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No, I decide. I'll give them the goodbye they deserve, even if it's the last thing I do. I feel the anger swelling up inside me as I stare at Philippe's calm, composed face. How dare he try to swoop in and make decisions about my parents - my family - when he hardly even knew them? I slam my fork down on the table, making the dishes rattle.
"No," I say sharply. "This is not your place. I'll handle the arrangements myself."
Philippe is startled by my sudden outburst. "Tatiana, I only want to help..." he begins gently.
"I don't need your help!" I snap, cutting him off. The dam holding back my emotions has broken. "You didn't know my parents. You have no right to step in and take over their funeral like it's just another item on your mafia to-do list."
I'm nearly shouting now, tears stinging my eyes. "This is my last chance to do right by them, to honor them the way they deserved. I won't let you or anyone else in your world take that from me!"
Philippe holds up his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes filled with compassion. "Tatiana,amore, I understand," he says softly. "I overstepped. Your parents were your family; I know how much they meant to you." He reaches across the table to take myhand, but I yank it back sharply. I don't want his comfort right now. I want to rage and grieve.
"Please forgive me," he implores. "I only wanted to spare you pain during this awful time, but I see now that I should let you take the lead. Whatever you need from me - if you'll say the word, I'm here." His voice radiates sincerity. As the red haze of anger clears from my mind, I feel my shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Philippe waits patiently, continuing to gaze at me with empathy.
"I'm sorry," I whisper eventually, the fight going out of me. "This is all just so much."
"I know," Philippe murmurs. "And I'm here for you, whatever comes next. You're not alone in this, Tatiana."
His words are a balm, easing some of the ache inside me. I reach for his hand again, taking comfort in its warmth and solidity. Maybe with Philippe by my side, I can face the crushing task ahead - and maybe a little bit of help is what I’d need.
I nod slowly, gathering my composure. "There's a family cemetery in our neighborhood," I say. "It's where Mom and Dad wanted to be buried. I'll make the arrangements to have them brought home."
Philippe squeezes my hand. "Of course. I'll provide everything you need to give them a beautiful send-off."
I feel a swell of gratitude for this powerful man who wants to care for me in my grief. Perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible to let him handle the burial details.
"Thank you," I reply carefully. "I appreciate the offer. But I'd prefer to make the final decisions about the arrangements. Mom was very specific about certain rituals and traditions being observed."
Philippe inclines his head. "As you wish. I meant only to assist, not overstep. The important thing is honoring your parents as they would want."
His sincerity and understanding bring tears to my eyes. I am not as alone in this as I feel. He knows what it’s like to lose both parents.
“So when should we plan the funeral for?” I ask. “When would they be … ready?”
“As soon as tomorrow,” he whispers.
The thought shatters me: to imagine that tomorrow I’ll no longer be able to see them, touch them or feel them.
“Is that too soon?” he asks.
I imagine them lying in a cold, dark room. Alone. I imagine the warmth of dirt, the cozy darkness of rest. “No,” I say hoarsely.“Let’s do it tomorrow. I’ll send over the guest list within the hour, and perhaps you could help inform people. Also, catering.”
“Why don’t you speak with the priest to get started on the rituals and send me the guest list? I can handle the rest.”
“Thank you,” I sigh with relief, finishing my breakfast, now more at peace. With me handling the rituals, location and guest list, I realize I do need Philippe to take care of all the rest. For tomorrow is far too soon, and the pain is near too strong.
After breakfast winds down and funeral preparations are done from my end, I realize it's time to return to my regular commitments. As much as I want to retreat fully into my grief, the world continues spinning onward.
"I should check in with my manager," I say, pulling out my phone. "He'll need to cancel my upcoming shows and appearances."
Philippe nods. "Of course. Take all the time you need with Martin." He stands up to leave, closing the door behind him to give me some privacy. I dial Martin's number, dreading having actually to say the words - my parents were murdered. Even thinking about it fills me with fresh anguish. Martin answers on the second ring, his voice tinny through the phone. "Tatiana! I've been so worried about you dropping off the map like this. Are you okay?"
"No, I..." My voice wavers and I take a steadying breath. "I have some very bad news, Martin. My parents were killed two nights ago."
Martin gasps. "Oh my god. Tatiana, I'm so sorry. Where are you right now? Are you safe?"
"I'm with Philippe Accardo at his estate. I promise I'm okay, but I'll need some time. Can you cancel my upcoming shows for the next few weeks?"
"Of course, of course," Martin replies quickly. "Don't worry about any of that. I’ll come over to pick you up. Just focus on taking care of yourself. I’ll sort out the rest.”
