by Haley Jenner
The judgment dies in his eyes, one of pity replacing it, and I don't know what's worse. To be judged or to be pitied.
"He'd be in town for a week, sometimes more. Then he'd go away for work. Or back up to the Hamptons where he and his family lived. Yep, you heard that right." I tip my bottom lip out in disgust. "He has kids. Two. Teenagers. I was a homewrecker. Whether it was a conscious decision or not."
Frenchie stirs between us, front legs pushing his little butt into the air before he straightens to amble onto Luca's lap. I watch my dog, curled up in Luca's comfort and I pull the closest cushion to my chest, hugging it tightly to search for the same feeling.
"You found out? Or she did?"
I feel bad him referring to her as she. Really, that was me, wasn’t it?
"I still don't think she knows. I think this part of the story hurts the most, which makes me a special kind of sick."
Stretching an arm along the back of the couch, he waits quietly for me to continue. I lift my own arm, playing with the leather bracelet at his wrist.
"I stumbled into their anniversary party. Talk about divine fucking intervention. Right place, right time. Or wrong, take your pick.”
Threading my fingers along his, I hold onto his hand, needing some form of promise that he still sees me for who I am, and not who Brandon made me.
“He saw me,” I grit through my watery smile, remembering this horribly broken moment in torturous clarity. “He looked through me as if I was nothing. We were engaged.” My chin wobbles, and rolling my lips, I attempt to stop it. “He never had any intention of marrying me, clearly. But worse, I was less than nothing to him. Someone I had promised my heart to, looked at me with such indifference, an onlooker could be mistaken for thinking we’d never met before. I guess, in reality, we hadn’t. Not really.”
I twist the thick band he wears on his thumb, round and round, watching the cool metal move along his tan digit. “He looked at her with so much love, like she was his everything, his reason for breathing,” I whisper. “Problem is, he used to look at me exactly the same way. But how could he?” I look at him with questions in my eyes, begging him to give me the answers I’ve longed for. Imploring him to put me out of my misery and give me some indication of what the fuck happened.
“Trying to find reason in his actions ain’t gonna bring you anything but more pain, baby. Trust me. A person’s actions are reflective of who they are on the inside. Awful as it sounds, it’s got fuck all to do with you.”
I swallow deeply, letting his words settle inside of me.
Pushing up, he squeezes my hand. “That’s a good thing, Frankie. He’s a piece of shit, he’s proven that. Don’t let his selfishness take any more of who you are in here.” He touches my heart, tapping once.
“Love makes you question your self-worth,” he surmises, and for the briefest of moments, he’s not here with me, instead thrown back to a time he likely doesn’t care to remember. “It’s not worth it, not in the end.”
Exhaling as he finds his way back to the present, he smiles at me sadly. “Your value is higher than how long someone can love you for, or how deeply. You’re more than what someone else is willing to give you. Truth is, Frankie, when it all comes crashing down, you’re left with nothing but shredded dignity, and a memory of your self-respect once looked like.”
My heart aches with the picture he paints about the one thing people search their entire life for. “Love yourself, Frankie,” he assures me, the belief in his words absolute. “Know you’re worth everything you do for you. You can’t trust someone else to give away who they are in order to offer up your happiness on a silver platter. They’ll lose theirs in the process. Only you know what you truly want out of this life, what makes you happiest. Let that be your guide. I promise you’ll find the peace you’re looking for.”
That might very well be one of the most dismally poetic things anyone has ever said to me. And it came from Luca St. Kelly. The Thor lookalike that fucked me nice and dirty in a seedy bar, who sleeps on his too-small-for-his-giant-frame couch to let me stay in his apartment, who refuses to take discounted or free pizza because he doesn’t want to take a cent away from a working mom.
“What’dya do anyway? When you found out?”
Forcing a smile, I have the audacity to look a teeny bit ashamed. “Legged it home… right after I keyed the word ‘cunt’ into his brand new Audi and trashed our apartment.”
Lips twitching, he raises an eyebrow, cautious intrigue painted over his face. “By trashed the apartment…”
Tongue dragging along the top line of my teeth, I smile awkwardly. “Spray-painted ‘cheater’ all over his walls, you know, the usual.”
