Had he considered it? Or had he just decided to handle it?
“Everything is a power play to you,” she said quietly. “And I’m done being played.”
She tried to free herself from his grip, but he held on tighter.
“You’re hurting me.”
“You’re hurting me, Franchesca. Let’s talk about this. Let me fix this!” If she walked out that door, he knew she’d never be back. It was like holding back the tide, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.
“I’m not lying when I say I love you. I really felt it and knew what it was at my mother’s house. I looked at you in the audience, and you’re all I saw. You’re all I want to see every day for the rest of my life. Please don’t let this break us, Franchesca.”
“You’ve known you loved me for how many weeks now, and you didn’t think to tell me? Like an ace up your sleeve? Your get out of jail free card? Do you see how fucked up that is? Do you think that’s what I deserve?”
“No, of course not. I’ve never been in love before, Franchesca. So excuse me if I don’t know how to process it. It took a battle just to get you to date me. I didn’t know what it would be like to say those words to you and hear nothing but silence in return. I wasn’t ready.”
“Who said there would have been silence, you idiot?” Temper and tears glistened in her eyes. “Who said you were the only one who felt those feelings?”
He gripped her arms. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I loved you, too. You ass!”
Loved? How could it be past tense just like that?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re Aiden Kilbourn, permanent bachelor and womanizer. You’re married to your work. And I didn’t know how to say it. I wasn’t saving it up to tip the scales at the right moment. I didn’t know how to tell you without breaking my own heart.”
“Franchesca, we can make this work. We love each other.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It has to be.”
She shook her head and pulled free from his grip and held up her hands when he stepped forward. “Look at me. Understand me. I don’t want to be here and I don’t want you to come with me.”
“Why can’t we talk this out? Why can’t you let me fix this?”
“Because a team fixes things together, Aiden. And we’re not a team, and we’re not together.”
He took a step back as if she’d landed a physical blow. This couldn’t be the end of it. But she was picking up her bag and moving to the door. She paused, her hand on the knob.
“Don’t talk to me. Don’t come see me. Don’t call me.”
God she meant it. He’d never seen her so serious, so hurt. And he’d done that.
“And one more thing. Elliot’s trying to ruin you, Aiden. Be careful there.”
She left, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. And all the light went out of his world.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Back in her apartment, in the bed they had shared, she finally let the tears come. Hot and salty, they scorched paths down her cheeks and soaked the pillow beneath her. His pillow. She’d known, hadn’t she, that this was how it would end? She’d taken precautions, but in the end, nothing could have guarded her heart from Aiden.
He’d looked so brokenly at her as she left. She felt his pain echo inside her. They were both to blame. She for falling for him and him for disappointing her. He would always be looking for a way to win. It was in his blood.
Frankie rolled over, clutching the pillow to her chest and cried until she slept.
The dull gray winter morning did little to coax her out of bed. She’d seen Pru in the depths of despair over Chip and had promised herself she’d never let a man wreck her like that. And here she was aching on the inside, eyes puffy from so many tears shed.
She couldn’t today. She couldn’t go out into the world, not with news of Aiden and Margeaux smugly splattered on every blog and news site in the city. Not with the truth of her loneliness.
She texted Brenda and sent her apologies saying she wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come in today.
Great. Not even the threat of loss of income could tempt her out of bed. She was officially a broken woman. She didn’t even want food. She just wanted to be left alone.
As if the universe heard that thought, there was a loud pounding on her door. Frankie’s heart raced at the thought that it might be Aiden who magically found the right words to stop her hurt. She pulled a pillow over her head and pretended the world didn’t exist.
Unfortunately, the world had a key to her apartment. Two big bodies hit her mattress, jostling her under the covers.
“Go away.”
Her pillow, the one that smelled like Aiden’s shampoo—oh God, his thousand-million-dollar shampoo was still in her shower—was ripped from her face.
Her brother Marco smiled down at her. “There she is,” he said cheerfully.
“Get. Out.”
“It’s either us or Ma, and she’s curled up in the fetal position crying about all those beautiful Kilbourn babies she’ll never get to hold,” Gio announced from the foot of her bed.
Frankie did the last thing her brothers expected her to do. She burst into tears. In all her adult years, she had never once cried in their presence. Not even that time when one of their buffoon cousins broke her arm playing flag football on Thanksgiving.
“Oh, shit,” Marco whispered.
“What do we do?” Gio demanded.
“I can still hear you, idiots,” Frankie sobbed, ripping the pillow out of Marco’s hand and holding it over her head.
“She trying to suffocate herself?”
“I’m callin’ Rach. She’ll know what to do.”
“You’re not calling anyone! I’m fine!” Frankie wailed. If she was going to humiliate herself, she was going to commit to it. At least it would teach her brothers to never enter her apartment without an express invitation again.
Not that they’d be interrupting anything. New life plan: She was going to age badly and rescue a bunch of cats that would one day eat her in her sleep.
Frankie heard Marco on the phone in her living room through the paper-thin walls. “I never saw her like this before,” he was saying.
