“Stacey was impressed, I can tell you that. I had to pick her eyeballs off the floor and cram them back into their sockets when she saw who the prosecuting attorney was.”
His deep laughter rang throughout the room. Easton ran to the top of the stairs and asked, “Mommy, are you done scussing?”
“Almost. I’ll come up and get you when we are.” I turned to Tristian, saying, “I think she’s more interested in seeing you than anything. She’s a nosy little thing.”
“Did she ever hear anything from that night?”
My hand covered my heart. “Gosh, no. She’s a heavy sleeper and also sleeps with a sound machine, thank God. That would’ve freaked her out to no end.”
He stared at my face, making me uneasy. My hands went to cover it. “Yeah, it still looks awful,” I said.
He moved them away. “No, I was going to say it looked so much better.” Then he brushed the back of his hand over my cheekbone and it was almost my undoing. I leaned into him and closed my eyes. “All I see is you in this room with his hands around your neck and it’s been making me lose my sanity.” Then his lips were on mine, softly at first. My hands rested on his chest and his mouth trailed kisses over my cheek, temple, jawbone, and down my neck. He smelled fresh, of the outdoors, and I didn’t want this to end. “You’re beautiful.”
A stilted chuckle popped out of me. “You’re too kind. And maybe a bit blind, me having a green face and all. I look like a Martian.”
“A perfectly gorgeous one. Besides, I’ve always loved science fiction.” A half-grin curved his mouth.
“Mr. Trishan kissed you,” a little voice said from the top of the stairs. Then we heard the smacking sounds she made with her mouth. The little snoop was spying on us.
Tristian and I looked at each other and I said, “Busted.”
Chapter Seventeen
Tristian
English would have my protection, regardless of the cost. Dark visions of that bastard’s hands squeezing the life out of her haunted me. I wouldn’t rest easy until he was sent to prison, no matter what the attorneys said.
I’d never been one much for kids, but little Easton was a pistol. Precocious didn’t begin to describe her. The other day when I was there, she’d caught me kissing her mom and then gone on to mimic us.
“Kissy, kissy.” Smack, smack. She kissed the air.
“Who taught you that?” I asked, filled with curiosity.
“The girls at school. They do that when they see a boy they want to kiss.”
“Six-year-olds want to kiss each other?” I asked English. Those days were too long past for me to remember.
“Apparently it’s a short-lived phase and then they hate boys for a while.”
“I certainly hope so. That’s entirely too early to show an interest in the opposite sex.”
“I agree and asked my parents. Mom said it was a passing fancy. She taught first grade so has a lot of experience.”
That was a relief on the short-lived boy interest.
“Mr. Trishan, do you love my mommy?”
“Easton, that’s not something you ask,” English scolded, but it didn’t faze Easton.
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of your business, that’s why.”
“But you’re my mommy, so I wanted to know.”
English grabbed the child and pulled her up on her lap. “Listen, Miss Nosy Britches, you’re right about me being your mommy. But what Mr. Tristian does is his own business.”
Easton’s nose wrinkled. “But what if he wants to get married and you don’t want to?”
She was much further along in her thinking than me.
“Easton, you can’t say those things.” English’s cheeks had blossomed into pink roses of embarrassment.
“But why? I like Mr. Trishan and so do you. What if I want him as my daddy?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to get married or be a daddy.”
Easton patted both of her mother’s cheeks. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re the prettiest mommy of everyone in my class. And I’m lots of fun.”
This had gotten funnier with each question English tried to answer.
“That has nothing to do with it.”
Easton crossed her arms. “Does too. Mr. Trishan won’t wanna marry someone who ain’t pretty.”
“‘Who’s not pretty,’ not ‘ain’t,’” English corrected.
Then the little mite ignored her mother and leaned over to ask me. “Would you, Mr. Trishan?”
How the hell did I answer that? “Um, Easton, the way someone looks has nothing to do with it.”
“Uh-huh. Boppy tells Mimi how pretty she is all the time. Why would you want to marry someone that’s ugly?”
“Easton Bridges, that is not nice. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“What’s a buholder?”
English groaned, so I offered the answer. “What your mom means is that each person has his or her own standard of beauty, so I may think someone is pretty while someone else may not.”
“But you think Mommy is pretty, don’t you?”
No use denying that. “I think your mother is very pretty.”
“Then that means you wanna marry her, right? So I can be a flower girl and wear a pink princess dress.”
English grumbled and rubbed her temples. “Easton, it’s like this. You love Boppy, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But you wouldn’t want to marry him, would you?”
Bubbly giggles flowed out of the pint-sized human. “Noooo! Mimi wouldn’t let me. He’s already married.” Then her little mouth contorted into a strange expression. “What does it mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“Married?”
English answered, “It’s complicated, but when people get older they do it so they can live together and have children.”
Easton clapped her hands. “Yay! I want to have a sister! But not any brothers! Boys are icky.”
This was not going well at all. My tongue poked the inside of my cheek, while English’s face got even redder than it had been. Then she declared, “It’s time to change the subject.”
Easton seemed happy with that, but English nearly fell off the couch when she asked, “Mommy, does Mr. Trishan have a weenus?” She accentuated the ‘wee’ part.
English sputtered for a solid thirty seconds, then stood, holding Easton, and disappeared into the kitchen, mumbling something about a snack.
I gave them a few minutes of private time before I joined them. “May I have one of those?”
Easton grinned with her mouth full of cookies. “Yeah, but you gotta sit here. Remember?”
“Easton Bridges, no talking with your mouth full.”
“Oops.” Her hand covered her mouth.
English handed me a cookie. “May I please have some milk?” I asked.
Her brows rose a tad, but she filled a glass and handed it to me.
Easton’s eyes burned holes into me, specifically below the waist, so I turned to her. “What’s up?”