“So, you’re telling me…” I twist in my seat so I’m fully facing him. “All that stuff celebrities use in those fashion and fitness magazines are just spokespeople pretending?”
“Yep.”
“The hair color that comes in that convenient box?”
“Lies. They go to Rodeo Drive to get their hair done.”
Devastation floods through me. “Luscious Locks Shampoo? Because I’ve been specially ordering it—”
“Guaranteed they wouldn’t be caught dead using that cheap shit.”
My brain is struggling to process. This whole time, I was living a lie, thinking by using the same products, eating the same glorious meals that I was just like them. I can’t—I won’t bring myself to ask about Richard. That one has to be true. Who wouldn’t want Richard to get them in the best shape of—
“What’s going on in that little squirrel brain of yours?” He’s eyeing me curiously again. I get lost in the way my skin pebbles with a layer of goose bumps when he blesses me with his quirky side grin for a second time. It’s rare I see the laidback side of this man, and when I do, I want to savor it.
Married. He’s married. Don’t look at him, Frannie!
“Earth to Francis,” he says, urging me on.
My lips part to conjure up some lie, far from my actual thoughts, which are denial that famous people don’t also love tuna in a can and how my mind suddenly wonders how delightful it would be to have those full lips pressing against my own.
My stomach decides in that moment to growl something fierce. My hands fly to my belly, also waking a sleeping Chandler. “My goodness.” My cheeks flush with embarrassment that such a horrific sound came from inside me.
“Shit, you’re hungry,” he says, the seriousness back in his voice. Long gone is the easygoing smile I truly hunger for. Wait, no. I don’t hunger for it because he has a wife. That’s her smile to salivate over.
“No, it’s fine, we can—”
“We’re stopping. I need to feed you. Plus, we need to find a place to clean up and rest. Our next call is in an hour anyhow.”
I don’t argue because, now that I think about it, I am truly starved. We missed lunch since we were too busy fighting off bad guys and time must have gotten away from us, with all the road games he surprisingly was compliant in playing.
Luca pulls off at the next exit and takes a left into the parking lot of a decent sized hotel with a fancy steak restaurant attached. He parks at the end of the lot, away from other vehicles, and turns off the car. “I’m going to go finagle us a room. Can you do what I ask for once and just sit tight?”
I nod, but my legs are already itching to get out of the car and roam. I spotted a cute little antique shop next door. Chandler is doing circles in my lap, needing to go piddle. “Am I able to take Chandler to do his business?” And take a peek into that shop, I say in my head.
“Yeah. Just don’t go far. Cool?”
“Cool.” I nod. I can do that. Don’t go far. He watches me for another second or two before nodding back and taking off toward the entrance.
“Luca?” I call for him and he halts, turning around as I climb out of the car. I should have stayed seated because when his eyes capture mine, I sway on my feet. My heartrate picks up, but I manage to ask, “Did you need a wingman for this one?”
His brows lift with amusement, but he shakes his head. “Nah, I got this.” And turns around and disappears through the revolving doors.
I sigh, disappointed he didn’t say yes. I’m starting to quite enjoy these little games. My list of IOUs is getting a bit out of control, though, as I look down at my battered dress and gasp. How did I not realize how ruined it was? My intimate parts are barely covered! What would his wife think of me running around with him in this state?
“Oh dear heavens. Chandler, what a minx I’ve become!” I earn two yaps. I try pulling at the front of the dress to cover my nearly naked breast, but it doesn’t help. My cheeks blast crimson at the thought of poor Luca having to sit there while I looked so brazen and unkept. I tug on Chandler’s leash and walk to the back of the car and pop open the trunk. It takes a few tugs since a bullet hole damaged the lock and search through my suitcase for a change of clothes. My heart stops a beat when I move aside the extra leotard I grabbed and spot a yellow patch of material. My lungs constrict and a single tear forms and falls over my lid, cascading down my sun-kissed cheek. Reaching inside my bag, I pull out Momma’s yellow dress.