“I knew it.” He lets his full grin take force. “You’re totally fucking crazy.”
I work to hide the discomfort the term brings. Fuck, Brandon left way too many messages accusing me of just that after I left.
“I like it.” He shocks the hell outta me by stating and I bend at the waist, laughter taking over my body at realizing he’s right.
I’m crazy.
Totally fucking mental.
But he likes me all the same.
Chapter Eight
Luca
"Were you reading a porno mag?" She smirks, closing the front door behind her. Angling her body, she attempts to look at the book I slid under the pillow.
"Who has porno mags nowadays?" I feign indifference. "Also, would you use the term read? No one cares that Candy likes long walks on the beach and watches romantic comedies in her spare time."
Hands on her hips, she rolls her eyes. "I'd more imagined that Candy's bio would read ‘Can deepthroat, isn't opposed to anal. Hates having her hair pulled but is down for choking.’"
I fail at disguising my grin, ducking my face, all the same, to shield her from the hunger that spurs within me at hearing her throaty voice reciting phrases like deepthroat, anal, and choking.
Down boy, I telepathically communicate with my cock.
"Fine," she continues. "Were you looking at a porno mag?"
"No," I answer truthfully. "Porn hasn’t really been a need for me of late.”
That pauses the next comment balancing on her tongue, her face changing with a curtain of uncertainty. She reads into my offhanded comment too far. Truth is, she's been keeping my fantasies alive well enough. Porn is a poor substitute for the thoughts she fires in my mind. She doesn't see that though. Blinded by ill-placed jealousy, her thoughts wander to me with other women. I should reassure her. But in the end, who does that help? Not our friend routine that's for sure.
"What'chya doin' here anyway? Shouldn't you be holding Darci's hand?"
She nods, waving me off that the same time. "She's fine. Better than. Casanova is texting her incessantly, she's grinning like a giddy schoolgirl about to be fucked by her principal. It's creepy watching your sister preening to fuck. Especially considering Mom and Dad are in the same room."
I laugh at the picture she paints.
"You heading over to hang with Bennett and the boys?"
Throwing my feet off the bed, I stand, dropping my glasses onto the bedside table.
“Are those glasses?”
I glance up. “Huh?”
Walking toward me, she looks around my body. “You wear glasses?”
Rubbing my eyes, I nod. “When I read porno mags,” I lean forward to whisper, my lips coming dangerously close to her ear.
Her body shivers, but she pushes me away on a bark of laughter. “Piss off.”
“Yeah, I’m heading to Ben’s shortly.” I move past her. “Just settling Griff then I’ll leave.”
“Who is Griff?” She walks over to the chest of drawers she’s managed to claim two of, reaching in to triumphantly pull out a nude colored bra.
Raising an eyebrow, I stare at the material hanging from her hand.
“Only bra I could wear with the dress Darci’s picked out.” She tucks it under her arm with a shrug. “But again, who the fuck is G
riff?”
Shaking my head, I look down to the little honey-colored dog following me around the apartment. “I know. You’re right. She doesn’t know you at all. It’s worse than I could’ve anticipated. Of course I’ll adopt you.”
Moving over to my pal, she scoops him up, earning herself a lick along the jaw. She giggles, nuzzling into his neck to whisper complete garbage I can’t even be sure are words.
“His name is Frenchie.” She hands him to me, turning back toward the door. “And I don’t care how much he loves you, he’s mine.”
I scoff. “Frenchie is a ridiculous name for such a manly dog. He and I discussed it, he’ll only answer to Griff going forward.”
Flipping me off, she disappears through the door on a sing-song note that she’ll catch me later.
I look at Griff and he looks at me. “I told you. She’s crazy.” He lets out a tiny bark, the sound more like a grumble and I sigh my agreement. “All right, pal. She’s right, I do need to go.” I walk over to the couch, dropping him down. “I’m taking you to Mick’s. He’s excited to hang. I promise I’ll pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.”
