Franco

by Kim Holden

  When we get home it's empty, Adelaine's at work. I follow Gem up the stairs so she can change into different clothes that aren't sad I'm-going-to-the-hospital-to-have-an-operation-I-don't-want clothes. When she's in her bra and panties, I stop her and kneel in front of her, hands on her hips, and kiss her just below her belly button. "I can't believe my bun is warming in your oven."

  Her fingers thread through my now grown out hair and I tip my chin up to catch the smile I know will meet me. "That's a lovely analogy. A little Franco or a little Gemma bun." Gem is officially the most content human I've ever seen.

  "It's a little Gemma bun," I declare.

  "You think it's a girl."

  It's a gut feeling, maybe because I've dreamed about her so many times. I lean back on my heels and look her over, nodding all the while. "It's a girl," I confirm.

  This is real.

  A baby.

  A baby girl I'm already in love with.

  I fucking love Gemma.

  And then the thoughts flood in...

  I need to buy a kid's drum kit.

  Decorating with Douchebags has some serious work in store to make the spare room into a nursery.

  I wonder if Gem will eat pickles with ice cream.

  Rebel is a good name for a little girl.

  Fuck minivans, they're lame.

  Gus will be a righteous godfather.

  "Marry me." It's the only thought, in my patchy stream of consciousness that I verbalize, because it's the only one I can make a reality at this moment. And I'm so amped up I need action. I need to do something to propel our family forward. The time for delay is gone where she's concerned.

  She's staring at me. Stunned. "Was that a question?" she asks, because my delivery was definitely telling more than asking.

  I nod, and then smile sheepishly. "Sorry, my manners are shit when I get excited. I know this is sudden, but honestly, I could've asked you to marry me that first night at the Y-Not. You're kind of a big deal, Gem. And I want in on it. For life. Marry me?"

  She bends over and pulls my t-shirt over my head. Apparently, we're going to discuss this with words and action. "We don't have to go the traditional route. I mean I'm already moving to America to be with you, and we have a baby on the way. I don't want you to feel obligated to marriage. We'll still be a family without a ring on my finger."

  I follow suit by standing and stripping off my jeans while the debate continues. "What if I'm down with tradition? What if tradition and the idea of being married to you rocks my fucking world?"

  She's smiling at my choice of words, but I know she felt the love behind them. "The tattooed, naughty American boy wants to be married?"

  "Only to you," I answer seriously.

  For the second time today there are happy tears in her eyes. "Only to you," she repeats whisper soft. "Let's get married."

  I trace my fingertips up her arms from her wrists to her shoulders. Goosebumps break out in a riot. I love that. "I love you, Gem," I whisper because the room is suddenly too quiet, so peaceful and I don't want to disturb it. I want to live in it with her.

  She places a soft kiss on my chest and speaks into my skin. "I love you, too." The words are warm as they settle in.

  Reaching around behind her, I unclasp her bra and slip it down her arms. My lips want to feast on her neck. Brushing away her hair, I hold it up on top of her head. My tongue treads lightly, and she sighs. "We're going to consummate the fuck out of our engagement." Lips parted, my kiss tugs at her flesh where her neck swoops into her shoulder. Followed by a nip and peck to soothe it. I'm making my way around to stand behind her. My mouth is mapping out a path of pleasure.

  "I thought you were supposed to consummate a marriage." Her words are faint, breathless.

  My hands are on her hips, thumbs tucked inside her panties, as my mouth continues making a meal of her. "I vote from now on we consummate everything."

  "Perfect," she moans.

  The tip of my tongue glides slowly down her spine, and when I reach the small of her back, her panties start their descent. "The big things." A kiss to the skin revealed as the fabric dips below the cheek. "And the small things," I say, teeth to skin mid-thigh, biting softly. "We consummate all the things."

  Releasing her panties, they drop from her knees to pool at her feet. She wastes no time in stepping out of them.

  In a matter of seconds, she's stripped me of my underwear, and we're tangled on the bed. Two bodies creating friction, trading promises, dispensing love.

  We were made to do this, Gemma and me.