“I grabbed it. I…” I can’t finish my own thought, bringing it to my chest and hugging it as if it were my own momma in my arms. Memories of her twirling around in it, holding my hand. Us laughing and being ridiculous. Singing, playing. All the simple things in our life that still managed to bring us both so much joy. In this dress, she was always happy. On those unlucky days when sadness would make its way into our home, those days she fought to get out of bed, I’d find the yellow dress. I never knew what the symbolism of it was. But it made her happy. Sometimes it made her just as sad. But when she wore it, an aura about her shined. It was as if it gave her life. As if she was wearing a happy memory.
I never did ask her why she loved it so much. I felt it was something that was meant just for her. Kind of like how Mabel used to always tell me her secret cookie recipes were her own business and not for anyone else to steal. When Momma died, I wanted her to be buried in it. I felt it would give her peace as she made her way to heaven. But when the day came, I couldn’t let it go. I remember Beatrice begging me to let her in. It was time to go and they needed the dress to bury her. But I lay in my bed, wrapped up in it, refusing to let it go. If I let them take the dress, I’d be letting them take away everything I had left of her.
And selfishly, I never did. Mabel, being Momma’s best friend too, chose a replacement. One Momma always wore to church and promised me God’s door would open wide for her, no matter what she wore. Because she was a true angel.
And when we said our goodbyes and they lowered her into the ground, I hugged myself, tears fogging the last moments I’d ever see her again. And I stood there, wearing her yellow dress, feeling the sun warm my skin. Knowing she was looking down on me. She was proud. She wanted me to feel the happiness she always felt in it.
The thought of my house burning to ashes carried no weight compared to the loss I’d feel of losing this dress. My grip tightens and I press my face into the worn, yet still soft material and I cry. Of grief or joy, I’m not sure. Time takes no pity on the aching heart. It doesn’t allow us to heal, before resuming our everyday lives. It’s already been a year, but it always feels like just yesterday she left me. I wonder if she crossed over those gates okay. If she’s with my father. If together, they’re watching over me. Are they proud of me? More tears shed at the ache inside my chest. The emptiness. The loneliness. I miss her so much. I even miss a man I’ve never met. If I could just turn back time. Maybe catch the signs sooner, I could—
“Hey, little squirrel. You okay?” Luca’s soft voice breaks into my pleading thoughts. I lift my head away from the soaked dress and quickly gather my wits.
“Of course. Something’s in my eye.”
He doesn’t fall for my con, but surprises me when he steps forward, raising his open palms to my shoulders. His touch is light yet comforting. “I know this isn’t easy. But I won’t let anyone hurt you. I fucking promise. I’ll find the answers you’re looking for. We won’t stop until we get them, okay?”
It’s almost impossible to fight the urge to throw myself into his arms and shed any tears that remain. Just like the damsel falls into the arms of her knight in shining armor as he prepares to save her. But I steady myself and slowly take a breath, knowing this is far from a fairy tale. He’s someone else’s Prince Charming. Instead, I nod and take a step back, needing the space between us.
He waves a plastic card. “I got us a room.” His expression is kind. Gentle. “You can go in and shower first. I’ll walk Bingo and wear him out so we can grab some food.”
A small smirk fights its way through my sadness. “His name is Chandler Bing.”
“Sure. Whatever you say. Go change.” There’s a struggle in his eyes, but they lose, and his vision drops, a small grumble erupting up his throat. He covers it up with a fake cough. “I’ll, uh, just be outside.”
My cheeks flare, reminding myself of my state of dress. Chandler yaps and without making any more eye contact, I grab the key and head toward the rooms.
“Frannie?”
I turn, hearing him use my shortened name. Is he going to ask me why I was really crying? Ask me to allow him in the room with me? Kiss all my sadness away? Possibly take my virginity, which I would be willing to offer him? “Yeah?”
“One-oh-four. It’s the other way.”
Confusion. “What?”
He stares at me, as if he’s trying to crack open my soul. His hands now shoved into his jeans pockets, he also seems fidgety. As if he wants to make the same requests. Instead, he points in the opposite direction I was currently heading.
