by Lucy Score
“So…” Pru began pointedly. “How’s life?”
They dined on fabulous food, drank astronomically expensive wine and, in general, had a lovely time. Frankie eventually forgot about the curious stares and just enjoyed watching Aiden relax. His reserved façade slipped around Chip. And he laughed more, smiled more, those sexy-as-hell crinkles showing at the corners of his eyes. Even while deep in conversation with his friend, Aiden still maintained a physical connection with her. Toying with her hair, stroking her shoulder with his thumb, or coaxing his fingers higher on her thigh.
Pru filled them in on their honeymoon. When residents of the Upper West Side marry in Barbados, they can’t very well vacation there, too. Pru and Chip had spent another ten days in the Maldives. Frankie wasn’t exactly sure geography-wise where the Maldives existed, but the pictures on Pru’s phone were stunning.
It felt… normal. Blissfully so.
Well, as normal as a $73 pasta entrée could feel. A Friday night with friends. For the first time, Frankie felt like they were a real couple. She wasn’t the poor girl from Brooklyn. He wasn’t the CEO and newly appointed family head.
He was very simply hers. Aiden, the man who drew every woman’s gaze and snagged the check from Chip claiming the meal was a welcome home gift, belonged to her.
Frankie felt a rush of teenage girl giddiness sweep through her. Like she’d just spotted Pre-Jessica Simpson John Mayer across the restaurant.
“Girl bathroom break,” Pru announced pushing Chip out of the booth so she could escape. “Let’s go, Frankie. Give the boys a chance to miss us.”
Pru all but hauled Frankie into the bathroom and then mauled her in a fierce hug.
“Okay. What the hell is this?” Frankie asked, awkwardly patting her friend on the back.
“You love him!” Pru squealed. “I’ve been waiting for the day when you look at a man the way you sat there and looked at Aiden.”
“I don’t love him,” Frankie argued.
“You have this glow,” Pru said, twirling around and checking her makeup in the mirror.
“It’s a post-orgasm glow. He dragged me into his limo for sex, Pru. We’re not decorating summer homes and naming babies.”
“And the way he looks at you? I swear to God it singed my eyebrows off. He wants to eat you alive.”
“Stop. You’re just all clouded with newlywed bliss, and you want everyone else to be in love right along with you.”
“We should have babies together,” Pru decided, reapplying her lipstick. “We could share a nanny.”
“I love you, Pruitt, but you’re fucking insane.”
Pru grinned at her in the mirror. “I like seeing you happy. That’s all. I promise. I’m mostly just teasing.”
“You’re such an ass,” Frankie laughed.
“I may be an ass, but you sure photograph well,” Pru said, handing over her phone.
“Are you kidding me?” Frankie scrolled through the post. It was a gossip blog with a series of pictures of Frankie and Aiden pawing each other on the sidewalk. “Oh my God, my mother is going to see these!”
“Your mother and anyone who’s anyone in the city,” Pru said, unsympathetically gleeful.
“This just happened! How is this even a story with…” she scrolled up again, “three updates since it was posted?”
Pru rolled her eyes. “Uh, don’t you teach social media workshops?”
“To business people about businesses!” Frankie waved her arms at her friend. “Not some vapid readership that has an opinion on… my food order? What the hell is wrong with these people?”
“You’re an exotic unknown on the arm of everyone’s favorite bachelor. What did you expect?” Pru asked.
Pru’s phone vibrated in Frankie’s hand, and a text message popped up.
“How is that ethno-mutt dating Aiden Kilbourn?” Frankie read out loud.
“What?” Pru shrieked. “Is that in the comments?”
Frankie held up the phone. “Uh, no. That’s your best pal Margeaux texting you.”
“She’s the worst human being in the history of human beings. The world is lucky she has no ambition besides getting another husband because, if she had any kind of drive, she’d be the new Hitler.”
“How are you two friends?”
“We’re definitely, definitely not. My father and her father are business partners. I was in her first wedding to a cocaine-snorting, prostitute-buying gambling addict. They made a lovely couple.”
Frankie slumped against the wall. “Someone is telling the paparazzi what I’m eating for dinner. And hundreds of people are freaking out about it, including Hitler Junior. I’m not ready for this.”
Pru marched up to her and stabbed a finger in her shoulder. “You listen to me Franchesca Marie, you can and will handle this. You are the one person in this world who has the ability to be completely immune to this kind of attention. And if you can survive it, your prize is Aiden. So suck it up. You’re dating a guy who gives you an excuse to hang out with me and Chip in Manhattan on a Friday night. I’m not letting you make a mess of it.”
“Don’t tell me you were tired of schlepping to Brooklyn for cheap pizza and movies?” Frankie joked, but she felt the familiar unease return. It was another reminder that she didn’t belong in this world. At the end of the day, she was just a girl playing dress-up for the night.
Could she really survive keeping a foot in both worlds?
Chapter Forty-Two
“It’s still early,” Pru said, checking Chip’s watch.
