by J. L. Leslie
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “And that’s supposed to make it all right?”
“Yes.”
I laugh at that. “You are delusional, and so is she if she puts up with that crap from you.”
“Everyone has their own ideals of how a relationship should be,” he says with a shrug.
“Well, me being your mistress is not my ideal relationship. I told you to stay the fuck away from me, Julian.”
“You want to be the one with the ring.”
It’s a statement because I know he’s clear on what I’m saying to him. I don’t want to be the one everyone else in the world considers second-best. I am not a mistress or a sidepiece or any of those things. We both know that. We also know he can’t give me what I’m asking for.
“It isn’t about the ring. It’s about respect. If I say yes, and play into this whole mess of letting you get married, even if it’s fake and temporary and all that bullshit, what does that say about me?”
A sigh escapes his lips and I’m certain he’s going to spout out some answer that would almost convince me to give him another chance. An answer that would make a semblance of sense about this dilemma because he’s Julian Havoc and it’s what he’s good at.
“It would say you’re weak,” he admits. “And the Frankie Conn I know is far from that.”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walks past me, a defeated look on his face without saying anything else. Without looking in my direction. Without touching me.
I suppose the hunt is off.
Thirty
Havoc
I’m in a funk when I leave Frankie. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that my entire world is crashing down and that no matter what decision I make, the end result is inevitable. I fuck everything up.
All this for a redhead who I barely know. How is it that one woman is making me break all of my rules? I am the person who makes the rules, and I am the only person with the authority to break them. At least, that’s the way it used to be.
Who the fuck am I kidding? I’ve been abiding by my father’s rules my entire life. I pretend that I have the authority, the power, and in some ways, I do, but not when it comes to my own life. Only when it comes to exerting power over others.
I make the call when it comes to shutting down businesses and dashing owners’ hopes and dreams. I make the call to liquidate assets and buy out family franchises. I hold that kind of power.
I thought for a split second that I could exert that same power over Frankie. Thought I could flip the switch and show her the side of me that everyone else sees. Tell her she was my prey, because in all honesty, that is how I treat everyone else. They are minuscule human beings that I have no issue hunting down and taking what I want from them.
But not Frankie.
I’ve already shown her another side of me. I’ve already let her get inside my head and see parts of me no one else ever has. She will never be my prey. She’s already my equal.
Knowing I can’t escape this mood, I go to the one person who might be able to help me overcome it. Although I don’t always take his advice, he is always there to listen.
My uncle Giovanni is rubbing his eyes when he opens the door. I hadn’t even realized it was late until he curses me in Italian. Still, he beckons me to come inside.
“What’s on your mind, Nipote?”
“I have a dilemma.”
He smiles. “É amore!”
“No, it’s not love,” I argue. “She’s going to cost me everything, Gio.”
I sit down on his sofa, but I don’t relax against the cushions like I typically would. Instead, I bury my face in my hands and then roughly run my hands through my hair.
“And what is everything? Is niente! Nothing!”
“Niente? How can you say that? Even Madre knew how important it was to succeed in this life, and you can’t succeed without sacrifice!”
“I’m well aware of the sacrifices your mother made, Nipote! She would not want you to do the same! She would want you to marry for love and marrying that cagna is a mistake!”
Gio has called Anneliese a bitch many times, mostly to her face, and I’ve never taken offense. I don’t take offense now. It’s the fact that he’s right about what my mother would want that has me so upset.
“Too bad my madre isn’t here!” My voice cracks when I say this, the raw emotion getting the better of me.
My uncle gives me a few moments to get my shit together, knowing that if the conversation goes any further, I’ll lose it and me losing it is not a pretty sight. I get up and pace the room and when I feel like I can talk without lashing out, I sit back down.
“Have you ever considered trying to be friends with the woman? Amiches?” he suggests. “It does not have to be all or nothing.”
The thought never crossed my mind. I don’t have female friends. Come to think of it, I don’t have any friends, period. I have acquaintances. People who run in the same circles, but no one I consider an actual friend. I don’t trust anyone.
I simply know that I want Frankie in my life and my approach isn’t working. Having a friend might be a foreign concept to me, but at this point, I’m willing to try absolutely anything for this woman ‒ even friendship.
Thirty-One
Frankie
I pick up a tomato and give it a light squeeze, feeling the firmness in my hand before placing it into my basket along with a few others. This is my favorite part of the day. Well, one of my favorite parts.
I love coming down to the market and picking out fresh foods to try new recipes on. I also love walking through the door at home and hearing Rory, Makaila and Seth laughing as they tell Claire and Kyle about their day, which usually involves some sort of fiasco. It’s hard to believe Claire and Kyle are entertaining the idea of a fourth child.
I wonder how many kids Julian and I would’ve had together?
Holy shit. Where in the hell did that come from?
Shaking my head, I keep shopping and come across a rather large zucchini. I pick it up, my eyes going wide and my mind going wild at the innuendos I know my sister would have to say about the size of this thing.
