Page 47 of Tragic Empire
He couldn’t have picked a more scenic location.
“Everything is perfect. My mother would have loved it all—the flowers especially.” Blue daffodils are her favorites, she’s snuck them into more than a few of her paintings. “You did so well, thank you, Cassio.”
“It was my pleasure.” He lifts our intertwined hands to kiss the tops of my knuckles. “You never need to thank me for caring for you.”
No one should be this swoony at a funeral.
We take our seat in the first pew, Colton and Armani flanking our sides while Sirius sits just in front of my feet.
“Guard,” I tell the Doberman, using the command I was taught in the car. He’ll keep his eyes open and ears on alert now but remain silent near me unless there’s trouble he needs to notify me about.
Only a few minutes pass before the service begins. I’m pleasantly surprised to see Father Charles in his robes, standing in front of the audience. He’s the Reverend of my mother’s preferred Catholic Church, and he baptized her himself about twenty years ago. She’d attended his services every time she was in New York for work, and always wished he could be in England while she was home.
Cassio truly pulled out all the stops, and it has me wondering where the bloody hell he possibly found all of this information. He must have researched endlessly to make today as meaningful as he could. Looking at his hand, I squeeze it and sit as close as I can, our shoulders rubbing together.
Cassio squeezes me in return, letting me know he’s got my back.
“We are here today to pay tribute and respects to a woman of God, our sister, Vivian Knight…” Father Charles begins.
Though I’m glad he is here, I tune out most of what the Priest says, staring longingly at my mother’s shiny white casket instead. It’s closed, just as she would have wanted. I’m not sure how Cassio knew her preference, because he didn’t ask me. In fact, he didn’t bother me with a single question about today. He handled it all on his own, and seemingly nailed every detail.
Once the reverend has delivered a homily, and a sermon, he mentions his own memories of my mother. Her art and her passion for the church. Though I have never shared her faith, I feel lightened by hearing about it. Like perhaps she truly is in a place of beauty and peace now.
“Now, I’d like to invite Cassio Moretti to say a few words.”
I barely withhold a gasp, watching in awe as my husband stands. He shares a handshake with Father Charles and doesn’t waste a moment longer before addressing the crowd.
“Vivian May Knight was a woman of many roles. An artist with a passion for philanthropy, a connoisseur of French cuisine, and most prominently, a loving mother. It is with great sadness and regret, that I admit I never had the pleasure of meeting the woman whose life we are celebrating here today. So, while I can’t attest to her character in a personal manner, I can speak about her through what I know to be her greatest pride—her daughter.”
My throat tightens up, hot tears gathering in my eyes.
“Vivian raised the strongest, kindest, and most thoughtful woman I have the pleasure of calling my wife. The qualities we instill in those closest to us, are one of the truest testaments of our integrity and honor. It is without question that Vivian carried a distinction of excellence that many of us strive for. She will be tremendously missed, and I wish her nothing but peace in her life beyond this world. Thank you.”
A round of polite applause rings out as my face becomes wet, tears falling down from behind my shaded glasses.
My husband returns to his seat next to me, immediately threading his fingers through mine.
“That was lovely, Cassio,” I whisper. Leaning closer, a drop a light kiss to his cheek and quickly retract. If I say anything else, or look at him any longer, I might just throw myself into his lap to sob.
He has made this day unequivocally exceptional. I didn’t need to lift a finger, and he somehow delivered a funeral that I know my mother would simply adore. Cassio has once again made it impossible for me not to feel captivated by him and his ability to care for me.
The proceedings end quickly after his speech, and we don’t stick around to hear any sympathies. I would not be able to handle it.
When we finally return home, I skip lunch. Being in public was exhausting and strangely anxiety-inducing. I’d never been one to feel uncomfortable around large groups of people before, but something about it set me on edge. Pulling off my dress and changing into a set of sweats, I climb into bed, determined to take a long nap.
Sirius is with me, standing at the foot of my bed. When I look down at him, he tilts his head at me waiting for instruction. Not at all sure what I should do, I look at the space next to me and shrug. “Do you want to come up?”
As soon as the question rolls off of my tongue, he springs into the bed with me, flopping his head down on my extra pillow. A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
“You really are a big softy, aren’t you?”
ChapterSixteen
Ana
The next month goes by at a glacial pace. It’s filled mostly with crying, nightmares, and being coerced to eat and drink regularly.
It’s not all bad, though. I’ve taken to spending my days in the living room with Colton and Armani, watching movies and curling up on the couch. The two of them provide company without forcing me to join in on their many conversations. Armanidoescompel me to drink water regularly, apparently taking hydration more seriously than anyone else I know.