  We did, indeed, consummate the fuck out of our engagement.

  For hours.

  Then I held my girls while they slept.

  Sunday, May 26

  Four years later

  (Franco)

  "Daddy, is Mamá Maria making tamales for my party?" Rebel asks me while I'm brushing my teeth.

  I nod at her in the mirror.

  She smiles wide, it's Gemma's toothy grin on the face of a four-year-old. Our little girl also has her mom's big sapphire blue eyes, kind heart, and ability to befriend anyone. She holds something up in her hand above her head so I can see it. "I'm bringing this for Gus. Revenge will be mine." She follows up the vengeful announcement with a fit of giggles. Did I mention she has my sense of humor?

  I hold my hand up as I spit out toothpaste in the sink and she high fives me. "Right on, Rebel. I'll distract him, and you can put operation whoopee cushion into motion."

  She squeezes it enthusiastically, and it farts loudly. We both laugh. She's definitely mine.

  "Hop up here, birthday girl. Let me do your hair while your mom's finishing up your nasty mushy peas," I say the last part extra loud for Gem's benefit.

  "I heard that," Gem yells from the kitchen. Her cooking is the best, but I've never been able to stomach a bowl of peas. Rebel and Gem can't get enough of them, so I give them a hard time.

  "Mommy's mushy peas with loads of salt and vinegar are the best thing ever!" Rebel declares as I help her crawl up onto the bathroom counter. She sits with her legs folded under her and her back to me.

  Her long, dark brown curls are wild from a night of sleep. As I tame them with a brush, I ask, "I thought your guitar was the best thing ever?"

  She nods at me in the mirror, her expression serious. And then she reconsiders her stance. "Mushy peas are the best food." She hesitates. "And Mamá Maria's tamales. And Nana Audrey's cupcakes." Rebel adopted Gus's mom as a second grandma. "And Auntie Scout's double chocolate chip cookies." Gus and Scout are her godparents, but she calls them Auntie Scout and Uncle Gus sometimes. "My guitar is the best instrument." Her guitar is half-scale for her tiny hands.

  As I start braiding her hair, I taunt her playfully, "I thought drums were the best?"

  "Drums are best for you and Kate. Guitars are best for me and Gus." Gus and Scout's little girl, Kate, is only four months younger than Rebel and they're inseparable. They've spent hours and hours at band rehearsals and seen us play live a dozen times in their four action-packed years of life. Rebel's always wanted to play guitar like Gus and Kate's always wanted to play drums like me. We joke that our kids got mixed along the way, but I love that they both have their own likes and personalities. Their little boy is almost three and Gracen isn't interested in music, but you can't get the kid out of the water. He'll be out there riding a board with us in the next few years. He's athletic as all hell for a little dude.

  "True enough, the world needs guitar players and drummers. Who's going to play bass?"

  "Kate and Gracen's new baby sister will be our bass player." Scout's due in three months. It's a girl. Rebel could be right.

  I fasten her braid with a hair tie. "That's a strong possibility, dude."

  She spins on her knees to face me. "And Stella can sing. She has a pretty voice." Stella is Gus's step-niece. She's several years older than Rebel and Kate, and they idolize her. She's such a great kid.

  "She does. What are you gonna call your band?" />
  She's holding my right hand, tracing the letters of her name tattooed across my knuckles. Gemma's name is on my left hand. "Bigger Than Crimbo," she says without a second thought.

  I laugh because it's a saying Gem says sometimes when something is massively impressive. "Perfect. It's subtle and screams humility. I like it." Our little girl will never lack confidence.

  She nods, pounds knuckles, and hops down. "Gracias, Daddy."

  "No problem, mija."

  I walk to our kitchen where Gem is, indeed, mashing nasty peas. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun. She's been cooking all morning for Rebel's birthday party today. I wrap my arms around her middle and kiss the back of her neck, because I can't resist and whisper in her ear, "We made an incredible little human."

  "We did," she agrees. I can hear the smile in her voice. This woman is the best mom and wife. "Can you believe she's four?"

  "Nope. We need to figure out how to slow this train down or she'll be graduating and out on tour with Bigger Than Crimbo next year."

