Page 86 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 44

BIANCA

I stared down at the hole in the ground before holding out my hand and releasing the rose that was clenched in my fist. I moved aside, the people behind me following until every person had dropped a piece of their respect on top of my father’s casket.

The funeral was small, and if it had just been me to arrange it, I wouldn’t have bothered at all. My father had no real friends, no love outside of gambling, and no family but myself. But Royal had taken the funeral into his own hands, providing and paying for all aspects before I had even gathered enough strength to call the funeral home to make arrangements.

“He was a good, honorable, loyal man,” the gentleman beside me said, and I couldn’t help but mentally dispute that. My father wasn’t an honorable man. He wasn’t loyal. At times, I even questioned if he was good.

I sucked in a deep breath, knowing that socializing had to be part of the service, that I couldn’t skip talking to these total strangers who made it a point to say goodbye to my father. “Oh, you knew him well?”

The man looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well. No. But, we talked from time to time.”

I wanted to ask under what circumstances they talked. The bar? The gambling tables? While my father was signing away his life and income for a loan he could never repay? Instead, I nodded. “Well, he would have appreciated that you came to bid him farewell.”

A lie. My father wasn’t about any celebration of life. Not even my own birthdays had been enough to warrant any sort of party. But, damn it. I loved the man. All his flaws. All his addictions. They didn’t take away from the times he had made me laugh, or when he had actually tried to be a real parent.

One person after the next filed toward me, offering some sort of words that were so broad they could have been offered about anyone, or words that were so off base when describing my father, that I knew they had never really known the man at all.

The last person came and went, and I stayed right where I was, watching as they pushed piles of dirt over my father’s casket until the ground was evened out in front of me. The curator approached. “Feel free to stay as long as you want, no rush, Mrs. Russo. The headstone should be in next week.”

Russo. The ping of sadness hit me hard. I hated him. I hated everything about him and what his lifestyle stood for. I hated him as much as I missed him, which was almost as much as I loved him. I nodded. “Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

He walked away, and my eyes followed until he was out of sight. When I was alone, I sighed with relief. The weight of people’s expectations for someone to remain strong when your whole life was in shambles was lifted off my shoulders, and for once, I could breathe. I let my body fall to the ground and I crossed my legs under me, not caring that at this moment, I was more child than adult.

I sat alone, on the damp earth for far longer than intended. I was in a trance, my thoughts a jumble of emotions, my eyes puffy from tears I tried to keep from falling. The grass rustled beside me before a pair of long, slack-covered legs and familiar shoes came into view. Royal sat next to me and the fact that he wasn’t letting me be alone in my sorrow when everything I was feeling begged for solitude, made my heart thump a little harder.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted to reach out and take his hand in mine and close the gap between us. Instead, I fidgeted with the tissue in my hand, already tearing and pulling it beyond use. “Thank you for all of this.”

“He was family,” he stated like it was a simple fact when in truth, it most definitely wasn’t.

“He was my family,” I corrected.

“But you are mine. All of mine.” His words made my eyes burn, their magnitude causing more emotion than I was willing to show.

“Do you think I will always feel like this? So lost in the world when in truth, my whole life I’ve always been a bit lost? What’s the difference now?”

“I found you,” he whispered so softly, I almost missed it.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Not when I wanted so badly to still hold onto the anger toward him. Anger for something he didn’t do. Anger for the way of life he learned to live because he had to, not because he chose it. Instead, I closed my eyes and absorbed the feelings churning inside of me. I leaned toward him, my head falling to lean against his arm, and we stayed that way, in silence.

The sun was just meeting the land, the sky growing luminous shades of yellows and oranges when the silence was broken. “He was an asshole.”

I snorted. “Finally, the first real thing I’ve heard about him all day.”

“It’s true you know. He was your father, and I respect that, but he was an asshole. But, if it wasn’t for him, I never would’ve had you. Owned you. Loved you.”

His confession finally caused the first tear to fall, and once one fell, another followed. Then another. Soon, I was a mess of tears and snot and still, he pulled me closer instead of pushing me away. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” Royal’s voice sounded genuinely confused.

“That you love me,” I gasped out, another wave of tears hitting.

“It’s true, you know. It started as lust, I won’t lie to you. But these past few weeks without you, pure torture. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” I admitted, not sure how the treacherous words passed my lips when I had urged myself not to give in to him. “I miss you, and I hate that I miss you because I hate you, Royal. I hate that I spent so much time being an object. Something of such little value that you and my father thought you could buy and trade me.”

“You were never an object Bianca.”

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