But he hadn’t made her any promises or given the slightest indication that this was more than a passing diversion while he was working in Austin. He’d mentioned his half siblings but had never suggested Francesca meeting any of them and had been careful to schedule time spent with them away from Lola May’s.
The more she thought about it, the more her mind raced and panic threatened to overtake her. The truth was Keaton had easily compartmentalized her place in his life. Other than when she’d shown up at the job site unannounced or meals at his apartment with just the two of them, she was no more a part of Keaton’s world than she had been Lou’s.
A choked sob escaped her mouth and she released the paper, watching it flutter silently to the floor. Maybe she was overreacting. Please let her be overreacting.
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter Thirteen
Keaton paused outside the mobile office onsite at Austin Commons. Once again, he could smell the intoxicating mix of vanilla and spice he would forever associate with Francesca.
Was his mind playing tricks on him or was he truly so enamored that her scent followed him wherever he went?
He took another deep breath and tipped up his head, the sun warm on his face even with the cool late January air. He smiled to himself as he opened the door to the office, thinking he was becoming too much of a Texan if fifty degrees in January felt cool. His mother had told him during a FaceTime chat last night that it had rained every afternoon the previous week, which was typical for late January in London.
“Have you read it?”
He jerked in surprise as he noticed Francesca sitting on the edge of one of the chairs at the small conference table in the office.
So the scent hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. Even better.
“Hullo, luv,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin as he mentally calculated how much time he’d have before one of his coworkers needed him and how sound-proof the walls of the modular office were. “You gave me a fright but—”
Her lush mouth thinned. “Have you read it?”
Clearly Francesca wasn’t in the same amorous mood as him, but Keaton had never shied away from a challenge. “If you could enlighten me as to the ‘it’ to which you refer,” he told her as he loosened his tie, “I might be better equipped to answer your question.” He arched a brow. “Also, would you mind very much taking off your clothes?”
She stood. “Because I’m a conquest to you?”
“No,” he answered, holding out his hands, palms facing her. “I apologize, Francesca. After this week...our nights together...” He offered a small smile. “One would think I’ve had my fill, but my need for you seems more insatiable than my appetite for pie.”
She didn’t return his smile and a tremor of unease snaked through him. Had she tired of him so quickly? Was that even possible?
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “What are you asking if I’ve read?”
“The blog.” She seemed to answer the question without having to move her lips. Her mouth fascinated him, and it took a few seconds for his brain to register the word blog.
“The interview I did with Ariana?”
Francesca nodded.
“That’s right. It was published today.” He slipped into the chair behind the desk and pulled up his email. There was a message from Ariana with the URL for the blog post, and he clicked on it then turned his attention back to Francesca as the site loaded. “Was it horrible? Does it make me seem like a total prat?”
“You’re a ladies’ man,” she whispered as if revealing some terrible secret.
“Ah, not exactly,” he countered, even though he knew his reputation back in London as well as anyone. That part of his life seemed so far away from where he was now. Who he was in Austin and with Francesca. He glanced at the screen, which was taking its sweet time to load. “Is that what the interview—”
“It was flattering,” Francesca clarified. “Ariana was obviously charmed. She’s a good reporter. There were quotes from your ex-girlfriends, all of whom remain spellbound by you. You charm everyone—Lola May, Ciara...” She took shuddery breath, then added, “Me.”
He pushed away from the desk, impatient with waiting. He could read the damned interview later. There was a note of accusation in Francesca’s tone that seeped into his body like a poison, making his skin feel two sizes too small. “I’m getting the distinct impression that charming is bad.”
She shook her head, but her eyes remained bleak. “Charming isn’t bad but...is it real?”
The question irritated him and he felt the defenses he’d relied on for so many years spring to life. They’d gone dormant in response to his feelings for Francesca and the easy way she had of filling his heart. But now...
“What do you mean by real?” he asked cautiously.
“I wonder if your feelings for me are real,” she answered, “or if what’s between us is simply you being the winsome Brit who is always ready for a new challenge.” As she squeezed her hands into fists, Keaton felt like his heart was locked in her grip. “I was the most recent conquest.” His chest burned and ached, mainly because even though he wanted to deny her words, there was an underlying truth in them that wouldn’t dissipate. “All of your ex-girlfriends seem to have one thing in common,” she said. “They see you as the one who got away.”
“I’m not—”
“Why haven’t you settled down, Keaton?”
He shook his head. No one had ever questioned him or the choices he’d made in life. “The time has never been right,” he said lamely. “My relationships have always been casual.”
“To you,” she countered. “Because you won’t let them be any other way. What about us?”
He stood, ran a hand through his hair. It felt like the walls of the small office were closing in on him. “You know how I feel about you, Francesca.”
