She looked appeased and acted it, snuggling closer.
“And she was good with you earlier? She seemed bolstered?” she asked.
“Told you that, baby. She’s a little freaked but she’s powering through it.”
Frannie started fiddling with the collar of his shirt, her eyes dropping to her fingers to watch.
“Also told you she feels bad about what she said to you,” he reminded her.
She lifted her eyes but kept her fingers at his shirt. “She shouldn’t.”
“I know you think that but that’s who she is.” He bent his head closer to her. “Before we go to the market, you wanna call her? Check in?”
Her eyes lit with a cautious light.
“Do you think she’d welcome that?”
He nodded.
“Then it would please me to do this before we go to the market.”
He gave her a squeeze. “You got her number in your phone, babe.”
She gave a short nod that time, rolled up on her toes and touched her mouth to his before she pulled away.
She went to her purse sitting on his island, its location meaning she was all the way on the other side of it before she spoke again.
“After I ascertain all is well, I’ll ask her opinion about the menu.”
Noc grinned.
His little schemer.
She could connive all she wanted.
Circe wasn’t going to taste anything either.
Hell, what he saw last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dax swept his dining-room table free of dishes and food, and Circe climbed up herself necessitating Franka and Noc giving them some privacy.
This meant he was doing his woman on the dining-room table that night.
If anyone was going to fuck there, it was going to be him and his sweet little schemer who broke the seal.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Happy?
Franka
“Not that one, the one you had on before,” Josette declared.
It was late the next afternoon and Jo and I were lounging atop Noc’s bed, Valentine standing at its side behind us, as Circe stood in the doorway of Noc’s bathroom having just shown us the third outfit she’d brought to wear for our dinner with Dax.
“I prefer the first, that little dress you showed us is very flattering,” I stated.
“I’d prefer not to be here,” Valentine murmured from behind us.
I rolled partially to my back and aimed a glower at her.
She visibly sighed and crossed her arms on her chest.
“Isn’t the dress too revealing?” Circe asked, and I looked back to her.
“Precisely,” I answered, and it was, though only legs, arms, shoulders, a hint of cleavage and nearly all of her back.
“It’s a dinner at Noc’s house, don’t you think it should be more casual?” Jo asked me. “This one seems, for this world, businessy.” She flung an arm out at Circe who was now wearing a slim skirt, a satin blouse and a rather becoming pair of what was known in this world as “pumps.” “The jeans and cute little blouse say confident and at home,” she went on.
“The jeans have rips in them,” I pointed out.
“It’s the fashion here, Frannie,” Jo returned. “You’ve seen it, surely.”
“I have and it’s beyond me,” I replied and carried on, “Why would anyone wear anything that was torn? It makes no sense. Furthermore, those jeans don’t go all the way to her ankles and they’re ill-fitting.”
“They’re skinny jeans and they’re cropped. That’s the way they’re supposed to be too,” Josette rejoined.
“And both, as well, are beyond me,” I asserted.
“Yes, well, Circe has a fine arse and those jeans do wonders for it,” Jo shot back. “Now, you also have a fine arse. So I suggest you put them on and saunter out to see how Noc reacts when he sees you in them. Then you can say it’s beyond you.”
She had a point. Circe’s bum looked spectacular in those jeans.
And although my legs, neck, mouth and hair were my best features (this I didn’t think because of conceit, but rather because Noc told me), I also had been made aware that I had a rather alluring backside (this Noc had demonstrated to me).
Perhaps the jeans weren’t a bad idea.
“That blouse,” Valentine stated. “With the jeans and those pumps. Undo at least one more button on the blouse, or if you feel you can carry it off, two. The thin gold necklace that comes to the point at your breastbone and dangles in chains that you were wearing when you arrived. The hoop earrings you wore with the first outfit. And for the love of the goddess, wear your hair down. You’ve an extraordinary face, neck and collarbone, but that hair should not be hidden. Not tonight.”
“By Hermia, that would be perfect, casual but still dressy as well as unique,” Jo breathed with keen approval.
I turned my gaze from Valentine to Circe, envisioning this ensemble in my head and thinking that Valentine was onto something.
Circe caught my eyes.
“I approve,” I declared.
Josette sat up in the bed, bounced on her bum and clapped, crying, “It’s unanimous!”
A sudden, alarming expression stole over Circe’s face.
I tensed.
She muttered, “I may be sick,” and dashed into the bathroom.
I looked only briefly to Josette then to Valentine before I pushed up from the bed and dashed after her.
I closed the door behind me as I entered to see she was standing before the toilet deep breathing.
I did not get close but I did not stop far.
“My dear,” I said softly.
She looked to me.
“I don’t know…” she shook her head. “I don’t know…” she repeated, drew in a breath then forged on, “It’s silly, ridiculous even. I saw him. I saw his face. The look in his eyes when he gazed at me. I saw. And I don’t understand.” She threw out her hands at her side helplessly. “Why am I so nervous?”