  "Bigger Than Crimbo?" she laughs. "Dare I ask?"

  "Her future band with Kate, Stella, and baby Hawthorne," I inform her as straight-faced as I can, because in all honesty, nothing would make me happier than to see it come to life. "Julian's tattooing it on her for her birthday."

  "Please tell me he's working it into the pony full back piece?" Rebel is obsessed with tattoos and started asking for one of her own when she was two. Her ideas change frequently, but she's currently in love with the idea of covering her back with pastel colored ponies. My brother, Julian, drew her a design last week as an early birthday present to hang on her wall instead.

  "Bigger Than Crimbo arched in Old English script across her shoulders with the ponies below would be epic," I encourage.

  She sets her spoon down in the bowl and turns in my arms to face me. "Epic," she agrees with a smile.

  I kiss her, and when I pull away, I know exactly what she's thinking because it's written all over her face. We say it at the same time. "God bless the wankers."

  It's our ode to the first time we met and to fate or destiny, or whatever fucking awesome magical force brought us together. If her blind date at the Y-Not wouldn't have been such a douche, we would've never happened. So every time we need to give thanks for our family and us, we say it. Because it all comes full circle.

  God bless the wankers.

  Acknowledgments

  So many people to thank. I love this part because I get to unleash all of the love and appreciation I've kept bound up during Franco's journey.

  First shout out goes to you. Yes, YOU. So many books to read, I'm honored you chose mine. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. ALL the thank yous.

  Story time. Two years ago, Totally Booked put up a lovely post about Bright Side on Facebook (thank you Jenny and Gitte). And Gemma, a wild little strawberry blond from Northern England, with a penchant for You Me At Six, leopard print, and gin, commented. An immediate, hardcore friendship was born. This book is a salute to that friendship and one of the best people I know, and though the story is fictional, Gemma is not. She's truly special and one of a kind. Thank you, my Jama, for being my bestie. Thank you for turning me on to my favorite music, for listening when I need to vomit nonsense, for making me laugh until I cry, for sending me photos of nice looking dudes when I need a writing muse (or even when I don't), for sharing your precious family with my family (because bromance is everything and so is Lola), for teaching me how to put on makeup, for gifting me Bieber jammies, for spotting Pedro in the wild with me, for teaching me fun British terms, for trying guac and root beer for me even though you think they're vile, for inspiring me to be a better person, and for attending the fucking Casa Bonita Frozen Strawberry Margarita Mixer with me. You truly are sunshine in a human. I'm raising my shot of Jager and toasting you. Cheers! I love you.

  My rough drafts are always, well, rough. Super rough. Thank you to Lindsey Burdick, Amy Donnelly, Allison Dunnings, Gemma Hitchen, Colleen Hoover, and Janet Wallace for reading an early copy (and ignoring the fact that I can't place a comma to save my life) with an open mind and offering thoughtful feedback in return. Your keen eye, talent, honesty, precious time, and big hearts mean the world to me, and this book is better because of you. Thank you for your friendship. I love you.

  Amy Donnelly at Alchemy and Words. This is the part where I bow down and kiss your feet. Thank you for being with me from beginning to end on this project. From the endless struggle with plot while writing through to the final proof and formatting, you're my hero. Your thoughtful attention to detail always turns my books into something I'm proud to publish. Thank you for that. But more importantly, thank you for your friendship. Every day it's solid and steady. Thank you for listening to me cry and for making me laugh. And for being an adopted member of our family. I love you.

  Big thank you to Susan Rossman for dropping everything to proofread this little book. Your heart and spirit are larger than life. It's an honor to call you my friend. I love you.

  This cover. This. Cover. Brandon Hando, aside from being the love of my life for twenty-six years, your creative eye never fails to floor me. Thank you for your endless patience and support and for always designing a cover (and swag, t-shirts, etc.) that captures the heart of the story and makes me smile like a lunatic. Sometimes your covers are subtle. Sometimes they're not. But they're always symbolic and artistic. And you never stop until I love it as much as you do—that is everything. This cover is a bit of a departure from what we usually do, but it truly is Franco. Massive thanks to Love N. Books (www.LoveNBooks.com), photographer Daniel A. Flores (www.DFVFX.com), and cover model Graham Nation for making it possible to put a flesh and blood Franco on the cover. Graham, if I ever meet you in person, and I call you Franco, can you just roll with it and pretend I'm not crazy?

