Family Affairs

by Pamela G Hobbs

  Frankie, avoiding his gaze, took a gulp of wine, peeled a slice of laden pizza from the box and began eating.

  Dev reached for the other wine glass on the counter, assuming it was filled for him. As he sipped the much-needed alcohol, he studied the woman opposite him, sitting on the high counter stool. Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders and her eye make-up looked smudged, giving her an incredibly sexy appeal. His T-shirt just about covered her body and he hoped the pizza guy didn’t get an eyeful.

  He selected a slice of pizza, his eyes on her face trying to gauge her mood, but she seemed too hungry to want to discuss anything just yet, so he ate his first piece in two bites and started on the second before she’d so much as looked at him. Frankie finished her slice and reached for a second as Dev started on yet another.

  Frankie cleared her throat. “Worked up an appetite?” she asked as cool as you please.

  Dev practically choked as he swallowed the crust. He took a quick swig from his glass of red wine and, placing it carefully on the counter, looked her in the eye.

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry.”

  They both spoke at once and in spite of the tension that was now distinctly hanging in the air, Frankie’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

  “What do you have to be sorry about? I launched myself at you without giving you time to decide if it was what you wanted.” She paused, admitting quietly, “I was so nervous you’d try to be sensible and push me away.”

  Dev walked around the counter and had to force himself to keep his eyes on her worried face. Her long legs were crossed at the knees and one trim ankle was gently swinging right in front of him. Her legs were smooth and tanned and toned from her running. All he could see, all he could instantly feel, was those legs wrapped around his hips as he drove into her, all thoughts of restraint gone, all thoughts of her needs, vanished.

  He was mortified.

  She uncrossed her amazing limbs as he walked towards her. He reached for her hands and, bringing them to his face, kissed her gently on each palm. Looking straight at her, he knew what he said next was hugely important if she was ever to give him another chance.

  “I am so sorry, Frankie. You didn’t deserve what happened in there. I have no excuse except . . .” He stopped. Dev watched her face as she took in his attempted apology.

  “Except?” she prompted, obviously unsure where this conversation was leading and probably unsure she even wanted it to continue.

  “Come here.” He tugged on her hands and drew her to the big couch.

  The evening light was dusky and everything was in shadow. He briefly thought of switching on a lamp, but maybe the semi-darkness would help him to face his demons and keep him on track with what he knew was going to be truth time for him and maybe, ultimately, the end of his relationship with Frankie. Jesus, he hoped not. But the time had come for absolute honesty.

  Especially after his disastrous performance.

  She settled herself on the couch, legs tucked under her and T-shirt pulled down over her thighs. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped in front of him. Frankie raised an eyebrow but said nothing when he stood up abruptly and went to refill their respective glasses.

  “Here, you may need this,” he said, handing her a glass as he sat down again on the old table. He took a taste of the wine, anything to put off the moment, and just as suddenly put the glass behind him. “I had no excuse for behaving like an animal . . .” he began and she instantly interrupted him.

  “Dev, don’t be crazy – you weren’t—”

  “Please, Frankie, let me say this,” he asked, and she stopped and waited for him to continue.

  Where to begin? How to tell her things he’d kept inside so long – feelings he never imagined would actually be acted on, not really? Certainly never said aloud. And yet . . .

  “I don’t know if I’m going to make things worse or if what I’m about to say will help us move forward, but here goes.” His heart had slowed and he knew to pace himself. “You’re so beautiful. And famous. And rich. And even though those things are part of you, I also know what else is there. I know you. I’ve known you since the very first day we met. I know what makes you tick. And you know me, too.

  “Do you remember the Instamatic camera you bought me at a jumble sale in St Patrick’ school the second summer you were with us?”

  Frankie nodded.

  “My parents hadn’t even realised my interest in photography, but you had. You noticed. You saw I was always framing things in my head, moving items to get a better composition, flicking through photography mags. And I remember finding you a copy of As You Like It at the school bazaar and saving it to send to you in California that Christmas. Do you remember? You were at Enzo’s.”