“What can we do, Frankie?” Gio was asking. “You want us to go beat the shit out of him?”
She sat upright. “No, I don’t want you to beat the shit out of him!”
He frowned. “You want us to beat the shit out of her?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want anyone beating the shit out of anyone. It wasn’t true. He was set up, but we’re still broken up. Okay?”
“I’m confused.”
She flopped back down on the bed and held the pillow over her face.
Marco came back in the room. “Rach gave me a really specific list. I’m gonna go get the stuff. You stay here. And don’t let her look out the window.”
“Why?” Frankie asked, sitting up again.
“Shit. I thought you couldn’t hear me through the pillow.”
“What’s outside my window?” Frankie scrambled over the mattress, and Gio made a dive for her, but she dodged him. She pressed her face to the dingy glass. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Fuckin’ paparazzi,” Gio sighed.
“Why are there cameramen outside my building?”
“I guess you didn’t see the news today.”
“What the hell could have possibly happened?”
“Aiden filed a lawsuit against that Mar-goat chick and every blog and news site that printed the story. Most of them already printed retractions.”
“How is this my life?” she murmured to herself.
“I’m going out the alley. Be back in a few,” Marco said, shrugging back into his coat.
Frankie drew her blinds, throwing the apartment into the gloomy kind of darkness she felt in her heart. She let Gio talk her into at least getting out of bed a
nd brushing her hair, but when she spotted Aiden’s comb and a stray pair of boxer briefs in the hamper, she lost all desire to behave like a human.
They slumped on the couch staring at a rerun until Marco returned.
“Okay, we got some glossy magazines that don’t say anything about keeping your man on the cover,” he said unloading the bag on her coffee table. “Some tissues in case that thing that happened in there happens again. Six different kinds of chocolate bars. Two pints of ice cream because any more than that and you’ll hate yourself in the morning. And a quart of chicken noodle.”
“What’s in the other bag?” Frankie asked, with a sniffle.
“I bought a bunch of blow ‘em up Blurays that we can watch. And the taco truck was two blocks over, so I got some of those, too.”
“Thanks, Marco,” she said. “Thanks, Gio.”
Gio ruffled her freshly brushed hair and flipped her off. “Family.”
* * *
Aiden hadn’t called. When she finally got the nerve to turn her phone back on, she had fifteen missed calls from him, but that was before the showdown at his penthouse. He hadn’t called her since. But he had texted.
Aiden: I know you said no calling. But you didn’t explicitly say no texting. And until you tell me otherwise, I’ll keep texting. I miss you. I’m sorry.
Aiden: I have exactly everything I had before you, but now it feels like nothing.
Aiden: I wish we were on your couch. You cuddled up to me. Me playing with your hair. Leftovers going cold on the table. I miss you.
Aiden: I’m suing a bunch of people today. I thought you should know. No one gets away with hurting you, Franchesca. Not even me. I’m in misery without you.
The next morning the gifts started. No direct contact. Just little gifts with handwritten cards delivered by messenger. On Tuesday, he sent a stack of romance novels and a hefty gift card to Christian’s salon to her apartment. On Wednesday, when she finally returned to work, he had gourmet hot chocolate delivered for her, Brenda, and Raul. Frankie didn’t want to know how he knew she was at work. If he was still keeping tabs on her, he still had hope. Something she didn’t.
On Thursday, Frankie found a bundle of fuzzy knee-high socks outside her apartment door. The kind she loved to wear under her boots.
Friday brought a silky soft set of pajamas. Not sexy lingerie but the kind you’d pull on after a long week and live in for the weekend. She’d put them on immediately and curled up on the couch with Aiden’s Yale sweatshirt that she’d pulled from the laundry basket so it wouldn’t lose his scent.
The week was a blur of “no comment” when she (rarely) ventured out in public and unenthusiastic “I’m fines” at work and around her mother’s dining table. She felt cold inside as if she’d taken the winter within her and would never again warm up.
And every night, she fell asleep on the couch without ever turning on the TV, avoiding the big, beautiful bed and its memories.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Aiden gazed out his office window, ignoring the pile of things that required his attention on the desk. He had nothing to give. Just showing up drained him. He was tuned out, shut down, and it was affecting his work. Oscar was walking on eggshells around him. Meetings were magically rescheduled for future dates. His mother spent their entire dinner together last night smiling sympathetically at him.
And Aiden couldn’t rouse himself to care.
His desk phone beeped.
“Yes?”
“There are two burly gentlemen from Brooklyn here to see you,” Oscar announced.
“We’re comin’ in, Aide.” Aiden heard Gio’s voice through the door.
Great. Just what he needed. The Baranski brothers ready to beat the hell out of him.
“Send them in,” he sighed.
A second later, his door opened, and Gio and Marco sauntered in. They were probably playing it cool so Oscar didn’t call security right away.
Marco slumped into one of the visitor’s chairs while Gio prowled the office. Aiden couldn’t tell if he was admiring the view or looking for security cameras.
