The break-ups never lasted though. There was this pesky thing called love between them, and she could never completely let him go.
Lucie brought her eyes back to her mother. “Does Dad know we broke up?”
Her mother shrugged. “This falls into the what-he-doesn’t-know-won’t-hurt-him category. That category seems to be expanding rapidly.”
No joke there. They’d been hiding a lot from her father since his incarceration almost two years ago. Despite living in a conservative home and not throwing money around on flashy cars and clothes, her father had long ago drawn the interest of federal prosecutors. They wanted Joe Rizzo, mob boss, but they couldn’t get any organized crime charges to hold and settled for a minor tax problem involving the three Italian beef restaurants he owned. Most people would have walked away with a fine, but not her father. The government wanted Joe Rizzo to pay for his sins. Whatever they were.
Lucie shook off thoughts of explaining to her father why she wouldn’t marry Frankie, whom her father adored, mostly because Frankie’s father was her father’s closest friend. Thus, the reason the Falcones came for dinner twice a month even though her father was locked up. Lucie also suspected these family dinners meant her mother received an infusion of cash—her father’s cut of whatever nefariously raised money the mob guys came up with—from Mr. Falcone to help with expenses while her father was away. Talk about a tangled web.
She walked to the stairs where she’d left her duffel. “I’ll deal with visiting Dad later. I need to get this stuff unpacked before it wrinkles.”
Frankie sidled next to her. “I’ll take that up.”
No. Last thing she needed was to be alone with Frankie. In her bedroom. “I’ve got it.”
He leaned forward, wrapped his hand around hers on the handle of the bag and the heat from his palm seeped into her. Hoping he wouldn’t move, she stayed there for a second. With Frankie around, the speed of her world slowed and reminded her of summer strolls on the lakefront. The Frankie Factor.
A crooked grin spread across his face. “I’ll take care of it.”
No sense arguing with him. He’d just do it anyway. “Thank you.”
She marched up the worn carpeted stairs, mentally groaning over the red and green floral wallpaper dating back to the eighties. She spied a streak of black that had become part of the décor twelve years ago when she had tumbled down the stairs with a permanent marker in her hand.
A noise pulled Lucie from thoughts of adolescence, and she looked over her shoulder to find Frankie staring at her butt. What there was of it anyway. Too bad some of the flesh in her ginormous boobs couldn’t have landed on her rump.
“Stop looking at my butt.”
“Can’t help it. It’s in my line of sight.”
The trademark Frankie smile appeared, the one that could put General Electric out of business. Who needed light bulbs when Frankie smiled? Even his presence illuminated a room. He kept his dark hair short, but with enough length that it curled around a face full of yummy angles. When he chose to pleasure a woman with a look from his coal-black eyes, he did it with a focused intensity that made her feel like she was the only one in the county.
Unfortunately for Lucie, Frankie’s massive good looks left people wondering what he was doing with her, Miss Completely Average. She wasn’t ugly, for sure. Her blue eyes were a plus, but her drab brown hair and lack of hips didn’t usually attract hotties. Nope. The only curves Lucie had were in the chest area. Luckily, Frankie was a boob guy. Then again, she hadn’t met many men who weren’t.
They reached the top of the stairs and she made a left into the first doorway into her childhood bedroom. The curtains had been changed, but the white swirly-cornered furniture and light green wallpaper still remained, somehow, in pristine condition.
She hated that wallpaper.
Franked nudged her. “Are we going to stand here all day?”
“Uh, sorry.” She stepped into the microscopic room and he pushed by her to drop the bag on the bed. The two of them, in there together, made the room beyond small. It didn’t help that Frankie wore her favorite faded Levi’s that clung to his lean body as if they were tailor-made for him. The Levi’s did it for her every time.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’ve been edgy since you got home.”
Edgy. Good word for it. With his protective nature, he’d love this one. “After my trunk show, I had a couple of dogs to walk. One of them got stolen.”
He abandoned the duffel and spun to her, his face turning to stone. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
She waved off his concern. “I’m fine. I was walking Miss Elizabeth and some goon knocked me over and grabbed her. I hit my head, but it’s not bad.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He stepped toward her, but Lucie held out her hand. “I called 9-1-1 and they sent a squad. The cop said there’s a dog theft ring operating in the city. It could be related.” Lucie pressed her palms into her forehead. “God, Frankie, that poor dog. I’m so scared for her. Plus, Mr. Darcy was bawling when I told him. He adores her.”
“Screw the dog, Luce. You should get checked out. You could have a concussion.”
He extended his arms to wrap her in a hug, but hesitated before folding them across his chest. She blew air through her lips. They simply stunk at being in limbo. As much as she wanted to draw comfort from him, it wouldn’t be fair. To either of them. “I don’t think it’s a concussion, but I made a doctor’s appointment. The cop said they’d call me if they find Miss Elizabeth. I’ll have to wait. I keep having visions of that dog being tortured. She was in my care and I let her get taken.”
“It’s not your fault. They’ll find her.”
He knew her too well. So not going there right now. “Anyway, the trunk show went well this morning.”