“Are you having dirty thoughts about a zucchini?”
I recognize the deep voice in my ear instantly and my cheeks heat crimson. I put back the dildo-sized zucchini and avoid making eye contact with him.
“Christ, it would put me to shame,” he says with a chuckle. “Green just isn’t my color.”
“Would you stop?” I ask, exasperated.
“I’m not certain how.”
I roll my eyes. “You just don’t speak anymore and if you see me, you don’t approach me. It’s very simple.”
“It’s impossible.”
“It’s really not. Before you met me, you did it without issue.”
He grabs my arm. “But now, I’ve met you.”
“Julian‒”
“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, does it?” he asks. “I fucked up, Frankie. I get that, I do. Can I at least attempt to earn your friendship?”
“You want us to be friends?”
I stare at him incredulously. Nothing about this man screams that he craves friendship. He’s independent, closed off, and borderline rude. Well, somewhat. I know he can be different. I’ve seen it.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Honestly? Yes. You don’t seem like the type of man to worry about silly friendships.”
“Frankie, nothing about you is silly.”
Of course, he says this with such sincerity that I can’t help but to smile. He isn’t joking or playing around. He means it and it’s nice to know that he’s genuine.
“I don’t know that I have it in me to be your friend.”
I can be sincere and genuine as well. It may not be the answer he wants to hear but I have to be honest with myself. What he did, the way he lied to me, hurt me more than anyone else ever has. How can I possibly be friends with someone who put me through such pain?
<
br /> “I know that I don’t deserve your friendship, but I’m asking you to take pity on me.”
Claire will hate this. Kyle will, too. I will most definitely hate myself if I agree. It will be the biggest game of pretend, and I’ve said I am no good at playing pretend. Is it weak of me to want him in my life any way I can have him?
I almost convince myself that befriending him is not a mistake. That I’m strong enough to handle it and that I should take him any way I can get him. Then, I remember I’m stronger than that.
“You can’t have your cake and eat it, too, Julian.”
Thirty-Two
Havoc
All I can think about is fucking cake. The thought of cake enters my mind first thing in the morning, keeps me awake at night, and has made me a walking disaster for the past week. I listen to her record on repeat, but it doesn’t abate my craving for her.
There is nothing in this world as a craving for something you are told you cannot have. Frankie made it clear. I cannot have her. Not on my terms anyway.
Shit, I’m not even certain what my terms are. Get married and have Frankie on the side? Have her at my beck and call anytime my schedule is free enough for me to see her for an hour, maybe two?
She is worth more than my spare time. Worth more than being some dirty secret I keep hidden. Worth more than what I gain from marrying Anneliese.
Damn her for destroying everything.
“Mr. Havoc, your ten o’clock has arrived,” Daysha says as she comes into my office with a second cup of coffee for me.
When I spoke with her about the reservation debacle, she was adamant regarding the date she was told. Said Anneliese even called to confirm it. Of course, neither her nor my father would admit to giving Daysha the incorrect date. I’m not firing my assistant over some bullshit.
“Thanks. Send him in,” I say.
Adam Triton walks into my office, file in hand, and I can tell from his expression that he doesn’t bear good news. He slides the file across my desk.
“Mr. Deviline will agree to your terms,” he states, and I almost let out a sigh of relief. “However, due to your newly applied stipulation, he made an additional one as well.”
I flip through the agreement and my heart skips a beat when I see the added notation. I fold the papers back over and angrily toss the agreement toward Adam, the contents of the file scattering to the floor. He calmly bends to pick them up.
“An heir? Is he fucking senile in his declining health?”
“You may not divorce Anneliese prior to providing a male heir, and that heir must take the Deviline name so as to continue their bloodline.”
“And how in the fuck would I even guarantee that a son is born? I’m not God.”
Adam shrugs. “I asked the exact same question, not in those precise terms, and apparently, he firmly believes there are medical procedures that can be performed to tip the scales in favor of impregnating Anneliese with a male child.”
I tap my fingertips on my desk. “Is it possible for me to acquire the business if I don’t marry Anneliese?”
“It would require a hostile takeover, and from what I can tell, his board is very loyal to him, even in his dire straits. He has contingency plan after contingency plan. If the wedding does not take place, he has board members and advisors who will assist Anneliese in running the company. She won’t be allowed to sell to you, your father, or anyone affiliated with HLS, not that I imagine she would want to.”
“I’m not sure this is all worth it,” I mutter to myself.
“I understand your concerns, Mr. Havoc,” Adam replies. “I know you’re aware of the financial gain, but I’ll remind you. If you acquire the hotel chain and partner with HLS, you will be the most successful company in all of New York with the option to expand globally.”
“And if I don’t partner with HLS?”
“You still have an extremely successful hotel chain to operate,” he says. “And you’ll be married to a beautiful heiress in two weeks.”