A little cry breaks from his sad face, the ultimate feeling of betrayal turning his body to give me his back. “I am sorry, buddy,” I apologize, throwing my jeans off to pull on my black jeans. “I wish I could take you as my plus one. I promise if I’m ever fucking mental enough to consider tying myself down forever, you’ll be my best man. I’ll even try and find you a date of the canine kind.”
That little half bark, half grumble filtering over from the couch as I throw a black shirt over my head. I chuckle at the irritated sound. Stuffing my feet into socks and my boots, I grab my jacket. “Let’s go, Griff.”
He jumps from the couch, pushing past me as he shuffles to the door. “Bit over the top, dude.” I eye him, tucking my wallet and cell into my pocket before scooping him up.
He sits as far away on the bench seat of my truck on the ride over to Mick’s, not even looking my way as I dropped him and went on my way.
“Yo!” I yell out, walking into Bennett’s house without knocking.
“In here,” Jake yells and I follow their voices into the kitchen.
I’m met with a chorus of ‘hey mans’ and chin lifts.
“Fabio, I was wondering where you were.” Toby’s arm stretches across my shoulders, pulling me into his body.
All the boys are here, all in varying stages of readiness.
Archer fully dressed in his suit pants and shirt, reading over a sheet of paper, a crease of concentration on his forehead.
Jake’s hands dance along his guitar, his head bobbing up and down with thought before his palm hits the strings to stop the sound. His suspenders and bow tie both undone, the buttons of his shirt secured up to his neck, hair messy around his shoulders.
“Why you only in your boxers?” I look at Toby.
Eyes closing in mock irritation, he pats my cheek. “I don’t feel the need to be confined by a suit until just before the nuptials. I’m a free spirit, Luca. You should try it.”
A large chunk of ice hits him in the chest, and he scowls over at Archer’s smirking face.
“Whiskey?” Archer offers.
Lifting a chin in agreement, I step from Toby’s embrace, moving toward the counter.
“Luca, buddy, you’re here.” Bennett wanders into the kitchen, pants on, missing a shirt, his hair in disarray.
“Weird seeing you without the James Dean.” I shake his hand in greeting, a smile packed firmly onto my face.
Patting his disheveled hair, he chuckles on a sly grin.
“Anything to do with the dirty texts you’re sendin’ your betrothed?”
“I knew it,” Toby yells. “I fucking knew it. I told you he was sending fuck me texts to Darc.”
Jake smiles, laying his guitar down to take the amber liquid Archer offers him. Bennett’s grin only widens, his hand grasping hold of the whiskey bottle to take a deep swallow.
“Isn’t there some rule about seeing or speaking to your bride before the wedding?”
Everyone stops, eyeing me with disbelief. “Didn’t say I believed it, usually women tend to read into that superstitious crap.”
“Seeing them in person, yes, hence the reason I was restricted to my cell.”
“You dirty fucker, you two just had phone sex.”
My phone chimes, yanking it out of my pocket, Frankie’s name lights up my screen. Reading her text, I laugh, loudly.
“Frank said you’re dead to her. That she’s scarred for life.”
The wickedness of Ben’s grin intensifies, his hand coming up to scratch the heat shading along his neck.
Reaching over Archer takes my cell from my hand, reading the text before laughing.
“What?” Toby looks between us.
“Frankie walked in on Casanova and our blushing bride in the middle of an ex-rated video chat.”
Shrugging, Ben takes another deep swallow of whiskey, handing the bottle to Toby, who looks to him lovingly. “You’re my hero. Can I be you when I grow up?”
“My eyes have been murdered from the sick shit you and Willow send one another. You’re all grown up, trust me.” The horror in Archer’s voice is comical and I don’t hide the laughter that chokes on the whiskey in my throat. Slapping me on the back, Archer grins, handing my phone back.
“Romeo, we gotta be at the chapel in twenty. Go get dressed” —looking to Toby he shakes his head— “you too.”
Piling into Archer’s Jeep, I lean forward to grab Bennett’s shoulder. “How you feeling?”
Twisting in his seat, he smiles. “On par with the best day of my life. Couldn’t be happier, brother.”