“The room. It’s the other way.”
Right. Room. Me going to it. Alone and with my virginity intact. Lordy, Francis. Get it together. He’s a married man. I nod, and without further self-embarrassment I turn the other way and scurry to our room.
Making my way outside, the sun is still high in the sky, feeding the humidity and heat. I cover my eyes to search out Luca, when I see him. He looks handsome with his hands shoved into his pockets and a crooked grin on his face. His hair is wet and he smells nice.
“Wow, you clean up nicely,” he says, taking longer than a true gentleman would to admire a lady. “The dress looks beautiful on you. Really brings out your eyes.”
“Thanks,” I kindly reply. “It was my mother’s.”
“You, uh… Wow, look great. Certainly not like someone who’s been kidnapped by a con and on the run.”
I can’t help but smile. Even after laying our cards on the table, he still manages to crack a joke and make me laugh.
“You too. Do I want to know how you showered since I was in the room the whole time?”
His shoulders rise in a carefree shrug. “A true con will never tell.” My lips perk up and a small little giggle slips out. “Now, let’s go get some dinner.” He sticks out his hand for me to take it, and with a short pause, I entwine my fingers through his. For the con, of course. Not real. He leads the way toward the restaurant.
As we get closer, a small wave of excitement starts to swirl inside my belly. “So, what’s the plan this time? Are we stealing a credit card? Holding up a waitress to give us someone else’s food? Maybe pretending we’re the cooks and making anything we want?”
Luca’s chuckle is food for the soul. I could just feast off that alone. “No. I haven’t thought of it just yet. Figured we get seated first.”
“What can I do? Should I make a scene? Pretend I’m choking and you can steal someone’s plate?”
He tugs at my hand, causing me to fall into him. His fingers slip out of mine, only to wrap his arm around my waist. “How about you just look pretty as you already are and let the con do the con work?” He winks at me, and I barely hold my posture as I trip over my own two feet. He catches me, his grip tightening and cocooning me into his chest. My nose presses into his chest, and shamefully I inhale, the smell of fresh soap assaulting my nostrils. “Forget how to use those two feet?” He chuckles, steadying me on my feet. I want to continue to hide my face so he doesn’t see my flushed cheeks. Ever since he walked through my door, or bashed through is it more like it, my body has been introduced to so many unfamiliar emotions. The tingles, flutters, hot, cold. I’m confused at what it all means. One thing is for certain, I think I’m attracted to my kidnapper. And it’s all his fault because he’s a shameless flirt.
“Cat got your tongue?”
I forget he’s waiting for a response. I muster up the strength and ignore the feelings I may inappropriately be having and step out of his warm, inviting hold. Mentally I sigh in disappointment, because it felt nice to be so close, but then smack myself for slipping back into my improper thoughts. “Actually no. You said we were in this together. Which means I’m also a con.” I double regret pulling away when the sound of his laughter reverberates across the parking lot, wanting to feel the vibration against my nipples. Lordy, pull it together. “Laugh all you want, but I’m a con too. I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well.”
His arms cross over his stone chest, his lips spreading into a curious grin. “Do you now? And what’s your plan, little squirrel?”
I’m unsure if I approve of this little nickname, but certainly approve of the way his eyes eat me alive as he stares at me waiting for my answer. Visions of him doing things, such shameful things with those eyes, his hands, Lordy, that tongue that just stuck out of his mouth wetting his sexy bottom lip. Wait. No. He has a wife! “Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
Shoot. I’m losing it. I’m hungry. It’s because I haven’t eaten that my mind has gone rogue. This is not a romance book, Frannie. Get it together. He does not want to devour you piece by piece because he has someone already. “Stop trying to take control, is what I meant. If we’re in this together, we do the cons together. Or I’m out.” More laughter. Shoot, I need to stop that tingling thing.
“You know you’re my captive, right? You can’t be out.”
“Well, I won’t be compliant.” I would be if—
“Babe, you have yet to be compliant. What would be the difference?”
