Page 20 of Tristian (The Doherty Mafia)
She must’ve heard something in my voice because she looked over at me with her brows furrowed.
“I thought you were on her side.”
“I’m not on anybody’s side. Just trying to get to the bottom of this.”
“Bottom of what? What’s the problem, Tristian? She needs to be kept safe from Aldo Baron and that’s what you’re helping her with, right? Keeping her safe.” She zipped up the bag as she spoke and I grabbed it out of her hands.
“Maybe you’re a little too quick to trust,” I growled.
Isabelle hooked her hands on her hips and shook her head.
“And maybe you need to just relax a little. It happened a decade ago, Tristian.”
I looked up at her sharply and she shrugged. We both knew exactly what she was talking about. I just hadn’t expected her to bring it up.
“I have to go back,” I snapped, but she followed me quickly to the door.
“Tristian!” she barked at me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Not every chick in the world is out there to deceive you and lead you into a trap, do you hear me?”
I turned to face her, clenching my jaws to control the rage building up inside me. That was exactly how I felt every time Christie came up in a conversation.
Isabelle tightened her grip on my shoulder.
“You were a kid. You were manipulated and trapped. They knew what they were doing. Heck, it wasn’t even that girl’s fault. She was just following orders and who knows what she’d been threatened with.”
“Yeah, exactly the way Elsie could be manipulated and threatened by Aldo, and being forced to spy on us.”
“Tristian, please, you need to let go of the past. None of it was your fault. Or Brendan’s, or anybody’s from the family. You were all messed up over the death of your mother. None of you were thinking straight. You were all too young.”
I yanked away from Isabelle and walked out of the door.
“Thanks for the pep talk, sis, but I don’t need it.”
“So you’re just going to keep treating her like shit because you can’t get over what happened to you?” she called after me.
But I chose to ignore her and kept walking. Isabelle wasn’t there when it happened. She didn’t know what she was talking about.
Eleven
Elsie
By the time I stepped out of the shower with a big towel wrapped tight around me, Tristian had already returned with a bag of clothes. He’d left it on the bed of the spare room where I found it.
Isabelle had thought of everything I’d possibly need. There were even sets of brand new lingerie that had never been worn before.
I didn’t know how to thank her for her kindness. The Doherty family’s unexpected warmth continued to surprise me.
After I was changed, with my damp hair lying around my shoulders, I went back in the kitchen to find Tristian making popcorn in the microwave.
“Are you tired? Are you going to sleep?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Are you?”
“I was going to watch a movie. You’re welcome to join me,” he said. Then he carried beers and popcorn to the living room couch and I followed him, unsure of where this was headed.
He didn’t consult me on the kind of movie I would’ve liked to have watched, but picked an old Western. It was the kind of film I never would’ve been interested in, but I was curious to watch it carefully—to figure out why he was interested in it.
We sat on the couch together with the bowl of popcorn between us. We had returned to our usual routine of being quiet around each other. But the silence somehow never became uncomfortable.
There was almost something calming and peaceful about it.
I tried to not stare at him directly, but kept glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
He had thick reddish brown hair but had it cropped short. His jawline was sharp and angular. His green eyes moved as he followed the scenes on the screen, engrossed in the movie. I pictured him as a cowboy and it brought a smile to my face.
Tristian would’ve looked good in flannel. He would’ve made a very sexy cowboy.
Over an hour passed and we’d watched the movie in complete silence, and the longer he said nothing to me, the more intensely I wanted him. My toes curled and I dug my nails into my palms to control the feeling of urgency. To feel his hands all over me. Why didn’t he want me?
Was I undesirable? Was I ugly?
Why would he want me? He could have any girl in this city. He probably had every girl in this city.
He’d rejected me once already and I knew he’d reject me again if I threw myself at him. And how could I throw myself at him? Didn’t I have dignity and pride?
