by L Neil
I couldn’t contain my excitement. I said yes, of course.
I spent the remainder of our time together at the breakfast table inundating him with random questions about the apartment.
He told me that my eagerness was charming and not to thank him too much just yet. He had won it in a poker game and anything I do will add value and we could sell it together. He stressed that it would require A LOT of work, which only makes it more enticing to me.
On the way to Frank’s home now, clutching my goldfish bowl, I call Mason & Charles and they are happy for me to begin in four weeks. I don’t even need to explain to them why, they ‘re really laid back about it.
Then, I call Manny to personally invite him to the reception tomorrow night.
“Hel,” he whines, “you met the man two nights ago, you can’t marry him. Surely, you could date first?”
I look at the enormous diamond on my finger and think about how that option didn’t even occur to me. Too late now.
“Frank is old-fashioned – I don’t think we would have dated too long before marrying, anyway,” I say. Then, I tell him how doting and sweet Frank actually is.
Eventually, we end the conversation with his (forced) blessing.
That afternoon, I am back inside the room that I woke up in, seated in front of the French chic vanity wearing a short, floral, satin robe.
Beneath the robe are matching shorts, a white ribbed tank and a very nervous bride-to-be.
My ceremony dress is sprawled across the bed behind me. It is a simple, yet expensive, ivory tea dress with 3/4 length sleeves and a bejewelled sash around the waist.
I had picked it on my way to my apartment. The bridal shop was very accommodating to the future Mrs Mariano and her husband’s American Express Centurion card. I was worried about being turned way because it wasn’t my card but it seemed that someone had called ahead to approve the transaction.
Mrs Russo, a forty-something year old hair and makeup expert has just finished applying my makeup.
I was sceptical at first, judging her own choice of makeup – thick arched eyebrows, heavy gold eyeshadow, obvious fake lashes and bright red lipstick – but the makeup she applied to my face was subtle and very natural looking.
When she first arrived, she took in her surroundings like a hawk and I just know that she going to report back to her friends about what the inside of Frankie Mariano's mansion looked like.
She is not very chatty, although I can sense that she holds her tongue a lot. I imagine she probably talks the ears off her other clients.
She is about to begin on my hair when a knock on the door interrupts us.
A man about the same age as Frank is ushered into the room by one of the younger security guys, Antonio. The visitor is tall and slender and his suit is crisp and sharp, much like his blue eyes.
He clears his throat and that’s the cue for Mrs Russo to say, “Honey, I'll wait outside. Just call for me when you’re done.”
The many bangles on her arms chime as she ushers her curvy frame out of the room.
This must be the lawyer I was informed about, Mr Teller.
After I tell him that he can make himself comfortable, he takes a seat on the chaise. Most men would seem awkward sitting on such a feminine furnishing, but he remains professional and unfazed as he opens his leather suitcase.
I was told that he would be arriving with Frank so the groom must be home now.
Mr Teller begins by informing me that there will be no prenuptial agreement. Frank had asked him here to go through the details of his will, instead.
“Will?” I ask, perplexed. “I don't need to be a part of any will.”
I stand up quickly and Mr Teller’s eyes dart away. Oh right, I guess I’m not dressed appropriately. That’s too bad.
Stalking out of the room, I leave behind one very puzzled lawyer and a fretting Mrs Russo.
I practically jog down the hall and my robe billows behind me as I try to locate Frank or someone who can tell me where he is.
It’s strange to think that this will be my home now and I haven’t even seen half of it yet. I will have to go exploring when I have some time.
As I reach the balcony, Antonio pauses on the steps. I ask him where Frank is. He tells me that he is in the den and leads the way.
It’s an effort to slow my pace, given how frantic I feel in this moment.
Bursting through the doors, I interrupt the barber as his blade nears Frank's throat.
“Jesus!” I gasp, holding my hand to my gaping mouth.
Luckily, the old, dead-eyed barber doesn’t frighten easily and has a steady hand.
Dominic is standing near the opposite wall. His entire body is on alert now, with a gun in his hand that I bet wasn’t there a second ago.
The den looks a lot like the billiard room, except that in place of the pool table there is a large oak conference table with eight maroon, leather button seats. There are matching sofas between me and the barber’s chair.
Frank chuckles and waves the ancient barber away.
I look again at Dominic who holsters his gun and is clearly pissed off at me. His eyes dip down to my outfit and the look of disapproval on his face makes me want to cross the room and slap it off his face.
One problem at a time.
“I need to talk to you,” I say to Frank, who is still amused.
