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Everything will work out just fine. I’ll get the money I need to pay these bills, Tristan will get the money for his non-profit, and we’ll go our separate ways once we’re done with this charade.
My shoulders slump, and lead fills my stomach. It’s going to be weird not seeing him around town when the time comes.
11
Tristan
I tug the sleeve of my shirt as I stand outside my parents’ house. Sage is beside me, wearing a black dress. As much as I enjoy dressing up when the time calls for it, having to wear a certain outfit to have dinner with my parents annoys me. I always have to look a particular way, speak the way they approve, everything. It’s all so hypocritical.
“Knock, knock.”
I look over at Sage with raised eyebrows. “We need to actually knock in order for them to answer.” We’ve both been silently staring at the door.
“I know that.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s a knock, knock joke.”
“Oh. Who’s there?” I grin.
I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t even think it could be a joke.
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Boo-hoo, don’t be so sad.”
I stare at her for a few seconds before I break out in a guffaw. Laughter flows out of me as I think about it.
It’s such a bad joke. Terrible, really. Sage joins me, and we’re both making a scandal out here with our cackles. I hold my middle and bend over, trying to stop myself, but I laugh all over again when I think about it.
“That was terrible.” I look at her.
“It sounded better in my head. You just looked like you ate mold or something, and I wanted to lighten the mood before we go in.” She shrugs, smiling.
“It did the job, thanks.” I smile at her and take a deep breath.
Our eyes lock as something passes through us. She looks beautiful, but I wish she was wearing her funky earrings instead of gold studs.
“Ready?” I shake away those thoughts and focus on the bigger picture.
“Let’s do this.” She nods, but it lacks confidence.
I don’t blame her. I’m nervous, too. I tap my knuckles against the ornate door and step back, waiting for someone to let us in.
“Smile,” she whispers.
I do as I’m told right before the door opens. My parents’ housekeeper, Mary, gives us a small smile.
“Hello, Tristan, Sage.” She looks at us. “Come in.”
We enter, and Sage looks at me with raised eyebrows. It surprises me that Mary knows her name, though it shouldn’t.
“Your parents are waiting for you in the living room,” Mary says.
“Thank you.” I reach for Sage’s hand before heading that way.
It’s become natural to grab her hand. What is supposed to be a simple action to make us look more like a couple has become a comfort. Sage keeps my feet planted on the ground. Her warm hand in mine soothes every nervous twist in my stomach.
Knowing about her lupus now, I wonder if her attitude toward life is due to what she’s experienced. Getting diagnosed with any kind of disease must be humbling.
