Chapter 10

“What did that pepper ever do to you?” It was early the next morning, and Francesca was standing in the kitchen with a green pepper and a knife in her hand. She wore a long T-shirt, her glasses, and a messy knot on her head. She was belting out a song that played from her phone. She was completely out of tune, but it made Tony fall for her a little harder. It was when her walls were down and she seemed almost carefree, when she thought no one was noticing—those were the moments he loved most.

“I thought I’d make breakfast for once.”

He kissed her before reaching for the knife. “I got this. Go make coffee or something. I’ve never seen someone butcher a vegetable quite like this before.”

“Ha ha.”

“So, we okay?”

She kissed his cheek and walked over to the coffeemaker. “Yeah, we’re okay. I want to try. I want to make this work.” She looked into her mug as if she were talking to the coffee instead of him. “Just…please don’t break my heart.”

There was so much vulnerability in her words, he felt like holding her and never letting go. “I promise, I will not break your heart.” He kissed her temple as she continued to look down at the mug. She was slowly cracking; he felt it, and it made him feel invincible. The strongest woman he knew was finally letting him in—at least a little. He grabbed some more ingredients and started to cook.

After they ate, Tony sat lazily by her pool while she cleaned up.

She walked out and plopped down beside him. “Who are you texting?” she asked.

“My nieces. The older ones.”

“Really? How cute. How old are they?”

“I have six nieces, no nephews yet. They range in age from two years old to ten. My youngest sister, Sofia, is the only one who hasn’t had any kids yet. Well, and me too, of course.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you’re surrounded by women!” She laughed. “You miss them?”

“I do. Lately, more than usual. I haven’t seen them in months. I miss my sisters, and my mom too.”

“I’ve been monopolizing your time,” she said, pulling the phone from his hand and kissing his bare chest.

“This weekend there’s a birthday party for my oldest niece.”

“You’re probably dying to go home. You should go visit.”

Tony rolled onto his back. “Home.” He sighed. “You mean the hotel?”

Francesca turned so that her head rested on her palm. He put his hand on the outside of her thigh and caressed it. He was a very touchy person, something she wasn’t. But it felt nice to be touched, even if it was an involuntary gesture. Actually, that made it all the more special. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that. Why are you still living out of a hotel? You have enough money; you could’ve bought a house or rented one by now.”

He shrugged.

“Don’t you like it here?”

“Actually, yeah, I do. I’m sick of living out of a bag. I feel like my life is always in temporary mode. I have all my family in Miami and a huge-ass house over there, but I don’t really feel like I have a home. You know what I mean? Even though I was born and raised in Miami, I haven’t lived there for more than six consecutive months in years.”

“Well, at least go visit your family. You’ve been training really hard. You’re looking great. Go visit. Spend a few days there.”

“You think?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“You’re going to come with me, right?”

The thought of meeting his family scared the shit out of her. As it was, she was still anxious about their relationship. Even though they argued often, it still felt too good to be true, and she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And in any case, she’d missed too many days when her dad had been sick, and she couldn’t leave Slade hanging again. “I can’t. Slade needs me. The repairs to the Academy are moving along, but we’re having issues with the contractors. We are supposed to meet them Saturday morning. But you should definitely go before you need to really tighten up the eating. The weigh-in is less than three months away.”

“I think I will. I’ll leave tomorrow and be back in a few days.” He pulled her close and kissed her silly.

“I’m glad. You think it’ll cure your homesickness?”

He turned his head and looked at her as if she had just said the most ridiculous thing ever. “I’m not homesick.”

“Yeah, you are.” She pinched his nose before rolling off him and standing up. “I’ll miss you.”

“Me too, mi amor.” He kissed her forehead. “Love you,” he said before getting up and diving into the pool. God, she wanted to say it back—to say something so he’d know how much she cared about him. Since the words wouldn’t come out, she did something she knew he’d enjoy just as much. She stripped and dove in, and for the next hour she proceeded to show him how much fun pool sex could be. She couldn’t believe how comfortable she was getting with her sexuality; it was just one more gift he’d given her.

Tony had been gone two days and already she missed him like crazy. He’d been staying at her house since their first date, and not having him around felt unusual. It was as if a part of her was missing. Luckily, she had been so preoccupied, she couldn’t dwell on what it all meant. She was sitting at a booth at the Pier with Jessica, Chrissy, Violet, and JL. This was the first group of friends she’d ever really had, and she loved each and every one of them.