“Everyone, out,” he casually orders with a wave of his hand. “Dominic, fetch Mr Teller.”
A very petty part of me smirks at the term “fetch”. But back to business.
“I’m not marrying you without a pre-nup. And I don’t want to be in your will.”
As the doors close, Frank drags himself out of the chair and wipes the shaving cream from his face with a nearby wash cloth.
Did the barber bring the chair or does Frank store it in here somewhere? It is such a small detail, but it bugs me that I don’t know anything about this house, about Frank.
“Is that your chair or…?” Really, I wasn’t going to ask. This sort of thing just happens sometimes.
He chuckles again, loud and deeply as he approaches me. “It’s mine,” he says.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, smiling despite myself.
“Nothing. You are just…a breath of fresh air. I love it.”
His voice lowers and he is close to me now. “And I love these little shorts.”
His hands sneak underneath the lace trim, sliding across the skin of my very upper thighs. They move around further and suddenly he is cupping my buttocks, kneading my cheeks. It feels so good that I begin to relax into him.
No, he can’t distract me!
“Frank, I’m serious. We have to arrange a pre-nup.”
“Why?” he asks quietly as he continues feeling me up.
“Because…” how do I even say this? Don’t wealthy people just…do them?
My skin warms beneath his touch and now my entire body wants to be caressed, stroked.
Somehow, I can concentrate enough to continue, “I mean…. what if…you or I decided to end our marriage? Wouldn’t you feel better knowing that everything that is yours will stay yours?”
He nuzzles my ear and it makes me shiver.
“Frank,” I prompt him.
He steps back and tut-tuts me. “All this talk about divorce and we haven’t even married yet.”
And then he says, matter-of-factly, “There is no need to worry about that, sweetheart. I do not plan on ever divorcing you. You are stuck with me until the day I die.”
He smiles and it’s smug and evil and I really want to kiss him. But…
“People will think that I’m with you because of your money.” There. That’s what’s really bothering me.
He comes in quickly, backing me against the wall that we were hovering near. He grabs the sides of my face and speaks close to my lips, “Fuck. Them.”
My heart beats frantically, not from fear but...excitement. As he pinned me here, he had positioned one of his legs bet
ween both of mine and the compulsion to tilt my hips forward and make contact is very strong.
He must be able to sense my internal fight or maybe when I bite my lip it gives away how I am feeling because his eyelids lower and his voice deepens. “We must wait until tonight. I want our first time to be as man and wife.”
Of course he is conservative that way.
“That’s a shame,” I tease, my breath lightly caressing his lips. Perhaps I could convince him to cancel the ceremony. Surely, we could just sign some papers.
He opens his mouth and sucks in my breath, eyes rolling shut. “Don’t tempt me, woman,” he grates.
I have never wanted to be touched as much as I do now; the need is overwhelming.
What is happening to me? No one is ever made me feel like this before.
Just now, there is a loud knock on the door. Frank leaves me to open it for fucking Dominic and Mr Teller.
We sit on the leather button sofas - Mr Teller seated on the opposite to mine and Frank’s.
Dominic leaves the room at Frank’s request and it takes all my self-control not to smile about it.
Mr Teller proceeds to outline Frank’s will, addressing the both of us. However, I can tell that Frank isn’t paying too much attention to the man. He already knows the details; this is all for me to hear.
After informing me just how much Frank is worth, I ask Mr Teller to stop for a minute. He obliges, telling me that it is a lot to process.
I knew that Frank had money. I had always known about the hotel and restaurant he owns in the French Quarter and his private jet company, Patagia.
What I didn’t know was that he has more five-star hotels and restaurants in Rome, Tuscany and Paris. Not to mention his real estate portfolio and the stock he owns in a major media conglomerate.
At breakfast this morning, I had learned that Frank briefly piloted as a younger man and that his love for aircrafts had been the motivation behind launching Patagia.
I had no idea that he had his fingers in so many pies, that he was this wealthy. It seems almost impossible, how well off he is.
And right now, I’m being told that ninety-eight per cent of his assets are to be inherited by me when he dies.
With my hands still cradling my face, I look sideways at Frank. Why is he doing this? What about his sons?
Also, how the hell could someone like him be so fixated on little ‘ol me? I have never felt so small and insignificant before. I might not be a stranger to him, but he practically is to me. And yes, I realise that this is a ridiculous statement to make about someone you’re about to marry.
His own hands are laced before him and he meets my eyes, as serious as I have ever seen him. He nods to Mr Teller to continue.
