by Lucy Score
Chapter Thirty-Two
“It’s so good that you met Frankie when you did,” May was saying as she helped herself to another glass of wine. “Her eggs are only a few years from drying up.”
“Ma!” Frankie looked more annoyed than aghast. “Would you shut up about my eggs? We literally just started dating. Aiden could be an axe-murdering clown.”
“He’s not an axe-murdering clown!”
“How do you know?”
“He brought flowers and wine. Clowns don’t have manners like that.” It appeared that no one could argue with May Baranski’s logic, Aiden decided.
“I appreciate your faith in my character, Mrs. Baranski.”
“Call me, Ma.”
“Ma!” Franchesca covered her face in her hands, and Aiden hid his laugh behind his beer. “Why don’t you just write him into your will already?”
“As soon as there’s a ring on your finger, I will,” May challenged with a stubbornness that had clearly been passed down to her daughter.
“So, Aiden. What do you do?” Hugo’s attention span had expanded since The Price is Right had ended.
Frankie gripped his thigh under the table. She was sending him a silent message, but unfortunately for her, it was intercepted by his cock.
He cleared his throat and took a sip of beer. “I’m in business, too.”
When she snorted next to him, Aiden brought his hand to the base of Frankie’s neck and squeezed.
To him, a business was a business no matter how many employees or office buildings it laid claim to. Frankie’s father wanted to be his own boss and provide a service for the community. Aiden could appreciate and respect that.
“Dad, Aiden is COO of Kilbourn Enterprises” Frankie explained. She didn’t sound like she was bragging. She sounded like she was apologizing.
Marco whistled. “Damn. You own entire city blocks downtown.”
May’s eyes widened and she reached for her wine glass. “Franchesca, may I see you in the kitchen?”
Aiden and Frankie shared a glance.
“All the food’s already on the table, Ma,” Frankie pointed out.
“Now.” May’s tone left no room for arguing.
Aiden felt the dull throb of the headache that Frankie had promised him begin in the base of his skull. Here it comes, he thought. There wasn’t a mother in the world whose eyes wouldn’t light up at the thought of her daughter landing a Kilbourn.
Frankie squeezed his thigh and followed her mother into the kitchen.
“What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?” May Baranski yelled from the confines of the kitchen.
“Uh, Ma likes to think the kitchen is soundproof,” Gio said.
“You’re probably going to want another beer,” Marco predicted.
“You might as well get us a round,” Hugo sighed. “Sorry, Aiden.”
“Should I go in there?” Rachel wondered.
Marco’s arm landed on her shoulders. “It would be a danger to the baby, believe me.”
“Gotten myself into? What the hell, Ma?” Frankie yelled back.
“He’s a millionaire,” May said. “You can’t handle a husband like that.”
“I hate to break it to you, Ma, but you probably have to change that ‘m’ to a ‘b,’ and I’m not looking for a husband. He’s a nice guy. We’re having a good time.”
No one in his entire life had described him as a “nice guy.”
“You’re thirty-four years old, Franchesca. Just how long are you going to wait to settle down?”
“Until I find the right guy, Ma! Not all of us get lucky and find our soulmate in junior high.” Apparently, Frankie thought the kitchen was soundproofed too.
“He’s from another world! You can’t expect to be an equal partner in that relationship!” May shouted.
“Ma! Do you think there’s any man on the planet I’d let treat me like less than?” Frankie demanded.
“I don’t like this, Franchesca. Not one bit. It’s one thing to be friends with Pru, but dating a man who owns half of Manhattan?”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating? Me? I never exaggerate!”
“She always exaggerates,” Rachel said, smiling sympathetically at him.
“Hey, Aide,” Gio said suddenly. “How you feel about the Knicks?”
“The Knicks? I think they have a shot at the semis if not the finals this year.” Aiden was grateful for the rope.
“Me and Marco have an extra ticket for the game Tuesday. You wanna go?”
Aiden tried to remember the last time someone invited him somewhere that wasn’t related to business. He couldn’t come up with anything.
The shouting from the kitchen reached a crescendo. “He’s a nice guy that I’m not marrying, Ma. Chill the hell out.”
“Don’t you swear at me, Franchesca Marie!”
“You’re the one acting like a crazy person in front of a really nice guy that I like a lot.”
“I’m not acting crazy! I’m making sure my daughter isn’t getting in over her head with a crowd that runs too fast! What if he wants you to go to Monaco or St. Barths? What if he gets you hooked on drugs? All the celebrities need rehab, you know.”
“Jesus, I’m not thirteen, Ma! And Aiden isn’t hooking me on drugs.”
“I don’t want you losing your focus on your degree for a handsome face with deep pockets.”
“Mother! All you’ve talked about since I was twenty-two was me getting married.”
“I meant to a nice guy from Brooklyn who could offer you a family and a nice home within a three-block radius of our house. Not some kajillionaire who would treat you like some trophy.”
“Oh, I’m not a trophy?” Frankie demanded at full volume.