The warm affection in his words settles the ghosts in my stomach and I swallow the horrible feeling wanting to choke me alive.
“Hippy, pass me that whiskey,” I bark louder than necessary.
No one reads into the bitter demand of my words. Gulping three heavy mouthfuls of the aged amber liquid, I let the smoke in its taste slide down my throat in tranquility. Lifting my head, my eyes hit Archer’s in the rearview and I smile tightly, ignoring his silent questions. Handing the bottle of whiskey back to Toby, I readjust my jacket, staring out the window, but seeing nothing as we drive to the chapel in relative silence.
White roses line the pews of the chapel, greenery framing the unmarred beauty of the flowers. Ben moves with purpose down the aisle, sights on the minister standing at the altar.
“Frankie, Eméli, and Marie are on their way,” Jake reads a text aloud.
Nodding, Archer steps away from the rest of us. “I’ll let Bennett know.”
“Frankie’s singing for Darci as she walks down the aisle. It’s a surprise, Darci doesn’t know.”
“Sweet.” I look to Jake with a smile. There’s a reason the guys call Bennett, Casanova. He’s all about Darci, about making her feel cherished, adored. No one else would or could ever exist except him. The way every romance depicts its hero. Unconditional love; the story every fairy tale has consisted of for centuries.
“You good?” Jake taps my shoulder and I shake from my thoughts.
“Yeah, man.” I punch his shoulder just as the door of the chapel opens.
Glancing over my shoulder, I do a double-take as Frankie comes into view. Completely oblivious to my dumbfounded state, she skates down the aisle with purposeful elegance.
She’s beautiful. Fuck. Even that doesn’t gift her the justice she deserves. Francesca Walker is a goddess, her beauty belonging in another realm, one unreachable by us mere mortals. She’s in a league all on her own, and she doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue.
Body encased in a tight white material that sticks to her like a second skin, her shoulders are bare, showcasing the delicate line of her collarbone. Dress hugging the gentle sway of her hips, it cuts off below the knee. Her arms are covered down to her wrists and as subtle as the sexiness is in the limited skin actually showing, all it screams to me is sex. Wild
, rough, dirty sex. Her hair is pulled back high on her head, messy waves of her ponytail falling down her back. She glides on fuck-me heels like a supermodel and while I know I’m gawking, I can’t pull myself away.
She chances a quick look my way as she passes, her gaze flying back.
“Hey.” My voice cracks.
“Hey,” she breathes back.
Arrested by our stare, the rest of the world drops away. Gone is the chapel, the small baby sleeping in her arms, Jake at my side, Marie at hers. It's just us, a world created by the snare we're caught up in.
"You look beautiful," I admire, tender desire dripping along the rough catch in my throat.
She smiles shyly, her teeth pushing into her plump bottom lip, currently painted in a shade lighter than her skin tone.
"Frankie." Her name echoes in my ears and I know I should shake myself back into reality, but I can't find the power within me to do so. Bennett does it for me though, moving to stand in her direct line of sight, completely unaware of what he just interrupted.
She jolts at his presence, forcing a large grin on those painted lips. "I should throw holy water over you before I hand my niece to you," she teases, covering the bustle of feeling coursing through her in the same way it is in me. Peering over Bennett's shoulder, her eyes seek mine out for a split second before focusing back on our oblivious groom. "Lucky it's your wedding day, and all has to be forgiven."
Leaning forward, his lips touch her cheek and my fist clenches on its own regard, jealousy surging through me. He couldn't even savor the touch. Relish in being able to feel her soft skin against his lips. Taste her always subtle but intoxicating scent. Feel the electric flutter of her heart, pulsating in her neck in excitement. It seems such a waste. A criminal injustice to not appreciate Francesca Walker the way she deserves.
Offering one last lingering glance, she moves away with Bennett, handing his sleeping daughter as he gestures toward the piano taking up residence on the altar.
"What was that?" Jake's hand falls heavily onto my shoulder and swallowing the storm of warring thoughts and desires in my mind, my head shakes in easy dismissal.