No, I’m not ready yet.
In the event of Frank’s death, I am not expected to carry on any of his business - I am simply to inherit his fortune. Also, his security contracts will automatically continue for a minimum of 12 months and all personnel will protect and report to me.
I suppose that means I could fire them too and I know one guy who will definitely be out of a job.
When Mr Teller begins to tell me about the illegal business that Frank undertakes, my anxiety hits the ceiling.
“Frank, are you doing this will because you’re expecting to...die? Is someone after you?”
His laugh is abrupt and I feel like I’m missing something.
“Baby, no,” his body turns to me and he grabs my hands, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m the healthiest I have ever been. And you needn’t worry about the law. We are untouchable.”
He looks to Mr Teller and then back to me. “Seamus is as trustworthy and loyal as they come,” Frank reassures me. “He knows all of my dealings and he has protected me for many, many years.”
Mr Teller nods his head with a smile and returns, “Frank saved my life once and I owe him everything. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And for you too.”
“I wouldn’t be putting you in this position if I couldn’t take care of you,” Frank says. His tender eyes pour over me, subtly observing my reactions, ready to quash my fears as they arise.
Seamus clicks his tongue and gets back to business. “On that topic, should anything ever be exposed - not that it will - you will have complete indemnity, Helena.”
“Times have changed,” Frank weighs in. “Most of what I do is legitimate, honest work. I saw the pattern in my father’s failures and I knew that over time, I had to use my head a lot more than my hands.
“Still” he continues, “I do have friends in high places. I can go about my business, hurt fellas and the like and be immune to the law. Just as it’s always been.”
Hurt fellas.
“What’s with all the security then?” I ask.
Frank considers this for a moment before he decides to admit, “Honestly, I only had Dominic, Antonio and Max until recently. I employed the other two in anticipation of your arrival.
“I know that you are not fond of the idea of being followed by my men, but your father has painted a target on you with Briggs and honey, we just cannot be sure that there aren’t others out there who mean you harm.”
Okay, now I am worried about Manny and his family again.
Frank notices the change in my mood and moves in closer. In his glassy eyes, I can see his weariness and uncertainty.
His eyebrows knit together as he says softly, “I’m sorry. Please don’t think about any of that.”
Cupping the side of my face with one of his hands, his eyes bounce between mine.
Seamus says, “I will give you two some privacy-
“No!” Frank exclaims, startling everyone in the room, including himself.
He grates, “I must not be left alone with her until after we have said our vows.”
My breath quickens. He is genuinely worried about losing control with me and it excites me more than I would like to admit. I just want to lay back, pull him on top of me, wrap my legs around-
“Helena?” Frank enquires softly, snapping me out of it.
“Huh?” I say, in a daze.
“Did you hear me just now?” He asks gently, concerned.
I begin to nod my head, think better of it and then shake instead. It makes me feel silly and child-like… the opposite to him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Why are you sorry?” He asks. When I don’t reply, he hugs me and it’s surprisingly gentle.
I open my mouth but I don’t know how to say it – I don’t even know how I feel. I suppose it’s all just a bit much. We are supposed to marry sometime within the next two hours and my head is spinning.
He really is the opposite to me. I wouldn’t know how to manage a take-away store yet he is so successful. What does he see in me?
Plus, this “will” business is scary. I don’t want money. I don’t want shares. I don’t want to think about any of it. I just want…to be alone with Frank again. I desire him like crazy – my body has never been so wanting before.
Realising that is the weirdest thing. Since we parted after breakfast this morning, it really has been the longest day.
He leans back to look at my face. Just then, a tear slides down my left cheek. I hadn’t realised my eyes were warm and wet until now. Why am I crying?
“Tell me,” he begs, “tell me what you want, and it is yours.” He pulls me in so that I am practically sitting on his lap.
I don’t know how to tell him that I think I am in love with him. It seems like something that should have been said long before someone’s wedding day. But I have only just started to get to know him, so it can’t be love-love. This is all just so bizarre.
He must think I am worried about something else because he back tracks. “You needn’t worry about what I do. My restaurants run themselves and I have literally nothing to do with my jets either. Should this fall on you, you will not have to lift a finger.
“And my…private business matters…none of it will come back to you
. I swear it.
“No, none of that bothers me.” There is probably something wrong with me to be okay with the violence, but I guess burning a cop alive in his home makes me just as evil as Frank, if not more. We actually are a match made in heaven, aren’t we? Or would it be hell?