  Shout out to Ridge from "Maybe Someday" by Colleen Hoover. He's one of my absolute favorite characters ever. Thank you, Colleen, for letting me borrow him for a few pages and include him in a cameo. Love you both.

  Beth Flynn. When my grace stumbles and my sanity is threatened, you're always there. Thank you, sis. I love you.

  Miss Allison Dunnings is a wildly inspirational person in my life for a million and one reasons—a precious human full of life, bravery, curiosity, positivity, and love. She's also crazy talented at writing music and has the voice of an angel. Thank you for letting me include your song "Goodbye Los Angeles" in this book. I'm forever grateful. I love you. If you'd like to make your ears happy and listen to "Goodbye Los Angeles," or any of Future Husband's music (I'm begging you to do so because it's magical) please visit her website at: https://futurehusbands.bandcamp.com/

  Music will, always and forever, fuel my writing. It inspires me endlessly. Thank you to the following bands on my playlist for streaming through my earbuds, keeping me company, prompting plot, and evolving characters in ways that wouldn't have been possible without you and your art: The Chainsmokers, X Ambassadors, Zibra, DJ Snake featuring Justin Bieber, Future Husbands, The Beach, Nothing But Thieves, Royal Blood, The Hunna, Bishop Briggs, James Bay, Sunset Sons, You Me At Six, Walking On Cars, and James Arthur. Special thanks and hugs to The Hunna. Their song "Bad For You" pulled me out of month's long writer's block and helped me finish this story.

  Thank you to my agent Jane Dystel at Dystel, Goderich & Bourret LLC for your ongoing support of me and belief in my little books. Big shout out to Lauren Abramo, as well, for all you do. I appreciate you both, and your team, so very much.

  Mom and Dad, you rock. Thank you for forty-four years of love and support. I love you.

  To my husband, B., and my little dude (who's not so little anymore), Phoenix, I love you. More than anything, I love you. You are the other half of my heart and soul and a daily reminder of all that's precious and important in life. Thank you for your unconditional love, patience, and humor.

  And last, but certainly not least, thank you from the bottom of my heart to every
reader, blogger, fellow author, and Bright Sider for your friendship. Writing started as a dream, and it remains so to this day. Thank you for standing beside me and holding my hand while I chase it. I'm hugging you—I hope you feel it because I'm putting everything I've got into it. Seriously, I'm holding my breath and squeezing really, really hard. I love you all.

  Franco

  Playlist

  "Roses" (feat. ROZES) by The Chainsmokers

  "Gorgeous" by X Ambassadors

  "Heartache" by Zibra

  "Let Me Love You" (feat. Justin Bieber) by DJ Snake

  "Goodbye Los Angeles" by Future Husbands

  "Geronimo" by The Beach

  "Honey Whiskey" by Nothing But Thieves

  "Little Monster" by Royal Blood

  "Bad For You" by The Hunna

  "River" by Bishop Briggs

  "Need the Sun to Break" by James Bay

  "September Song" by Sunset Sons

  "Give" by You Me At Six

  "Love Backs Down" by Walking On Cars

  "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

  Other Books by Kim Holden

  All of It

  Seventeen-year-old Veronica Smith has it all: a loving family, a funky car named Jezebel, and a plan to go to college after graduation. On the first day of senior year she meets Dimitri Glenn—a mysterious transfer student with gray eyes and a mischievous smile who seems determined to win her heart. But there's something odd about Dimitri, leading Veronica to wonder if there's more to him than meets the eye. Before long she finds herself in a whirlwind romance that seems too good to be true—until a series of devastating events leaves her questioning everything. It's not until she chooses to think with her heart instead of her mind that she can rise from the ashes to learn the truth of their connection.