“I don’t,” she murmured. “I know how I feel about you, Keaton.” She took a step toward him then stopped when he instinctively shifted away. Pain flashed in her eyes, and he hated that he’d put it there. “I love you, Keaton.” The words were soft but clear and they cut him open with the precision of a surgeon’s blade. “I’m in love with you. I want to build a life with you. I want—”
“Don’t.” He closed his eyes as he struggled to keep a hold on the emotions tumbling through him. A piece of him had craved hearing those words from her. They were like a balm to his lonely soul, in the same way her effervescent sweetness had been these past few weeks.
But in the same way that champagne bubbles gave off an initial giddy fizz, like sparklers blazing in the dark then bursting on the tongue, he knew it couldn’t last. He wasn’t built for the kind of relationship Francesca wanted and deserved. Not as Gerald Robinson’s—Jerome Fortune’s—son. And just like too much champagne, overindulging in the fantasy of what he’d never be able to give would only lead to a wicked relationship hangover for both of them.
He could not—would not—hurt her that way.
“Why shouldn’t I tell you how I feel?” Her beautiful brown eyes were sad, but she lifted her chin, as if daring him to deny her the right to her emotions. “I wasn’t in this alone, Keaton. These past couple of weeks meant something.”
“But not what you want them to mean,” he said, forcing the words out past the regret clogging his throat. “You know my mother’s history—how my father broke her heart. I can’t—”
“You’re not the same man he is,” she insisted.
“We share the same blood. What if I become like him?” He held up a hand when she would have argued. “You’re the one who called me a ladies’ man. I like women, Francesca. I’ve dated plenty. I can’t commit because I won’t risk hurting someone the way my mother was hurt. If there are no promises, it can’t end in heartache.”
“Do you actually believe that?” She gave a harsh laugh and moved toward him, fire glinting in her gaze. “You made a promise to me with each kiss, Keaton. Every touch was like a pledge. You may not have said the words, but I felt your love as clearly as if you’d written it across the sky. The fact that you can stand here and deny it...”
Her voice broke off and she drew in a shuddery breath. Her eyes remained dry but it was clear she was struggling to hold herself together. “I’ve known heartache, but this is something more. You are tearing me apart.”
Her words practically split him in two. He hated hurting her and every fiber of his being screamed at him to rush forward, take her in his arms and tell her what she wanted to hear. But he stood still and forced his voice to be emotionless as he said, “I’m sorry.”
She stared at him a moment longer, as if waiting for more. Waiting for something he wasn’t able to give.
Finally she gave a shaky nod. “Then this is the end,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. What else could he say?
Francesca walked out of the office and he stumbled back into the chair, his whole body numb. He read the blog, cringing slightly at the quotes from his ex-girlfriends. The piece was flattering, but Keaton hated the underlying truth of who he was contained in Ariana’s words.
He might not be the adulterer his father was, but there was no doubt he was Gerald Robinson’s son. The veracity of that fact was clear in the pain he’d caused Francesca with his inability to be the man she needed.
Despite all the childhood moments spent yearning for a father, Keaton wished he could ignore his connection to the man who’d broken his mother’s heart. He wished he’d done a better job of protecting the heart of the woman who meant so much to him.
The woman whose loss he felt like he’d carved out a piece of himself.
* * *
Through sheer force of will, Francesca held herself together during her afternoon shift at Lola May’s. The diner was blessedly busy, so she had little time to contemplate the disastrous end to her relationship with Keaton as she hurried to serve her customers. But she absently rubbed at her chest as she put in an order, somewhat stupefied to find her body intact when it felt like all that was left of her heart was an empty, gaping hole.
Ciara gave her a sympathetic smile from across the restaurant. It was clear her roommate, as well as Lola May and several of the regular patrons who’d witnessed her budding romance with Keaton, could tell something had gone horribly wrong. Thankfully no one spoke of it of while she was working. Francesca had no intention of adding humiliation to heartbreak by crumpling to a weeping heap on the diner’s scuffed floor.
She hoped to sneak out quietly after her shift. But as she hung up her apron later that evening, she turned to find Ciara blocking her path.
“Lola May wants to see you in her office,” her friend said gently.
“Ci, I can’t,” Francesca whispered, her voice threatening to break.
“I’m not asking for details yet, but it’s clear things are bad. You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Ciara insisted, “and I’m on until close.”
Francesca bit down on her bottom lip and squeezed shut her eyes. As much as she didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened with Keaton, delaying the inevitable wouldn’t make it any easier. After a moment, she nodded. “I’ll talk to her, but I want you know I’m going to be fine.”
“Of course you are.” Ciara gave her a quick hug. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Francesca refastened her messy ponytail and walked to the diner’s small office.
“Have a seat, honey,” Lola May said in her thick southern drawl, not taking her eyes off the computer screen.
“I’m fine, Lola May.” Francesca repeated the words she’d said to Ciara minutes earlier as if the continuous refrain might make them true.
“The same way I was fine when my dirtbag husband took off for parts unknown.”
Francesca slipped into the worn leather sofa against the far wall. “Keaton hasn’t disappeared,” she said.