He unzipped the duffel and opened it. One of her handmade dog collars caught on the netting inside the bag and Lucie gently pried it loose. “I sold all the rhinestone studded items. The coats with the fur collars also went. Otis loved the camo shirt.”
“He tell you that?”
She smacked his arm. “I could tell.”
Of course, Otis was a dog. An Olde English Bulldog to be exact. Lucie had been walking him for five months and understood the flow of his moods. The dogs, with their unabashed love for her, had become the bright spot over these past months. Keeping on schedule with dogs wasn’t easy, but she looked forward to walking them each day. With the winter months over, she found joy in the crisp spring air, cleansing her of the negativity that surrounded her current life situation. The dogs had become her sanctuary.
She held up the paisley collar still in her hand. “It’s unbelievable how much these rich people will pay for dog accessories. I sold that pink triple rhinestone deal for a hundred and fifty dollars.”
Frankie whistled. “Who needs investment banking when you’ve got Coco Barknell?”
“Coco Barknell?”
“That’s the name I thought of for your company.”
Oh, no. She wasn’t starting a company. She was an investment banker. Four years at Notre Dame and an MBA said so. Unfortunately, the banking industry didn’t agree and when her company merged with a larger one, she’d been rightsized. And here she was, back in her old room. Gone was the Chicago loft with the corner window that gave her a six-inch view of the lake. That view might not have been much, but to her, it was the wide-open space of freedom. But freedom had a cost, and the lack of income forced her to rely on unemployment benefits and her savings, which wouldn’t go far. Being a fiscally responsible girl, Lucie chose to move home and regroup.
She stared at herself in the bedroom mirror and imagined herself shrinking, her body closing in from the pressure of the miniscule room. Miss Rise-Above-Being-A-Mob-Princess was busted back to her old life.
“Coco Barknell,” she said. “That’s got a ring to it. Banking is where I belong, though.”
Frankie shrugged. “You’re good at this crafty
stuff.”
Lucie glanced at the princess desk that had been a mainstay since her twelfth birthday. She’d set up a card table next to the already cluttered area, and it held stacks of plastic storage bins stuffed with dog collars, shiny colored beads, rhinestones and rolls of fabric. It didn’t leave much room to maneuver, but she needed a workspace.
Coco Barknell. Maybe she’d fiddle with a business plan in her down time.
“I was quite the Bedazzler in high school.”
“You still are.”
Frankie grinned, but it wasn’t about dog accessories. This was the grin of lust and long nights, when Lucie thought her body would never get enough of whatever he offered.
Oh, boy. She blew out a breath and sat on the bed only to have him drop beside her. The sag of the mattress rolled her in his direction and their shoulders bumped. She scooted away. No sense in torturing herself.
“I did make good money at the trunk show today.”
“I’m telling ya, Luce, Coco Barknell.”
“I got lucky, Frankie. Mrs. Lutz recommended me to a few of her wealthy friends and it started this whole thing.”
“And here you are with a regular gig. That’s what I love about you. You never let anything hold you down.”
A burst of pride swelled in her chest. He loved her. She knew it, but hearing his approval gave her a boost. This was the gift of Frankie. And the reason women always got caught in his gravitational pull. They wanted to sleep with him, sure, but at his core, Frankie cared about people. He was also a guy’s guy who loved any form of sports. Yep, Frankie appealed to the masses.
She glanced around the cramped room. How did I get back here?
He nudged her with his elbow. “Where’d you go, Squish?”
Her childhood nickname capped it. Tears threatened and she blinked to clear the haze. Such a long day. “I guess I’m officially back if you’re calling me Squish.”
He rolled his lips together and popped them open again. “It slipped.”
“It’s okay. This time.” She bumped him with her shoulder and the familiar heat that came with touching him made her want more. For that reason, she didn’t object when he slid his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Luce, moving home is a setback. It’s not permanent.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
“I said you could move in with me.”
She curled her lip. “That might be a tad awkward, being that we’re broken up.”
“That was your doing. And we can fix it lickety-split. All I asked was for you to give me a break about moving away from my family. It’s not a lot to ask.”
“We want different things.”
Frankie grunted, the sound packed with dynamite. He pulled his arm away and stood to swat the door closed. “That’s crap.”
“It’s not crap. The gossip doesn’t bother you.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Ooh, there’s that Falcone boy. His father is mobbed up. Don’t mess with him.”
“I can’t control what people whisper about. I like my life. I know who my friends are, and they don’t say crap like that. By now, you should know who your friends are. Our friends are the ones who know we’re more than what our fathers do for a living. They understand that you have an MBA, and I got a free ride to LSU. They get that, Luce. Screw everybody else.”
“You have to admit, it was different when I lived downtown. You came and stayed with me and we were nobodies. We were just a couple of up-and-comings out for dinner. Nobody whispered. I liked that life.”
Frankie shrugged. “So, we’ll go downtown for dinner. Why do I have to abandon my family for that? They’re important to me. This town is my home. It’s what I know and you want me to walk away.”
“All I want is boundaries. The thing I love most about you is your sense of loyalty. But that loyalty blinds you and it suffocates me.”