There was nothing early about a dinner that wrapped at 11 p.m., Frankie thought, stifling a yawn. “Do you guys want coffee, or do you want to hit a club?” Chip offered.
Frankie slid her gaze to Aiden’s. “No thanks,” they said together.
“They’re going for Round Two,” Pru explained with a wink at Chip.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, winking down at his wife.
“You know, I kind of miss the eyepatch,” Frankie mused to Chip.
Aiden texted his driver from the table to bring the car around and helped Frankie into her coat. The restaurant was much less crowded, but the crowd outside seemed bigger than before. The maître-d whispered something in Aiden’s ear, and he frowned, nodded. Two gentlemen in suits appeared.
“What’s going on?” Frankie asked.
“There’s more paparazzi outside,” Aiden said, glaring through the glass. “Security is going to clear the way for us.”
“Clear the way? How the fuck many people are out there?” Frankie asked.
“Not that many,” he said dryly. “I’m not in a boy band.”
There were enough people milling about to Frankie’s way of thinking. Sure, Bieber would have caused a fan frenzy, but there were still two dozen curious passers-by and seven guys with cameras when they left the safety of the restaurant. Security barreled their way through the crowd forcing the cameras back as Aiden tucked her under his arm and guided her to the waiting limo.
She was blinded by the flashes but otherwise unscathed. And the second Aiden slid in behind her, the door closed, sealing them off from prying eyes.
“Why do you eat here if you get that kind of response?” she asked, flopping back against the head rest.
The back of the limo still smelled faintly of sweat and sex.
“They’re more interested in you and who you are to me,” Aiden told her.
“Well, they better prepare for disappointment,” Frankie shot back.
Aiden tugged her into his lap and reached inside her coat to hold her around the waist.
“It goes with the territory. Just like your mom slapping everyone. It’s one of those things we all have to tolerate.”
Frankie laughed and rested her head against his chest. She’d half expected him to jump her again the second they got in the car. But this was nice too. Very nice.
“You’re breathtaking, Franchesca.”
He shook his head. “I’m not trying to give you a compliment. I’m warning you. They’re going to find out who you are. They’re going to want to know everything about you and put it up for public consumption.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you’re mine.”
It was arrogant the way he stated it as fact. But damn it if she didn’t like hearing that claim just a little bit.
She opened her mouth.
“Don’t argue with me,” he warned her.
“It’s what I do best,” she teased, toying with the buttons of his shirt.
“Don’t argue about not belonging to me. I belong to you. I’m yours. All in, remember? It goes both ways.”
“All in,” Frankie murmured.
--------
Aiden’s building was in the middle of everything important. Only three blocks from his office, he could walk should he choose to brave the masses. Though after witnessing the attention he attracted, Frankie didn’t blame him for hiring a car. Not much fun feeling like a goldfish in a bowl on the commute to work. Where everyone else in the city was an anonymous stranger, Aiden’s face and name was known far and wide.
And now Frankie was stepping into that orbit. Willingly.
The lobby was guarded by a uniformed doorman and a smartly suited woman in black behind a sleek U-shaped workstation. “Good evening, Mr. Kilbourn,” she greeted him with a professional smile.
“Good evening, Alberta. This is Ms. Baranski,” he said, nodding at Frankie as he pulled her along, never slowing his pace.
“A pleasure, Ms. Baranski,” Alberta said.
“Nice to meet you,” Frankie answered over her shoulder as she jogged to keep up with him.
Aiden was towing her toward the bank of elevators like a pack of hyenas were on their heels.
They stepped inside, and Aiden pulled a key from his coat pocket.
“Don’t even,” Frankie said, shaking her head.
“Don’t even what?” he asked, sliding the key into the elevator control panel and pushing the P.
“Oh, come on! The penthouse? Really? Can’t you at least pretend to be a normal guy?”
He stared at her with amusement in those blue eyes. “You are the first person who has ever complained about the penthouse,” he observed.
“I’m not a fan of reminiscing about the horde of ladies you brought back here for naked times, Aide.”
“Exactly how many women do you think I’ve been with?” he asked with a laugh.
“Enough.”
One second he was standing in front of the button panel, and the next he had her pinned to the wall of the elevator.
“You know what I’ve never done?”
He planted his hands on either side of her head. He was a whisper away, as close to touching her from head to toe without actually making contact.
“What?” she whispered.
“I’ve never kissed anyone in this elevator.” He trailed his lips over her jaw line to her neck and back again.
“Aren’t they watching?” she asked, nodding toward the security camera.
“Does it matter?”
The soft of his lips, the rough of his beard—a contrast of sensations.
Frankie held on to the rail behind her. And when his lips closed over hers, she was glad to have the support. It wasn’t a wild, passionate kiss. It was something different, something that ran deeper and sang in her bones.
The kiss bloomed like a rose under the heat of the sun. Opening and reaching for more.