“Because you’ve been taught not to want anything at the same time being taught that every second of your life can only bring you to new levels of pain, so you’ve been taught not to hope,” I answered. “Now, there’s hope. More than hope, a promise. And it frightens you.”
“Yes, that’s it,” she murmured, looking to the toilet.
“Step away from there,” I ordered gently.
I watched her struggle to calm herself as she did as she was told and came closer to me.
I reached out and took both of her hands.
“I understand this feeling,” I shared. “Perhaps not precisely as you’re feeling it, but I can assure you, when the threat that was always looming from my parents was swept away, I could not find it in myself to comprehend how to live a life without that threat darkening every moment.”
Her fingers squeezed mine as she whispered, “I’m sorry for that for you, but I’m also glad to hear of it for that’s exactly how I feel.”
“Baldur is dead,” I reminded her, both necessarily and unnecessarily.
“I know this,” she replied.
“You have powerful allies, not only in this world, but in our old one.”
“I know this too.”
“I know you do,” I said. “And I know such abundance is hard to come to terms with when your life was so void of it before.” I tightened my hold on her and gave her a small smile. “I also know that you will come to terms with it. Alas, you need to go through these feelings you’re going through. But eventually it will either sink in or something extraordinary will happen to make you understand it to the depths of your soul.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Was it Noc that helped you understand that?”
I nodded. “Noc, indeed, most definitely. But also others. My brother. Valentine. Frey. But Noc was the catalyst for all that. He was dogged in making certain I saw myself for who I was, not who I was forced to be. And his efforts made me open to what the others were offering me. All of which showed me the me I was me
ant to be. And he was all that even before we became what we’ve become. He was that just simply being my friend.”
“He was in love with you from the beginning, you know.”
At this unexpected statement in the course of our discussion, I blinked as my body gave a start.
“He shared this with you?” I asked.
This time, she nodded, and it was then I noted that our time in that bathroom was no longer about me reassuring her. She was studying me closely, her mind intent on something that was not the arrival in two hours of Dax Lahn.
“He says when all that happened to you happened, he just happened to be the one who was there for you, and since he was in love with you, or on the path to just that, he was lucky that what grew of that was what you both have now.”
Although this delighted me, and troubled me, I dropped her hands and moved slightly away.
“With what you have with Noc, should you be sharing this with me?” I queried.
She shrugged one shoulder, her gaze still fixed on me. “Perhaps not, strictly speaking, as I’m his friend. But when I’ve not been making myself sick with nerves considering all that could go wrong tonight, I was thinking about his words, perplexed by them enough to find them disquieting. And they were disquieting enough I feel the need to share them.”
I understood her disquiet.
However, I did not feel comfortable discussing them with her.
Circe did not have the same discomfort.
“I shared that I understood very much what you might be feeling in finding a man like him in your life. He not only disputed it, he refused to discuss it.”
That was not troubling.
That was distressing.
“Are you aware he has these feelings?” she asked, and the tone of her voice made my attention sharpen on her.
Circe may have lived through much but she’d been sequestered, indeed actually imprisoned through most of it. She hadn’t lived in my world where, to survive, one had to become adept at interpreting every look, mannerism and intonation.
Thus she didn’t know she was not hiding from me that this conversation was not about Noc.
It was about understanding in her heart that I would see to Noc.
Thus I proceeded cautiously.
“I hope you understand that, with a man like Noc, not to mention your and my own relationship being new, that I’m feeling some discomfort discussing something with you I wouldn’t even discuss with Josette.”
Her look turned guarded when she replied, “Of course.”
“He’s mine,” I stated.
I saw her frame tighten.
I carried on.
“I’ll see to him.”
And I would.
And it would seem I needed to cease dillydallying and do just that.
She continued regarding me closely before her mouth softened and her eyes warmed.
“I’m glad.”
“Now,” I said crisply, making it clear we were finished with that subject, “are you to change now or wait for closer to when Dax arrives?”
“Now,” she answered. “If I wear this blouse, I need to redo my makeup because I’ve done it in bronzes and it needs to be pinks. That’ll take time.”
The blouse was a lovely shade of blush.
In other words, she was quite correct in that.
I began to move away, murmuring, “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Franka,” she called when I’d nearly made the door.
I turned back to her.
“I’m happy you’re happy,” she said. “And I’m happy you’re making him happy.”
I dipped my chin. “Allow me to return those sentiments with you and Dax.”
Her lips curved in a hopeful smile.
It wasn’t radiant, but as with any time hope made an appearance, it still had a magnificent gleam.
I returned it and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.
“Am I released from my enforced role as fashion critic?” Valentine asked the moment the door clicked.
“Indeed,” I answered.
She didn’t hesitate to stroll out of the room.
I watched her contemplatively as she did this, wondering if there was aught to be done about her heartbreak.