He closed his eyes and his lips moved in a silent three count. A Frankie Zen moment. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes. “Suffocates you?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I could turn this around and ask where your loyalties are, but I won’t. I respect your feelings.”
Lucie leaped off the bed. Nowhere to go. The blasted room was so small she couldn’t move. “You don’t understand.”
“Is this about moving to New York again?”
She spun away from him, took two steps and bumped the card table. Dammit. She turned back. “What’s wrong with moving to New York? I could get a job there. You could work anywhere as a sportswriter. Plus, if you want to be at a network, New York is the place to make that happen.”
The room went silent. Frankie stared at her and she wondered if she’d hit pay dirt. He worked for the Chicago Herald as a sportswriter, but he had bigger dreams and wanted to be behind a microphone calling a game. A flash of hope wound through her.
“My family is here. I may not agree with what my father does, but he’s been there for me. Supported every decision. How do I turn my back on him?”
Somebody get a mop because my flash of hope just got doused.
She sat back on the bed, let her shoulders slump forward. “It gets old doesn’t it? This argument?”
Frankie dragged his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore. I want a life with you, but I won’t walk away from people who have been good to me. You know where I stand. When you figure out what you want, let me know.”
Frankie pulled the door open but shifted back to her. She looked at him. He looked at her. Nobody moved. The stillness said it all.
* * *
Throughout dinner, Lucie kept her focus on her plate while chatting with Frankie’s sister. Why not? She’d always liked Angie and it kept her from having to talk to Frankie’s father. By the way he kept looking at her, he had something on his mind. Eventually, he’d come out with it. She’d just have to wait.
Frankie leaned back and patted his inflated belly. “Nice work, Theresa. I’ll be in the gym for hours tomorrow.”
“Well, thank you, Frankie.”
His mother, Giovanna, with her newly colored reddish hair—odd, that—turned to his father. “Al, that’s why I love this boy, he’s so polite.”
Lucie nearly coughed up a piece of meat. Somehow, this conversation would come around to her not marrying him.
“I taught him well.” Mr. Falcone clapped Frankie on the back and glanced at Lucie. “Where are we on this break-up?”
So predictable.
“What break?” his mother asked. “You two take more breaks than any couple I know.”
Frankie held up his hands. “We’ll work it out.”
“Joe isn’t happy,” Mr. Falcone said.
Lucie bit down. Hard. The spy had been revealed. No shock there.
“Pop,” Frankie said, “Did you have to mention it to him? Lucie has a lot on her plate. She doesn’t need her father pressuring her.”
How many dinners had she sat through as this argument raged on? Lucie waited for the remainder of the show. What was the point? No one ever listened. She simply sat while the crazies took it upon themselves to decide her future.
“Pressure?” Mr. Falcone said. “Seems to me someone should pressure her.”
“If she doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not forcing her.”
Lucie glared at him. “When have I ever said that?”
Mrs. Falcone slammed her hand on the table and the wine glasses jumped. “Why wouldn’t she want you?”
Lucie sighed.
“Of course she wants him,” Mom said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nowadays young couples take their time. You two need to get into this century and leave Frankie and Lucie alone.”
Thanks, Mom.
Frankie laughed. She knew he couldn’t help it. Things got nutty when the topic of their sometimes-impending nuptials came up. She glanced at Frankie, but he remained quiet, absolutely refusing to tell his parents to butt-out.
And wasn’t that part of their problem? His tota
l failure to take up arms against his parents and tell them to stop harping on the marriage issue? Or about anything for that matter. He never went against his folks. Never. And if they got married, Lucie would endure a lifetime of his family’s interference.
But she loved him.
Angie waved her fork. “Leave the poor girl alone. She lost her job. Let her get her head together. I give her credit for starting her own business with those dog accessories.” She poked her fork at her son across the table. “Paulie, eat your string beans.”
Angie gave Frankie the do-something look. He crossed his eyes at her and she bit her bottom lip to block a smile. The magic of Frankie. Having received the result he wanted, Frankie turned to his nephew. “They’re good, Paulie. You’ll like ’em.”
Paulie started on the beans, chewing at the pace of a geriatrics ward. Since the boy’s father was never around, Frankie got to be the hammer. Someone had to do it.
“Are you still looking for work, Lucie?” Mrs. Falcone asked.
“Every day. The economy isn’t helping. The dog walking keeps money coming in.”
Frankie smiled at her. “And she’s doing great with the accessories. She unloaded a rhinestone collar today for over a hundred bucks.”
Angie’s enormous brown eyes took on the wild look of one of those old cartoon characters under hypnosis. “Stop it!”
“Honest to God. I’ve been telling you guys about the trunk shows. And get this, she had a show this morning, then she went to walk one of the dogs and the mutt got stolen.”
Lucie shot Frankie the hairy eyeball. Not that it seemed to be working on anyone today.
“What?” his father yelled.
Mom snapped her head in Lucie’s direction. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar. You whacked your head. You need to get checked out.”
Not only did Frankie refuse to take up arms against his family, he was sometimes a traitor. This time the result was his father’s face twisting into a ball of rage. Lucie knew exactly where this was going. He’d go right to her father, who would blow an artery over someone laying hands on his daughter.
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