His tongue slid lazily against hers, stroking, exciting, and soothing all at once.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” He said it like a confession. A dark one.
“I’m glad to be here. I get to find a flaw in you tonight. Maybe you’re a hoarder. Maybe you have horrible taste in velvet paintings. Maybe you’ve got sixteen cats.” She brought her arms around his neck. “I’m going to find what makes you human, Kilbourn.”
The elevator doors slid open, and Aiden led her by the hand into a spacious foyer. White on white on white.
“Hmm, so far no cats,” she observed.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Maybe they’re all hiding inside with my yard sale collection of eighties cassette tapes.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “See? There’s my normal guy.”
“Your version of normal is woefully odd.”
She stuck her tongue out and sauntered past him inside. His foyer was the size of her entire apartment with about an acre of glossy white marble with gray veining. There was a pedestal table in the middle of the space with a vase of flowers. She touched a petal. Fresh flowers.
There was no mail piled up, no magazines scattered about, no jumble of keys and coupons. The living room stretched out in front of her. One open space with a wall of windows. Of course he had a killer view.
They were part of the city skyline from here.
The furniture was dark, leather, and arranged just so. He had a bar stocked with every top shelf liquor known to man. A marble fireplace. Bookcases housed books and framed photos. Everything was neat, tidy, and just a little cold. There were no pillows or blankets on the couch. The white rug under the sitting area was thick as a cloud. The walls were dark—a contrast, she imagined to the white of the floor and the sunshine that would pour through that wall of windows.
He followed her as she wandered into the kitchen. It was a long galley style. Sleek, modern, and most likely never used. The island that divided the kitchen from the dining area stretched on forever. She could have climbed up on the granite and stretched her arms over her head and still not been able to touch both ends.
The dining table was just as long. Glass with metal legs. High-backed chairs ringed the table, ready and waiting for a party of twelve. There were more shelves in here. More photos. Some art, carefully colorful.
She glanced down the hallway but decided to stick to the main living space. In this dress, they wouldn’t make it out of his bedroom until morning.
It was cool, beautiful, just like him. It also felt a little empty, a little lonely. And she wondered if that too reflected the owner.
Aiden was watching her, leaning against the island and working his tie free. He slid the silk out of his collar and coiled the tie on the counter.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s very beautiful.” And it was. A showplace. She did not want to know what it was worth. Real estate in this part of the city was beyond astronomical. It would have been cheaper to build a summer home on the moon. But there was a lifelessness here, and it made her sad. The idea of Aiden coming home alone to the cool museum-quality beauty… She wondered if he felt at home here, if he ever relaxed here.
“Thank you,” he said.
She picked up a gilt frame. It was a photo of Aiden’s father behind his desk in an office, the city skyline outside the windows behind him.
“Tell me about your family,” she said.
“Why?”
“So, I know what I’m getting myself into with this gala thing this week.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Aiden wasn’t one to count on luck. Luck, as far as he was concerned, was a fickle bitch. Timing, preparation, and aggression usually worked more in his favor. But for some reason, that fickle bitch was smiling on him today. Frankie was in his home, making plans to step into his world.
All in.
“This is your first time in my place, and you want to talk about my family?” Aiden teased, stripping out of his jacket. He saw the hungry look in her eyes and reveled in it. Wanting, being wanted, with that intensity was new. And humbling.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered.
“Do you want one?” she countered.
“How about water for us both?”
She followed him into the kitchen and snooped through his refrigerator and pa
ntry.
“Well, there’s some actual food in here,” she said, sounding surprised.
“What did you expect? Bags of blood?”
“Ha, vampire diet. No, I mean, I wasn’t sure if you actually lived here.”
He eyed her as he filled two tumblers with ice.
“Of course, I live here.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you sleep here. But do you put your feet up on the coffee table? Do you make eggs at midnight on this fifty-burner stove? Do you pay bills and swear at the TV when the Giants are playing?”
Her definition of living fascinated him.
“I sleep here. I work here. Occasionally I eat here. I can’t recall ever putting my feet on the coffee table, but that might be because the designer referred to it as ‘priceless and one-of-a-kind,’ so that kind of billing most likely kept my feet on the floor.”
“Do you just lounge around in suits all the time, sitting up straight and counting gold coins?”
He laughed and handed her a glass of water. “Your mind is a fascination.”
She wandered back into the living room and flopped down on the sofa. She wriggled onto the cushion and then pulled her feet under her.
“This isn’t the most comfortable piece,” she complained.
“Your couch tries to swallow its victims whole,” he pointed out.
She studied him over the rim of her glass and sighed. “You’re just so perfect I want to mess you up and see what happens.”
“What’s wrong with me as I am?” Aiden asked, amused.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
He sat next to her and tugged her feet into his lap.
“I’m trying to wrap my brain around how we can fit together. Because if you think I’m going to prance around in sexy dresses and four-inch heels with my hair and nails done when we’re home alone, you’re going to be seriously disappointed.”