  Frankie nodded again, her eyes intent on his face.

  “We connected, Frankie, more than the others. I know Caro’s probably your best friend and you love Moll, Ali and Flynn. But us? We know each other. And I know that for you, that connection was just friendship and that this summer, we . . .” he paused, “no, I’ve taken it to another level when maybe it’s not what you want.” He raked his hands through his hair. “But when I saw you in such pain, such anguish, all the feelings I’ve kept a lid on over the years couldn’t be contained any more.

  “I tried to be respectful of what you had with Stephen – God, I feel like a shit – I was so damn jealous of a dead man, Frankie, you have no idea!” Dev reached forwards and tugged one of her hands from her folded arms, holding it in his. “No, don’t say anything yet,” he said as she started to speak, “I have to finish this. I’ve always wanted you, Francesca Jones, since that Valentine’s Day when you wanted me to send a card to Caro. When was that? Over fifteen years?

  “And no, I wasn’t pining away in some back room – I knew I didn’t stand a chance against all those Hollywood types and celebs, but I also knew what you were doing, where you were touring, who you were seeing and what project had you enthralled. I always felt I had to keep an eye out for you, kind of watch over you, from afar. I went to every opening night I could – I’d find myself taking assignments in whatever part of the world you were working, just to be near you, to make sure you were safe. Cared for. Minded.” Dev paused and looked down at the hand clasped in his.

  Frankie squeezed it gently. “You do realise, Devlin Fitzgerald, that you sound awfully like a stalker?”

  Dev’s eyes flew to hers, the blood draining from his face. “You don’t think – you can’t believe – I mean, you . . .” He fell silent as that possibility, that he could be construed as her stalker – one he’d never before considered – struck as cold as day. “No. No. You can’t . . .” He was actually stuck for words. All he could do was stare at her.

  Frankie leaned forwards and, pulling her hand from his, gently placed it on the side of his face.

  “No, Dev, I never, ever thought it could be you. Never. I promise.” She smiled at him tenderly. “You always sent me daisies, before every opening, whether a movie or a play, wherever I was. That single gesture touched me so much – it was like my good luck charm, my talisman. I missed it for Street Car, Dev. Why did you stop?”

  Dev lifted her hand and, kissing her knuckles, closed his own around it. “It was just too much. I’d heard about your engagement to Stephen and yes, I did some checking to see if he was as decent as he sounded.” He smiled ruefully at her. “When you’d dated before or even had a proper boyfriend, I could ignore you moving on and leaving me – or what I thought of as our relationship. But Stephen?” He shook his head. “That was serious.

  “Pictures of your engagement ring were on every bloody tabloid and there was one of the two of you – I think it was in Hello! magazine from some charity event – and it . . . it just knocked the stuffing out of me. You looked so, I don’t know, content?” He looked at her. “Were you? Content, I mean?”

  Frankie was humbled by what Dev was saying. Was she really that sel
f-centred that she never saw him as a possible suitor – that he was simply Dev, her brother? Hindsight is marvellous, really, a great leveller when it comes to deciphering feelings and seeing clearly. His honesty was scary. It was also brave. Was it time for her to be brave, too? To be honest?

  “Dev, I—”

  “No,” he stopped her again. “I don’t mean to shut you up – well, I do, in a way, but mostly I want you to trust me. I know that might be hard considering I basically devoured you in the most selfish and teenage way, but I’m asking you to give me another chance.” He reached over and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You’re every teenage boy’s desire.”

  “Dev!”

  “And you’ve always been mine,” he continued. “And yet, when my opportunity to seduce you actually happened, I then go and act like the proverbial bloody teenager and for that I’m truly sorry. Believe it or not, I do know what sex is all about; though you may not have gathered as much by my performance earlier.” He grinned ruefully. “What I’m asking for is another chance.”

