Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
The service begins before I can do anything else to humiliate myself, and it goes on for nearly two hours. There are speeches about Celeste’s generosity, her intelligence, and about all the charity and diplomatic work she’s done. She sounds incredible, and I feel a stab of sadness that I’ll never get to actually meet her.
I do glance at Adam a few times, but he’s stock-still, unmoving. He does rise to speak briefly about his wife, but I get the impression everything he really wanted to say has already been said in private, away from all of these non-familial eyes. Shortly after Camille speaks, leaving everyone in tears, the ceremony is done, and all of the guests stand to mingle and give their condolences once more.
Imogen and I get in line to do the same, but seeing the casket at the front of the church has my stomach rolling. I don’t belong here. I don’t even know this woman. All at once, the charade is too much, and I grab Imogen by the arm.
“I need to get some air.”
Luckily, my friend is now chatting with a Cartier rep that she knows well, and nods, “Go ahead. I want to leave soon anyway. I’ll meet you by the car.”
Thank God.
I slip away through the crowd, wanting to find some back door where I can be alone to just breathe for a minute. Out front is a lost cause, the press covering the front lawn even more now, but as I take hallway after hallway, I find myself hopelessly lost.
Finally, though, I find a door marked ‘Contemplation Garden’ and take it quickly. It’s a small area cut out of the center of the cathedral, and it appears to be rarely used, rose bushes having given way to wildflowers, morning glories climbing the brick walls with abandon. It’s the perfect place to catch my breath…
And it’s already occupied. By Adam Valmonte.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, “I’ll leave you alone, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he looks at me for a beat, but quickly tears his gaze away to stare ahead. There’s a cigarette hanging between his fingers, burning low. “Stay. You look like you need some fresh air.”
Great. I look disheveled enough that the husband of the deceased thinks I need a breather. If Imogen finds out, she’ll never let me live it down.
Still, it’s bitingly, wonderfully cold compared to the stuffy church, and one man, no matter how intimidating, has to be better than the crush of people inside. Plus, it would look even weirder to Adam if I bolted. Not that I think I will ever see him again for his opinion to matter, but still…
I stay.
Leaning against the brick wall about four feet from Adam, I close my eyes and fill my lungs with the sharp, freezing air, and it’s so refreshing I don’t even mind the note of cigarette smoke. When I open my eyes, I look over to see him taking another drag off it, and he catches my eye before I manage to look away.
“I’d offer you one, but I had to get this one off my delinquent nephew.” His face is lined with exhaustion and grief, but he huffs a small laugh. “I haven’t smoked in over twenty-five years, if you can believe it. I just…thought it might take the edge off.”
I don’t know why he’s telling me this, but I’m not going to stop him, either. “Does it? Take the edge off, I mean.”
“Hell no.” he drops the cigarette, maybe three-quarters smoked, to the concrete and crushes it with his foot. After frowning down at the butt for a moment, he pulls out a handkerchief and picks it up, shoving the whole thing back in his pocket. “But it was worth a shot, I guess.”
“Yes, well,” my mouth is so, so dry. What am I even doing here? “I imagine today has been…overwhelming.”
“That’s one word for it.”
I cringe. “I’m, um, so sorry for—”
He holds up his hand. “You don’t have to say it. Please. I’ve heard it so many times the words don’t even sound like English anymore.”
It borders on irreverent, but something tells me that he needs a touch of humor, so I go for it, “Mes plus sincères condoléances”
Adam looks at me sharply, thick eyebrows raising, but then the corner of his mouth twitches. “Ha. Clever.” He looks me over slowly now, where he had been avoiding looking at me directly earlier, and it feels overly intimate for just being a once-over. “You didn’t know my wife, did you?”
“My friend did. She ah, asked me to come with her. For support.” The urge to overexplain is strong, but I resist.
“A loyal friend and speaks multiple languages, hm?”
“Four fluently, not including English. Five if everyone involved is extra patient and forgiving.” I offer him a small smile. “I’m a professional translator.”