I give him a slight nod and tell him to leave the agreement. Once he’s gone, I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts. My finger hovers over Frankie’s name, knowing that I can press the screen to call her, but she won’t answer.
Why does it feel like she’s the only one who has the answers I’m seeking? I can marry Anneliese, acquire a lucrative business, and help grow the one my father built from the ground up into something more spectacular than it already is. It’s what he expects and what he’s counting on. He’s already made plans to go global with HLS.
It won’t cost me everything, and some might say gaining all of that, with a son to share it with, is a substantial return that I shouldn’t turn my back on.
But I will lose Frankie. I will lose something that finally matters to me.
Fuck, I never really had her to begin with.
Thirty-Three
Frankie
I laugh at the sight of Rory and Makaila wearing oversized aprons as they stand on footstools to mix cookie dough. Seth sits at the end of the counter, his nose in his phone, pretending he has no interest in baking cookies even though I see his eyes stray to his two sisters every once in a while.
The kids had an early dismissal from school, and I offered to pick them up. Kyle is working and Claire is with Bobby picking up a supply order. This is the best medicine for a broken heart.
I keep promising myself I will stop thinking of Julian. I’ll stop coming in from work and going straight to my room to wallow in self-pity as I watch romance movies where the girl always gets the guy. I’ll return Ryan’s calls because there is absolutely no reason I shouldn’t.
“It’s ready!” Makaila calls out, adjusting the strap of the apron.
I know Makaila is only ten years old, but she already has a passion for cooking. For Rory, it’s all fun but Makaila wants to see the outcome and she enjoys the process just as much. She’s exactly the way Claire and I were when we were that age.
“Are you sure you have enough chocolate chips?” I ask, and both girls nod enthusiastically.
I bring over two cookie sheets and smile as Makaila sprays them with cooking spray without me telling her to. Then, she shows Rory how to place small scoops of cookie dough onto the sheet.
“You shouldn’t eat raw cookie dough,” Seth pipes up from his spot on the counter as Makaila licks the spoon. “You can get Salmonella poisoning.”
“We won’t get salad poisoning!” Rory argues, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“It’s Salmonella. You know what, never mind. Eat your stupid cookie dough.”
“It’s not stupid!” Makaila shoots back. “Emmy is stupid!”
My nephew shoots off the counter, pointing his finger at his younger sister. “Don’t you talk about her, you little brat!”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” I quickly intervene. “No one is getting salmonella or salad poisoning, and no one is stupid, especially not cookie dough.”
“Emmy said we’re poor, so she is stupid!” Makaila yells and throws a glob of cookie dough at Seth.
He picks it up and heaves it back at her. “Stop going through my phone!”
He stomps from the room, pushing the back door open and going outside in a huff. I pick up the ruined cookie dough and toss it in the trash bin.
“First off, who is Emmy and how do you know she said that?” I ask Makaila.
“She’s his girlfriend,” Rory answers, making a kissy face.
“No,” Makaila corrects her. “She texted him and said she couldn’t go out with him because we’re too poor.”
My jaw ticks in annoyance. Seth is defending this little girl who is obviously a superficial idiot. “How do you know she said that?”
Makaila blushes. “His phone was on the table.”
What is it with this family and cell phones? After telling her not to invade his privacy like that again, I go outside to talk to Seth. I chuckle when I see that he’s throwing rocks at the dumpster.
“Mom
and Dad have already told her to stay away from my phone. She’s jealous she doesn’t have one of her own.”
“And you think your parents are too poor to get her one? Or is that what Emmy believes?” I ask.
“She isn’t old enough for one. I didn’t get my phone until I was twelve.”
I pick up a rock and throw it, making contact with the dumpster. “Why would this Emmy girl think you’re poor?”
He shrugs. “Because we are.”
I don’t have a parental bone in my body, so I’m unsure how to handle this conversation. When it comes to my nieces and nephew, I have always tried to be honest with them. If they ask me a question, I answer it. How do I explain to a fourteen-year-old in a society where money is everything, that it doesn’t matter?
“We aren’t as well off as some people might be, but we’re doing okay.”
“Emmy’s mom works at the bank,” Seth says. “She said until my family is financially stable, she can’t talk to me.”
“Look, that little twat doesn’t know what she’s missing out on. If she wants some guy that comes from a shit ton of money, chances are, they aren’t limiting themselves to the Emmys of this world. If she wants someone great, that’s you.”
“Twat, huh?” he asks, laughing.
I throw my arm over his shoulder. “She most definitely is. Just between us. Listen, don’t ever let someone make you feel like you aren’t worthy, Seth.”
He tosses down the rocks in his hand, and we head back inside. “Make sure you take your own advice, Aunt Frankie.”
I smile at him as he holds the door open for me, but my smile falters when I realize Rory and Makaila are not alone. Julian stands beside my youngest niece and grins down at her as she shoves a chocolate chip into his mouth.
Yeah, I should definitely take my own advice.
