Page 273 of Remy

“Wait.” I grab his hand. “I want to ask you something, but I need you to promise you won’t feel obligated to respond in a certain way.”

“Ask.”

I drag in a deep breath and entwine our fingers. “I have to do something, and I’d really like if you were there with me, but it’s not the type of request someone would usually make.”

“I’ll do it, Ollie. Whatever it is, you don’t need to ask.”

“For this, I do. Because as much as I want you with me, what would make me happier is if you made the choice that was right for you… but I won’t know what that is unless you answer honestly. Can you do that for me?”

His shoulders straighten as he scrutinizes me. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

I wince against the resurgence of grief that’s impossible to ignore. “I have to finish things with Dad.”

His chin hitches. “The cremation?”

I nod. “I want to take care of the formalities as soon as possible. For his sake as well as mine.”

His eyes narrow in confusion, the slightest frown marring his brow. “And you want me there?”

“Yes.” I wrap my free arm around my middle. “And I know Dad would, too. But like I said, I’d prefer if you told me what’s best for you and the way you want to approach your grief.”

His gaze softens, his lips kicking slightly in a sad smile. “Ollie, I’d be honored.”

46

OLIVIA

Remy keeps a protective arm wrapped around my waist as we walk toward Stanley, standing at the open delivery room door to the funeral home.

“Good morning.” My temporary replacement shakes Remy’s hand and squeezes my shoulder in greeting. “Everything is ready as requested.”

“As requested?” I ask.

Stanley shoots a questioning glance to Remy.

“I asked for a few things to be arranged while you were doing your hair.” Remy kisses my brow.

“What things?” I whisper.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” He leads me across the delivery room as Stanley murmurs a farewell, the overhead door closing behind him.

After I posed the cremation question earlier, Remy and I shared a quick breakfast, my stomach appreciating the sustenance for the first time all week. Then we showered together, his roughened hands gently washing my hair and massaging my scalp, the luscious feel of it making me moan… which led to those talented hands doing a range of other things that inspired far louder and more uncontrollable sounds.

This time though, the bliss didn’t end with an encore of blubbering.

Yes, my eyes had watered, and I’d definitely felt the rush of sadness. But not a single tear was shed.

I’m making progress, although through baby steps. And the relief had been clear in Remy’s proud gaze as he’d kissed me back from the brink.

I’m still clinging to that comfort as he leads me through the quiet funeral home, the faint hiss of burning flame carrying from the retort room.

I thought I’d dread this moment. I know I had after Mom died. But there’s something about Remy that gives me strength.

“Do you want to take a minute?” He slows his approach. “There’s no rush.”

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