Page 6 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume
I watch as the ring box floats through the air toward me and as I lift up my hand, it settles back in my palm. A moment later, I feel the mattress dip as if someone has sat down beside me.
“I never thought I’d have this,” I murmur, staring at the platinum band nestled between two tiny felt cushions. “When I left Yorkshire, I was running away,” I admit quietly. “There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat it. I was running from the mess with my family, from basically imploding my own career, from everything that happened to Sam. I was angry and sad… and disappointed. I was so relieved when the Met gave me a job that all I could concentrate on for those first six months was trying to rebuild my career because that’s all I had left.” My thumb grazes over the smooth metal of the ring. “I didn’t expect Tristan to come crashing into my life and making it so complicated, and insane, and… wonderful.” A warmth spreads through my body as it always does when I think of him, and I can feel my smile tugging at my lips. “He’s the love of my life.”
There’s a slight pressure on my shoulder, followed by a curious tingling, as if someone has laid a hand there.
“I’ve had this for a while. I’m pretty sure I knew right from the beginning he was it for me, but I finally went and bought a ring. Do you think that was stupid?” I don’t know why I’m asking her like she’s going to answer. “Some people find it—what’s the word—heteronormative? What does that even mean? For me, it’s a symbol of love and a commitment. A promise. It doesn’t matter if a couple is gay, straight, bi, or any other combination. It’s an act of devotion, one that doesn’t belong to any specific pairing.” I shake my head. “I hope he feels the same way. It’s been tough trying to find the perfect moment to ask him, but it’s Christmas Eve. That’s romantic, right?”
I glance across in what I hope is Dusty’s direction.
“Do you think he’ll say yes?” I ask.
There’s a ripple across my hair followed by more of the same tingling sensation, as if she’s stroking my hair comfortingly. I’m choosing to interpret that gesture asof course he’ll say yes, silly man, rather thanoh, you poor, disillusioned romantic fool, he’s going to say no.
Blowing out a decisive breath, I shut the box with a resolute click and stand, shoving it into my jeans pocket.
“I suppose I should get to the kitchen. Tris should be home soon and that turkey is not going to stuff itself.”
The bedroom door opens as I approach it. “Thanks, Dusty.” I nod but pause at the last moment. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”
There’s a quick ruffling of my hair and again I’m choosing to interpret the action asno, I’m not going to say anything, you foolrather thanI am literally going to let the cat out of the bag the moment he walks through the door.
With a smile on my lips, I flick off the bedroom light and head into the kitchen.
* * *
The soundof the front door catches my attention and I look up in time to see Tris appear in the kitchen doorway. My heart starts up a rather complicated tap dance and my cheeks warm as I smile at him.
“Hey, baby, how was your day?”
“Exhausting.” He smiles tiredly as he unwinds his scarf from his neck, and I have to admit he does look knackered. He’s been working too many hours lately. I wish he could’ve had more time off over Christmas because even though I selfishly want to spend it with him, he also looks like he really needs the break.
He’s pale with dark shadows under his eyes. But those beautiful green eyes light up when they see me and an amused smile plays over his lips.
I’m standing at the kitchen table with my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. The kitchen is somewhat of a disaster area with packets and pots and dishes scattered everywhere, and I currently have my hand shoved up the turkey’s bum.
“NO! You fucking twat! I’m surrounded by fucking idiots! You’re supposed to be stuffing the turkey, not giving it a fucking prostate exam!” Gordon Ramsey’s dulcet tones blare out from my laptop, which is open on the counter behind me.
Tristan chuckles as he unbuttons his coat and slides it off. “We’re not making McDonalds our Christmas dinner tradition, then?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out one hundred percent, but I think I’ve got a good idea of where we went wrong last year,” I reply.
Laughing lightly, he disappears back out of the kitchen to hang his coat up and kick off his boots. When he reappears, he scoops a tea towel off the counter and leans up to wipe a chunk of sage and onion stuffing off my cheek before plucking another clump from my hair. He leans in and kisses my lips softly.
“Hi.” He smiles against my mouth.
“Hi.” I smile back.
“For fuck’s sake, you’re a pair of fucking morons! Call that a cranberry reduction? It looks like fucking jam! Am I supposed to spread it on my fucking toast?” Gordon’s voice roars again.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head with amusement, Tris leans around me and shuts the lid of the laptop, cutting Gordon off mid-tirade, and flicks the kettle on.
“Cup of tea?” he asks.
“I’ll get it.”
“You look like you’re a bit busy.” His eyes glitter merrily as he glances down at the turkey.
“No, it’s fine. I think Bernard could do with a bit of a rest.”