“I thought you said you weren’t marrying him?” May demanded.
“You know how I operate! You say no, and that’s what I want to do!”
“Tuesday would be great,” Aiden said.
“Awesome,” Marco nodded.
“Meet at the Garden?” Gio suggested.
“Works for me,” Marco nodded.
“Me, too.”
“Who’s gonna sneak in there and get another round of beers?” Hugo wondered.
“Oh, my God. I’ll do it,” Rachel said, pushing back from the table.
“Be careful in there, babe,” Marco warned her, no longer as concerned with the welfare of their unborn baby since beer was on the line.
Rachel headed down the hallway supporting her belly.
“Everyone can hear every word you both are saying,” she announced.
“No, they can’t,” both Baranski women announced.
“Yes, we can,” the Baranski men insisted from the dining room.
“See what you did, Ma?”
“Me? You’re the one who brings a trillionaire to lunch!”
“We can still hear you,” Gio yelled.
“No, you can’t,” May insisted.
But the yelling ceased, and after a few stage whispers from down the hall, Frankie, Rachel, and May reappeared. Frankie and May had topped off their wineglasses.
Rachel was juggling four beers that she doled out at the table.
Aiden guzzled the last of his beer and reached for the fresh one. “This roast is delicious,” he announced.
Marco snorted and choked.
“We’re so happy to have you here to enjoy it,” May said, smiling sweetly.
Frankie flipped her brother the bird.
Marco flipped it back but not before his mother caught him. May got out of her chair and walked casually behind her son, and just when his shoulders seemed to relax, she cuffed him on the back of the head.
“Manners!”
“Frankie started it,” Marco argued.
Frankie flipped him another bird.
“See, Ma? Look!”
Frankie picked up her fork and ate innocently. “Ma
rco, you’re hallucinating.”
May slapped Gio on the back of the head on her way back to her chair.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“I saw your finger twitch,” she pointed out. “It was a preemptive strike.”
May sat down primly. Frankie and her brothers watched carefully, and the second the woman’s attention was on her plate, three middle fingers shot up around the table.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. When did you all turn into assholes?” Hugo sighed over his plate.
“What? What did they do?” May demanded.
“Nothing,” the three Baranski siblings announced.
“You sure you want to deal with this?” Rachel asked Aiden from across the table. “There’s still time to get out.”
Aiden turned his laugh into a discreet cough.
“Don’t try to scare off the trillionaire. He’s Frankie’s last shot at non-test tube babies,” Marco joked.
Aiden shot Marco the finger, and the table erupted in laughter. Except for May. She very calmly got out of her seat and smacked him upside the head.
“Ma!” Franchesca was horrified.
“I don’t care if Aiden is a trillionaire. No one flips the bird at my dinner table!”
As soon as she glanced down at her plate, six middle fingers shot up.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When all was said and done, Frankie had to drive Aiden to her place in his car because he’d had one or three too many with her dad and idiot brothers. He was a sweet drunk, complimenting her on her braking and turn signals the whole eight blocks back to her place.
Frankie slid the key in the lock and gave him a push into her apartment. She dropped her keys on the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes. “Well, that was eventful,” she announced.
“I couldn’t tell. Did I pass?” he asked, sliding out of his coat and hanging it neatly on the dubious coat rack that leaned like the tower of Pisa.
“Pass what?” Frankie asked, fishing two glasses out of the cabinet in her kitchen.
“Your parents’ inspection.”
She laughed. “My mother hit you upside the head. That’s a gold star seal of approval if there ever was one.”
“That’s not what it sounded like from the kitchen.”
Frankie handed him a glass of water and some ibuprofen. “You heard that, huh?” She curled up on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her.
Aiden flopped down next to her and stared at the pills in his hand.
“Go on. They always give me a headache,” Frankie joked.
“You’re very thoughtful,” Aiden said, smiling sweetly at her.
She indulged herself and ran the fingers of one hand through his thick hair.
He leaned back against the couch cushion and closed his eyes. “Feels good,” he murmured.
There was something irresistible about tipsy, vulnerable Aiden.
“Do you really care if they like you?” she asked, wondering if he could be playing her.
“Of course I do,” he said, lolling his head to one side to study her. “If they’re important to you, they’re important to me.”
“Did you and my dad sneak into the bourbon?” Frankie asked.
“Only one or two times,” Aiden said, listing toward her. “Hey, you know what I heard some people do on Sunday afternoons?”
“Buy small countries?” Frankie offered. His head hit her in the chest and she continued the slow stroke of her fingers through his hair.
“Ha. You’re funny. I heard some people nap.”
She closed her fist in his hair and gave a tug until he was looking at her. “Have you never had a Sunday afternoon nap?”
“Sure. When I was like three,” he smirked.
“Sunday afternoon naps are the best. And if rich people can’t take them, I don’t ever want to be rich.”
Aiden nestled into her, his face pressed against her breast. “Will you take a nap with me?”
“Take your shoes off, Aide,” she told him.