  Frankie squirmed uncomfortably on the couch. “There’s nothing to apologise for,” she said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes. “It was lovely. Fine. Very nice.” She stopped as, taking a peep at Dev’s face, she saw his eyebrows rise with each description. Oh, God, she was making a mess of this.

  “Ouch!” He slapped a hand over his heart but had the grace to laugh as she became more flustered. “Babe, if you’re satisfied with that kind of sex, you haven’t been doing it right.” He pulled her up from her sitting position. “Let me show you,” and he tugged her behind him back into the bedroom.

  Oh, God, no – her worst nightmare. Dev, being Dev, would now want to shower her with patient, tender lovemaking – he’d be sweet and, damn him, slow. This wasn’t how she operated in times like this – she needed fast and, well, uninvolved sex, to get through it. This was a disaster. She had to put an end to it. He was about to find out she was, to all intents and purposes, sexless. It wasn’t that it was awful – she wouldn’t have sex with a guy if it was – she just wasn’t very . . . engaged with it. It was pleasant. Nice, even. Comforting at times. But never, ever, any bells and whistles, fireworks or “screaming his name aloud” moments. They were for romance novels, pure and simple. They were for other people. Oh! sweet divine, she thought, I’m about to disappoint the one man who could potentially be “the one” – this was not going to end well.

  “Stop.”

  Chapter 14

  Dev turned and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck.

  “Stop,” she repeated, breathier.

  Dev pulled back and looked at her quizzically. He’d heard something rather definite in her tone.

  “Babe?” He brushed her hair back, tucking that wayward strand behind her ear again.

  “We need to talk.”

  Shit. The four most dreaded words any man gets to hear – and they were coming from the woman from whom he least wanted to hear them.

  Shit.

  Dev noted her sombre eyes and almost pinched mouth. This was serious. On a selfish note, he figured he could say goodbye to another quick romp. But in reality, Dev wasn’t a selfish person and his radar was telling him Frankie really did need to talk.

  And he was all over that.

  “Come here.” He tugged her closer to the bed and, letting go of her hand, he shook out the rumpled duvet and laid it back on the bed. Then he gathered several pillows and propped them against the headboard. Patting the space next to him, he crawled across the bed linen and settled in, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Frankie eyed him cautiously.

  “I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay. Come here.” He patted the duvet again and promptly folded his arms to prove his point.

  Frankie slowly climbed on the bed and scooted up to sit next to him – side by side, so she couldn’t see his face. The last thing she wanted was to see his face when she told him what a freak she was. God, this was difficult. She could actually feel her energy drain as she mustered the nerve to tell him the truth about herself. Okay, so maybe she didn’t need energy to tell him some raw personal facts, but it would take courage. Lots of it. Who knew being freakishly bad at sex was a challenge to bring up as a discussion point? She should’ve taken classes. Gah! And procrastinating wasn’t helping in the “mustering the nerve” department, either. She took a deep breath and borrowed from the standard athlete’s codebook – just do it.

  “Dev, this is very difficult for me. I don’t know where to start.” She twisted her hands in front of her.

  “Easy for me to say ‘at the beginning’, but I think maybe that’s the problem. Let me help.” He reached out and gently took one of her hands in his, loosely linking fingers. “Is it about sex?”

  She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks – so, energy back but courage waning, it seemed. She nodded.

  “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to have sex with me again?” God, he hoped, really, really hoped, she wasn’t going to say yes.

  “Yes.”

  Fuck. Or not, as it turned out. He needed to explain things better. That was all. Apologise once more. Prove he could do better – though that did include actually having sex a second time. Not what she wanted it. Try again . . .

  “Frankie, I know this wasn’t good for you – I’m not that blind or stupid and all I can say is I’m so sorry for being selfish . . .”

