands to greet me with an air of aristocratic coolness. Say what you want about my aunt, but she certainly knows how to dress to impress.
Showtime, I think to myself and hurry forward. "Tia!" I say, feigning all the enthusiasm I can muster and peck her on the cheek. "It's so good to see you," I lie.
“Indeed, it is, Matilda. Have a seat.”
I do as I’m told for once. As soon as we’re both sitting, a waiter presents us with wine, the jazz music playing a louder backdrop to our table. Tia is studying me with unwavering scrutiny, and I resist the urge to smooth my dress.