After she’d disappeared from sight, Josette began speaking.
“Back home, when one of the other maids had her heart broken, the girls would request free evenings. We’d then take her to the local pub, pour ale into her and help her find someone to bed her in order to erase some of the pain and remind her that her prospects were not limited to just the one who foolishly didn’t take care of the gift he’d been given,” she noted.
And in her noting this, I noted Jo was far more perceptive than I imagined (and I knew she was perceptive), for I had not breathed a word about Valentine’s predicament.
“I do believe that Valentine is not just one of the girls,” I replied.
“Too bad,” Jo muttered, looked to her watch and shot off the bed. “Glover’s to be here to pick me up in five minutes! I need to go check my hair!”
And with that, she darted out of the room.
Although happily available to give fashion advice, Josette had long since had plans with her Glover. They were going to a park and having a picnic, Josette’s request for their Sunday afternoon and evening. And Glover, who did not strike me as a picnic sort of man, had acquiesced.
Noc was not a picnic sort of man either but I knew he’d not delay even a second to give me that should it be my desire.
These were my thoughts as I walked into the kitchen to see Noc sliding the steaks we were to consume into some kind of container filled with some sauce that looked revolting but was making the kitchen smell divine.
“Shit,” he said as I appeared, and I focused on him to see him focused on me. “Not good you’re coming from Circe and you got that look on your face.”
“Circe will be attired charmingly and is quite all right,” I informed him.
His mouth quirked before he asked, “So what’s with that look on your face?”
“It has occurred to me I might be forced to actually like this Glover man for Josette.”
Noc burst out laughing.
I slid on one of the stools, enjoying watching him doing this at the same time deciding that it was most assuredly a day where an early glass of wine was in order.
I then watched him put a lid on the steaks, still chuckling, and continued watching as he turned to the refrigerator.
His manner was relaxed.
His expression was not content, not with that smile.
He was happy.
But as I watched, and did it closely, after having the conversation with Circe that I’d had, I noticed something for the first time. Something that my dearest love had so deeply hidden, the glimpses he’d given me of it had not penetrated my conscious. Something that made my stomach twist so violently, it was a struggle not to jump from my seat and rush to the bathroom.
Because what I saw was that it was not I who was convinced I had a midnight soul.
It was my love who was drowning in the darkness of what he thought was his.
* * * * *
I was impatient.
And angry.
What on earth was the man doing?
I didn’t care.
I’d had enough.
“Noc, my dearest, I’m worried about the potatoes,” I declared.
I sat with Circe at Noc’s attractive outdoor table that was made of iron and had striped pads. A Circe who had long, slender fingers to the stem of her wineglass, twisting it this way and that. A Circe who was sitting with me—alone with me—while the men stood by Noc’s gleaming steel grilling apparatus on the other side of what Noc called his “deck.”
Dax had been there precisely twenty minutes.
I’d counted.
And he’d said precisely twenty-nine words to Circe.
I’d counted those too.
The rest of the
time, he drank from the bottle of ale Noc had given him and chatted.
With Noc.
I stood as Noc turned his gaze to me.
“The potatoes?” he asked.
“Indeed,” I snapped, glaring at him, then at Dax.
I rearranged my expression to give a reassuring look to a visibly stricken (from fear at my leaving as well as taking Noc with me) and anxious Circe (making me consider magical castration or at the very least impotence if Dax didn’t pull his bloody finger out). Then, trying not to stomp (and failing in this endeavor), I moved into the house.
I did not go to the potatoes, which I was sure were roasting splendidly in the oven where Noc had placed them.
I went to the living room, whirled, put my hands to my hips and tapped my toe, watching Noc approach me slowly.
Noc got close and asked, “You okay?”
“No, I am not,” I stated the obvious.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
What was the matter?
Was he blind?
“That’s the matter,” I bit out, lifting an arm and pointing a finger toward the back of his house. “Dax has barely spoken to Circe. And, I don’t believe I have to impart this information on you, but I shall do it regardless, he’s not here to fall in love with you.”
Noc got closer and dipped his voice lower. “Babe, he’s playing it cool.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up. “It’s hardly time to do that!”
He got even closer, putting a hand to my waist, ordering sternly, “Calm down and keep your voice down.”
“You’re a very good cook, but I’ll also share that he’s not here to partake of your talents in the kitchen.” My voice rose again. “Circe is freaking!”
He did one of his eyebrows-raising-slow-blinks and asked, “Freaking?”
“Yes. Freaking. She’s being quiet about it but I can feel her unease.”
“Freaking,” he said again, his lips twitching.
Was I seeing what I was seeing?
My brows snapped together. “Did I miss something amusing?”
His lips were still twitching when he lied, “No.”
I couldn’t be dealing with Noc’s inappropriate humor.
I had bigger things to deal with.
“Speak with him,” I demanded.
Midnight Soul Page 50