“He didn’t make his daily appearance at the diner.” Lola May pushed her reading glasses onto the top of her head as she turned away from the computer.
“He’s probably busy.” Charming his next conquest, she thought in her mind and let out a tiny moan as a fresh round of pain stabbed at her heart.
“Does this have anything to do with your idiot of an ex-boyfriend daring to show his face here yesterday?” Lola May’s blue gaze was sharp under the generously applied coat of mascara that was her trademark.
Francesca shrugged. “Lou paid me a visit, but I’m through with him. I learned my lesson the hard way with him.”
“And Keaton?”
“Turns out,” Francesca answered, “whatever was between us has run its course, as well.” She couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from her eyes and quickly swiped at her cheeks. “It was bound to end so it’s probably a blessing that it happened now instead of later.”
Lola May arched a brow. “Why is that?”
“Because now I only love him a little bit.” Francesca clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. The small stab of pain was the only thing that allowed her to keep her voice steady. “Later it might be more and—”
“Oh, honey.”
The tenderness in those two words broke the thin hold Francesca had on her emotions. She covered her face with her hands as sobs racked her. Lola May was at her side a moment later, enveloping her in a Shalimar-scented embrace.
“It’s not tr-true,” Francesca said when she could finally speak. “I don’t love him a little, Lola May. I love him with everything I am.”
“I know, darlin’,” the diner owner crooned. “And you have one of the biggest hearts in all of the great state of Texas.”
“How c-could I have let this happen again?” Francesca pressed closer to Lola May. “Why do I pick men who give me just enough emotional rope to hang myself? It’s like I’m begging for the heartbreak noose.”
“Keaton is not cut from the same cheating cloth as Lou.” Lola May’s voice was sure.
“I thought I knew that, but then I read that article.”
“The interview with the blogger from Weird Life?”
Francesca straightened. “He’s had so many girlfriends,” she said miserably. “They all have fancy British names and there were even a couple of titles thrown in the mix. Each one was more beautiful than the next. Like I can compete with Lady Such and So English Rose.”
Lola May smoothed her thumbs over the tracks of Francesca’s tears. “You don’t have to compete with anyone, and I never got the impression Keaton expected you to.”
“I thought I was different.” Francesca sniffed. “I thought I meant more to him, but he doesn’t love me. I’m just a stupid girl who keeps kissing frogs and expecting them to turn into a prince. But that’s not how life works.”
“I don’t know what spooked Keaton, but it was obvious to everyone with a working set of peepers that boy was crazy for you.”
Francesca shook her head, still baffled by Keaton’s callous brush-off. What was between them hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. It was real. No matter how badly he’d hurt her, she would never give up her belief that it had been real. But that didn’t change the fact that she was alone once again.
“I guess I just wasn’t enough.” That sentence felt like the tired, pathetic refrain of her life.
Lola May wrapped her in another tight hug. “You are more than enough, and any man who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I told you that fancy-pants Fortune would break your heart. Women like us aren’t poised and polished enough for a man like that.”
Francesca swallowed back a bitter l
augh as her mother put a glass of sweet tea on the table in front of her. As sure as Lola May had sounded when she’d comforted Francesca last night, Paige was just as certain in her conviction.
“I didn’t come here to talk about Keaton,” Francesca said.
Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “It’s obvious you’re hurtin’. Your face is so red and blotchy it looks like you’ve been boo-hooing into your pillow all night long.”
That wasn’t exactly true, since sleep had eluded Francesca for most of the night. She’d wound up on the couch in her apartment watching made-for-TV movies with Ciara at her side.
She ignored her mother’s subtle jab and asked, “Why did you talk to Lou about Keaton and me?”
Paige’s thin brows rose until they looked like they might become one with her hairline. “You have a history with Louis. He cares about you.”
“Lou cares about himself,” Francesca shot back, “and he always has.”
“He’s made mistakes, but he’s truly sorry, Frannie. My instinct tells me he’s changed.”
Another laugh surged up in Francesca’s throat. When it came to men, her mother had the instincts of a Kamikaze pilot hell-bent on his mission.
“Mom, I’m done with Lou.”
“He understands who you are,” her mother insisted. “And his band is really taking off, so he’s going to need someone at his side to support him.”
“Don’t you mean wait on him hand and foot?”
Her mother sighed. “Frannie, sometimes love means making sacrifices.”
“Not when what’s being sacrificed is my self-respect.”
“Do you think that Fortune is a better bet? With his highfalutin’ accent and false promises?”
Francesca took a drink of tea then stood. “Keaton never promised me anything,” she whispered, even though it felt like he had made a thousand promises to her heart. “But if he doesn’t want me for who I am, he isn’t a better bet. Maybe I have to believe I’m enough before I can expect anyone else to believe it.” She moved forward and took her mom’s hands. “We’re both enough, Mom. Just the way we are.”
A Fortune in Waiting Page 15