Babe? I pretend I didn’t hear that pet name—for his wife’s sake—and completely ignore the flutters in my belly. Ugh. He’s winning this. I stick my chin up with confidence in my tone. “I want to do the next con.”
“Which is?” He smiles.
“Dinner. And I get to choose how it happens.” I’m not sure what will happen next. He may laugh at me and allow it. Or he may drag me back to the room and tie me to the bed and go feed himself, which would be a shame because I’ve never eaten outside of Teterboro diners and I would love to try something new.
To my surprise, he unlocks his arms and puts his hands in the air in surrender. “Fair enough. You win, Con Master. Show me the way.”
Wow! “Really?… I mean. Yes. Let’s go.” This time I grab his hand and continue to walk. Luca doesn’t say a word but maintains his humorous smile as I drag him through the doors of the steakhouse.
Once we enter, I’m thankful that no one is at the hostess booth. Releasing Luca’s hand, I sneak behind the booth and scroll through the reservations sheet. Memorizing a few last names and table numbers, I take note of the time they arrived and which ones should soon be completing their meals. Three tables are hitting two hours. Bingo.
I step out of the booth and peek my head into the main dining area. Table one is still eating dessert. Table two sipping on final drinks. Table three. Voila! I wait for them to retrieve their jackets and walk away when I hurry over to the table and take a seat, grabbing the billfold holding the receipt and tip. I quickly skim the room for a waitress in another section and grab her attention.
“Excuse me, miss, my parents just left, but we forgot to place an order to go for the rest of the family. My brothers refused to get off their butts and stop playing videogames to come eat. Boys, ya know? Anyhow, I need to place an order to go, and just throw it on the same card.”
She eyes me annoyingly. I slip the fifty-dollar bill stuffed in the billfold out and wave it at her. “A huge tip is in it for you if you hurry. My brothers can be tyrants if not fed.”
Her eyes light up at the money.
“Sure thing, what can I put in for you, miss?”
Shoot. I grab the menu and hurry to give her some items. Unfortunately, all items on the menu are unfamiliar to me. Nowhere in Teterboro serves chateaubriand steak or lobster frittata. “Umm… I would like…”
“Sister, there you are. Chandler is getting really aggressive. You need to hurry.” My head whips to Luca, who’s now nex
t to me taking the menu out of my hand. “Hmmm… Let’s make this fast and easy. Two Guinness burgers, fries. Throw in an order of your Prosciutto and pea farfalle.” He turns to me. “Do you think they want duck? They may be sick of eating duck.” I open my mouth to attempt an answer, but he doesn’t wait for my reply. “Yeah, you’re right. No duck. Let’s just stick to the calamari and bruschetta. Oh! And let’s not forget dessert. Chandler sure gets yappy when he doesn’t get dessert. Right here. We’ll take a slice of the chocolate ganache cake.” Luca hands the girl the menu. “And please hurry. I’ll write in a fatter tip if you make this quick.”
She nods and rushes with our order straight back to the kitchen.
I turn to him, my voice hushed. “This was my con.”
“And I know the signature look when someone gets stuck. You were stuck. I saved you.”
My eyebrows crease, ready to give him some lip for interfering, but he in turn wiggles his brows back at me. “Partners, remember?”
The waitress sure wanted that big tip because she was handing us two hefty to-go bags in under twenty minutes. Luca adjusted the tip on the receipt, giving her a hundred-dollar tip. This allowed her to forget the fifty I was holding, which we pocketed. I took a mental note of the name of the receipt to write an IOU for, and we walked hand in hand out of the restaurant.
When we finally make it back to our room, I’m famished. I have no idea what he ordered, but it smells divine.
While I grab the plastic cups by the coffee maker for drinks, Luca lays out our feast.
“This looks amazing. Too bad I have no idea what this all is.”
He gives me that quirky side eye. “You’ve never had a burger before?”
“Pfft, I’ve eaten a burger, mister. It’s a household staple. But what is that?” I point to the little fried rings.
“These? Calamari? You’ve seriously never had fried calamari?”
Conheartists Page 8