“’K.” He shoved his Ferragamo loafers off, and they hit the floor one at a time.
“Are you always this adorable when you drink?” she teased, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch to cover him.
“I drink too much,” he murmured. His eyes were closed.
“You do?”
“Self-medication.”
“I’ve never seen you drunk before,” Frankie pointed out as she adjusted the pillow behind her.
“I don’t like to get sloppy,” he yawned.
“You’re not a sloppy person,” she agreed.
“Hey, will you come to a dinner with me this week?”
“Where?” she hedged.
“At some museum. It’s a reception for a nonprofit. My mom is on the board.”
“Your family will be there?”
“Mmm-hmm. Everybody. Even that asshole Elliot.”
Frankie laughed softly. “I’m gonna have to pass.”
“Why?” he sounded disgruntled.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aiden. It’s better if we keep our relationship… private.”
He lifted his head and looked at her frowning. “But I just met your family,” he pointed out.
“I know. But that’s different. I don’t think I should dabble in your world. Okay?”
It was all temporary, and she didn’t want either one of them to forget that. Meeting her family was one thing. It drove her mother batty. Mission accomplished. If she met Aiden’s family, it would be making a statement. And she wasn’t really a statement kind of woman.
“I wish you would. I liked meeting your family, and mine doesn’t hit as much.”
Frankie laughed again. “That just means Ma really liked you.”
“Even though I’m a trillionaire?”
“She wouldn’t have smacked you if she didn’t like you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Despite her better judgment, Frankie dropped a kiss to the top of his head. His hair was soft, silky to the touch.
“What do you use on your hair?” she asked.
“Mmm, stuff. Can we sleep now?”
“Yeah, we can sleep now.”
His arms came around her waist, and he was out like a light in seconds.
Frankie tried not to think about how good this felt. A Sunday nap on the couch with her sexy boyfriend. It wasn’t real, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel damn good.
She woke slowly in stages to a gentle stroking. She knew without waking that it was Aiden’s hands in her hair.
“Mmm,” she sighed.
“I can’t remember the last time I took a nap,” Aiden murmured.
Somehow, they’d shifted during the nap and Aiden was now spooning her and stroking his hand through her thick, wild hair.
“You are missing out,” she said, giving herself over to the luxury of a whole body stretch.
“I had no idea just how much,” he said, his lips moving against her ear. She wiggled back against him and felt the reward of his exceptional hard-on.
“Do you always wake up with wood?” she asked.
His hand slid down to capture her breast through her sweater.
“When I wake up next to you I do.”
He sounded sleepy but sober. And there was something irresistible about his lips moving over her hair, her neck.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider coming to dinner this week?” he asked, his hand squeezing the tender flesh of her breast.
“Mmm. Meeting the family? Facing photographers? Sitting around while you wow the room? No thanks.”
He sighed behind her. Was that disappointment? Relief?
“But maybe there’s something I can do to make it up to you,” she said rolling to face him and reaching her hand between them to cup his erection.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aiden shoved his gloved hands in his pockets an
d watched the crowd fighting their way into Madison Square Garden. There was no sign of the Baranski brothers yet, and he had a brief, unsettling flash of concern, wondering if they weren’t actually serious about the invitation.
That sort of thing didn’t happen to him. Not with the last name Kilbourn. Growing up, there hadn’t been a birthday party, a bar mitzvah, or a wedding he hadn’t been invited to. However, those invitations usually came with strings. It was the reason he’d been looking forward to the game. Gio and Marco didn’t seem like string-holding guys. And what would it be like to spend an evening being just one of the guys?
Frankie had been entertainingly shocked when he told her he couldn’t meet her for her booty call tonight because he was hanging out with her brothers. It was good to keep a woman on her toes. And lately, he’d been feeling like Franchesca was holding all the power in their relationship. Turning her down tonight made him feel like he’d taken a step to restore the balance of power.
“Hey, Kilbourn!”
He turned with relief at his name and spotted Gio and Marco making their way through the crowd to him.
“Good to see you, man,” Gio said, slapping him on the shoulder.
They all exchanged greetings. The brothers were decked out in Knicks apparel. Aiden, not sure of girlfriend’s brother’s hangout etiquette, had kept it simple with jeans and a sweater.
“We ready to get out of this ball-freezing cold?” Marco asked, digging into his coat pocket for the tickets.
“Where we sitting?” Gio demanded, blowing into his hands and rubbing his palms together. Aiden wondered if anyone in the Baranski family ever remembered gloves.
“Well, we’re not nosebleed, but we ain’t front row,” Marco said, waving the tickets.
Aiden debated for a second before digging into his own pocket. “Actually, we are,” he said, producing the tickets. He didn’t want it to seem like an over-the-top gesture. But when they’d invited him, he’d actually been excited and not in a conquer-the-business-world way. Besides Chip, Aiden’s friends were few and far between, and there was something entertainingly normal about Frankie’s brothers.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gio snatched the tickets out of Aiden’s hand.
