Page 67 of Point of No Return

Dammit, I chide myself as I fold my hands in my lap and glance away. I’m not supposed to feel like this about him.

This attraction, this heat.

I don’t know what to do with it.I focus on a distant spot in the chapel, but when he slides his hand over my lap, all my thoughts go out the window. That tattooed hand tugs my hands loose from the knot I’ve formed, and I watch in morbid fascination as his thumb traces circles over my palm.

It’s absentminded, careless maybe, but I can’t help the shiver that travels down my back. I force myself to sit still, to focus on the sermon and not my obscene fascination with his hands. But when I glance down and spot the scar on his palm, the twin to the one on my own- the one he’s absently tracing his thumb over- I yank my hand away.

There’s no hiding the movement. Not as I fold my fingers into a fist and curse the thoughts that threaten to take permanent residence in my mind. I can feel his eyes on me like a brand, and I hope to God that he doesn’t see the flush that creeps up my face from beneath the veil. I’m glad when the priest motions for everyone to stand. We follow suit.

Skar guides me toward the expected place beside the coffin and he stands just behind me as Aleks stands to my left. The ceremony ends, and everyone is forming a line to pay their last respects. People with names I’ll forget shake our hands, murmuring condolences and bowing their heads as they press their palms against the closed gasket. Some offer nothing more than their passing prayers. Others fill our hands with ribbons and other tokens.

“Thank you. Thanks for coming,” I say to a couple as they shake hands with Skar and bow their heads to me.

“You look beautiful. A true Westlan angel. Your husband is lucky to have you by his side,” the woman says, and as she passes, she thrusts another golden ribbon into my hand.

I think I’m saying “thank you.” The words fall out of my mouth too easily now. When I feel a hand wrap around my wrist, I flinch before I can stop myself. My mother quickly pulls me into a hug.

“Oh, Lottie. I was so sorry to hear the news,” her voice is a practiced sap of sympathy. Measured, just the perfect amount of feeling. She squeezes me tightly, the bones in my shoulders bracing against her hold. “How are you fairing?” she asks, and as she pulls back, I know for sure it’s an act.

“I’m alright,” I smile tightly, glancing at my father. “Papa.”

He squeezes my shoulder before moving to Skar. “Losing a father like that. I’m sorry. I know what loss can do to a family.”

Hypocrites,I want to say, but I’m surprised when Aleks chimes in: “Do you?” My father blinks, stuck like a deer caught in headlights. “If I hear one more person tell me they know what it’s like, I’m going to hit something.”

“I- Well, I’m sorry,” Papa tries. “I only meant-”

Aleks shoves past me suddenly, parting the line of mourners and stumbling into a vase below the coffin. “I’m tired of this shit. I’m outta here.”

At the risk of incurring the wrath of my mother, I glance at Skar before moving to follow after him. Skar beats me to the punch, squeezing my hand. “I’ll handle him.”

“Are you sure?” He nods, squeezing through a hole in the line and following his brother out of the temple.

“Poor boy,” my mother hums, brushing the incident off her shoulder and glancing at me again. “I know how trying these times can be. So many obligations, so many loose ends in need of being drawn tight again.” Her threat melts over me, and she pulls me close again. “Family is everything. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

Family isnothing. Nothing but a sham.

All too quickly, I pull away. My mother is still smiling sweetly at me. “Thank you.” I’m almost glad for the veil shrouding my face as I squeeze my mother’s hand back. “Thanks for coming. I’ll see you later.”

The line pushes forward, and I’m left to fend for myself as people shake my hand, kiss my cheeks, leave ribbons and bouquets by the boat full.

It must be hours before the line finally reaches its end. A bell in the overhead tower rings out, the sound like a song to which everyone seems suddenly hypnotized. Like a chorus, the patrons who’d been sitting for the service stand.

I glance toward the long hall where Aleks and Skar disappeared down earlier.If they don’t show up soon, I’m going to kill them both for leaving me alone.

The priest is muttering something else, thanking everyone for attending, when someone approaches from behind. Aleks stands beside me, head down and suit jacket missing. His hair is wild and his eyes are red, and I have no doubt this is all the aftermath of a fight.

But he’s here…I tell myself.Keeping up appearances.

My husband isn’t far behind. I feel his warmth before I’ve even heard him approach, and though it takes more will than it should not to look over at him and see if he, too, sports the tell-tale signs of a tough conversation, I’m satisfied that I don’t.

Funerals here are much different than they are in Prevya, but death and I are not strangers. I know what comes next. I know that soon, Tyson Benenati’s casket full of ashes will be taken to his final resting place and buried six feet beneath the ground.

Soon, the entirety of Westos will light candles in their windows. Night will fall. The candles will flicker out. And Tyson Benenati will be dead in body only. His name, his legacy will live forever.

A blessing for most.A curse for only a few.

The church murmurs a hushed prayer as one, a quiet hiss of a sound. From the corner of my eye, I spot my parents at the start of the aisle. At the same moment, Skar nudges me forward and I take the steps down the altar to join my mother’s side.

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