He waited for one of them to speak first, hurling threats or accusations, demanding sacrificial kneecaps or whatever body part it was the Baranski brothers would break for their little sister.
“Bro, what the hell?” Marco asked, breaking the silence. “You gotta watch yourself around girls like that.”
“Girls like what?” Aiden asked calmly.
“That Margeaux chick,” Gio filled in, coming over to lean against the corner of his desk.
“She exudes evil, man. I’m surprised you fell for it and let her set you up like that,” Marco sighed.
“Set me up? You believe me that nothing happened?”
Gio snorted. “Frankie’s prime rib, and we’re supposed to believe you’d go through the drive-thru for some Skeletor, pinched-face, ball buster?”
“So, you’re not here to beat the shit out of me?” Aiden clarified.
The brothers threw back their heads and laughed but didn’t give him a definitive yes or no.
Aiden’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the screen.
Oscar: Do I need to call security?
Aiden: Not unless you hear me sobbing for my mommy.
He returned his attention to the brothers. “Then why are you here?”
“Frankie is wrecked,” Gio announced.
“We figured you probably weren’t doing so hot either,” Marco chimed in.
“You could say that,” Aiden said, looking down at the disorganized mess on his desk. “I need to get her back.”
Marco sighed, and shoved a hand through his thick hair. “I don’t know, man.”
Aiden rubbed a hand over his brow. “No advice, no magic key to make her forgive me?”
“She ever tell you about our second cousin Mattie?” Gio asked.
Aiden shook his head.
“Yeah, that’s because she won’t speak his name. He got gum in her hair when she was nine, and Ma had to cut it out. She didn’t speak to Mattie again until his wedding last year.”
“She’s not big on forgiveness,” Marco said. “Like ever.”
“It can’t be over,” Aiden said, pushing his phone around on the desk. She’d not once responded to one of his texts or gifts. Desperation made his chest ache.
“Ah, shit,” Gio sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Look. You can’t keep texting her and sending her stuff, okay? Anything you do is gonna look like psychological warfare.”
“You want me to give up?” Aiden asked.
“Nah, man,” Marco said. “Just make it look like you’re giving up.”
“Look, guys. I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m not getting what you’re trying to say,” Aiden said.
“She’s a smart girl, our Frankie. Stubborn but smart,” Gio began.
Marco shifted in his chair. “You fucked up, pretty big. But so did she.”
“She didn’t do anything,” Aiden argued.
“She’s had one foot out the door your entire relationship because she figured it would end bad. She was scared, and if you ever repeat that to her, I’ll fuck you up and lie about it,” Gio said, pointing a finger at him.
“She was looking for an excuse,” Aiden said half to himself.
“Yeah, but given her current level of misery, if you give her some space, she’s gonna figure it out that she isn’t the innocent party here either.”
“How much space?” Aiden asked. He needed them to spell it out for him. The idea of abandoning his efforts—giving up control—was terrifying, but a tiny spark of hope lit in his chest.
“All the space,” Marco said.
“No texting, no presents, no nothing,” Gio added.
Aiden covered his eyes for a minute trying to wrap his head around the idea of giving up and hoping for the best. It went against everything in his DNA to leave things up to chance.
“I was thinking about paying off her student loans,” he admitted. His
small gestures hadn’t gotten her attention. Maybe a bigger one would. She would have at least been compelled to come to his office and scream at him.
“Oh, Christ, no!” Marco said, looking horrified.
“She’d hate that, man,” Gio agreed. “Do not, I repeat, do not go throwing piles of money at Frankie. She’ll just set them on fire.”
“So, I give up? Leave her alone?”
“You make it look like you’re giving up,” Marco said as if there was a difference.
“If I do this, do you think there’s a chance she could forgive me?”
“Yeah,” Gio said supportively. “I do.”
“A real small one,” Marco piped up. He shrugged when his brother shot him an incredulous look. “What? I don’t want him to get his hopes up if she decides to Frosty the Snow Bitch him permanently.”
“Listen, you gotta think of something else, Aide. Are you prepared to forgive her? She walked out on you instead of having your back—again, if you ever say this to her I will ruin your very nice face also probably your fancy suit—and if you’re going to let that fester, you don’t have a chance.”
The philosophers of Brooklyn were sitting in his office giving him advice and the tiniest sliver of hope.
“I won’t let it fester,” he promised.
“Good.” The brothers nodded.
“You got a nice place here,” Marco said, glancing around.
“What? We’re making small talk now?” Gio demanded.
“I’m being polite.” Marco kicked Gio’s knee where it rested on the desk.
“Ouch! Fucker!”
Oscar: Was that a body blow I just heard?
“Anyway,” Gio said, looking at the clock on his phone.
Aiden felt himself tense. He didn’t want them to leave. They felt like his only tangible connection to Frankie.
“You wanna go for a drink? Maybe some steak?” Marco asked Aiden.
Aiden nodded as relief coursed through him. They weren’t abandoning him. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
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