  “Will you stop saying that!” Frankie yanked her hand away from his. “This is bloody typical. Why can’t you just let me explain and be done with it? Stop trying to fix the unfixable as if saying sorry enough times makes everything okay. This isn’t about you, or your performance, or lack thereof, as you keep insisting.”

  He winced but managed to stay quiet.

  “This is about my problem.”

  There. Now she’d admitted she had a problem. She wondered briefly if there was a daily meeting for people with her specific type of problem. Probably. There were meetings for everything these days: syndromes, allergies, addictions . . . Whoa! Frankie realised she was going off on another track, deliberately, in order to stall her little “chat” with the man waiting patiently, or at least relatively patiently, next to her. She took a deep breath.

  “I’m not . . . I mean, I really don’t do . . . Damn it, Dev, this is hard!” She turned to face him, breaking her self-imposed rule of not looking at him while she spoke. “And it’s embarrassing,” she muttered, looking down at her hands as his eyebrow quirked again.

  “This is me, Francesca Jones – nothing you say will change how I feel about you. Nothing. I’ve seen you act the part of the back end of a donkey, remember – not much is more embarrassing than that, now is it?”

  Frankie snorted. “Beast!” she said, whacking him on the arm. “I was fourteen years old!”

  “Still, back end of a donkey trumps embarrassing sex in my book.” He took her hand again. “Speak. And no judgement here, I promise.”

  “I’m just no good at it.”

  “At what?”

  “Sex!” she almost wailed.

  There was silence.

  Then Dev said, “I need more than that, babe.” He seemed intense.

  “I suck at it, okay? I never really enjoy it. I even dread it at times. And I can’t satisfy a man properly. Or myself.” The last was almost a whisper.

  Dev looked worried. Oh, God, Dev looked worried. She was right – he wasn’t taking this well – she should have kept her big mouth shut – oh nooo. Frankie could feel those internal knots ever tightening . . .

  Dev felt his stomach wrench. What had he missed? She’d genuinely seemed turned on by their kisses, by his touch, and, damn it, she was the one who launched herself at him!

  “So what was earlier about? When you kissed me. Was that an act?”

  In spite of his best intentions, he could feel himself getting angry. At what he couldn’t rightly say, but he felt . . . cheated, maybe. He’d wanted her to want him. He hadn’t realis
ed how badly till she just admitted she in fact didn’t really enjoy “it” or, putting it bluntly, him. He pulled away from her and felt a horrible coldness creep through him. Was it only a half-hour ago when he was wrapped around this beautiful woman feeling like his dream was finally fulfilled? Had he been fooling himself? Had he in some way, unintentionally, forced her?

  Jesus.

  Frankie couldn’t bear to look at him as she felt like the biggest fool ever. Why, oh why, hadn’t she just done what she always did, what she did best – acted?

  “Please, listen to me, Dev.” She reached out to touch him but he pulled away. Christ, that hurt. But she had to try again. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  He snorted. “That old chestnut! Really? Come on, Jones, you can do better than that.”

  “Shut up and listen to me, then! And no, I wasn’t acting earlier – I have feelings for you. Ones I don’t want, truthfully. You’re a complication I so don’t need right now but, well, here we are.”

  He’d turned his head to look away but watched her again when she mentioned her feelings for him.

  “I kissed you because I wanted to – I want to have sex with you more than I’ve wanted anything in, well, the longest time. I’m telling you all this shit now because I don’t want you to think you’ve done something wrong, not when I know for a fact that you didn’t fail me – I failed myself. As per bloody usual.” She sighed deeply. “Dev, I have a problem. I never talk about it to anyone – you’re the first – and the only reason is because you mean so much to me.”

  “Is it physical or emotional?”

  Dev was starting to cool down, putting the brakes on his emotions, and was actually trying to listen – he’d promised no judgement and what was the first thing he did? He was a hot-headed, rash idiot at times, so of course he judged. He could surely tell by the pitch of her voice that she was close to tears and he’d also know that this wasn’t some pithy “brush-off” but something of serious concern to her.