“Seriously, chick? Are those garters?” JL asked, pointing to the lace peeking out from the hem of Francesca’s pencil skirt.

Francesca shrugged and quickly shifted her skirt in order to cover the material. “Yeah. So?”

“Girlfriend!” Chrissy leaned across the table and high-fived Francesca, who looked bewildered. “I’ve never met a real-life person who wears garters.”

“Really?”

“Omigod!” Jessica squealed. “Are you wearing that super-skimpy and super-uncomfortable lacy underwear that goes with the garters? Like the ones in my books?”

Francesca laughed. “What books?”

“You know. In romance novels, women always wear garter belts and sexy thongs and the guys drool. I’ve never met anyone who wears them.”

“I guess you have now.”

“You must be keeping Tony very happy,” JL said.

“It’s not about Tony.” She laughed and took a shot of tequila. It was her third. “I guess it’s just something I’ve done for a long time.”

“You are the sexiest woman in town. I’d kinda hate you a little if I didn’t love you so much!” Chrissy slurred.

Francesca giggled. “Shut up!”

“Seriously. What’s with the suits and all the perfection? You’re making us normal women look bad,” Jessica said.

“It’s a long story, but one day I put them on, and I’ve basically been wearing them ever since.” It was more or less the truth. What she wouldn’t give to feel as comfortable in her skin as these women did in just a T-shirt and jeans. “Now it’s just…me. Feels weird not to wear them.” She shrugged and passed the attention over to Violet. “So what’s with Cain? You guys have some sort of weird tension going on.”

“Story for another day, but yeah, we do have a weird relationship. It wasn’t always weird, though. I’ve known him my entire life. He used to be my best friend. Well, Cain and Jeremy were my best friends.” Her eyes watered and her voice quivered as she said, “Anyway, he’s a good guy, really. He’s just a little intense.”

“Understatement of the year, sister,” JL said with a snort.

Francesca ordered another round of drinks for the women, but since she was driving home, she sipped a glass of water. It was during a fit of laughter that Francesca’s eyes darted to the television screen, and what she saw made her gasp. The women all fell silent and followed her gaze.

Jessica pointed to the television. “Is that Tony?”

JL grabbed the remote from Patsy, the owner of the bar, who had been nearby, and turned up the volume. Francesca walked closer to the screen.

It was Tony in swim trunks and a ripped gray shirt, his hair slicked back in that way that made him smolderingly good-looking, and a five o’clock shadow; he must’ve finally shaved. His beautiful chest was mostly exposed, but more than his chest, she was staring at his thick muscular thighs on the television. Those deliciously wicked thighs that had been toned through years of kickboxing and weight training were plastered on the screen. He was so gorgeous, all disheveled and angry-looking, that even though he was clearly on the beach where this kind of attire was acceptable, he looked indecent. The next picture was more or less the same, but two women in the tiniest bikinis she’d ever seen were hanging on his arms, and he had a big smile on his face. The smile she loved. Loved? Well, whatever it was she felt…

“Thirty-four-year-old MMA fighter Antonio ‘Scarface’ Marino was spotted in South Beach earlier today with a beautiful woman on each arm. Within twenty minutes there was a scuffle and a fight ensued. The two men who accompanied Scarface were arrested at the scene. Tony was released. Witnesses say Tony was not involved in the fight. Scarface has a sold-out fight coming up in a few months. More to follow at eleven.”

Two women? Fight?

What the fuck? They’d spoken a few times that day and he hadn’t mentioned anything.

Her phone rang. Still staring at the television, she slid her fingers over the screen. “Hello?”

“How are you, mi amor?” Speaking of the devil.

“I’m good. Tired.”

“Girls’ night over?”

“Yeah. Just heading out.”

“You sound weird. Everything okay? You’re not driving home drunk, are you?”

She looked at her glass of water, still mostly full, and pushed it aside. “No, I’m good. Hey, what were you up to today?”

“Nothing much. Just lunch with my mom and sisters, then I met up with some old friends, Vinnie and Trick, at the beach.”

“Cool. Okay, so I’m gonna head out now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Text me when you’re home safe.”

“Bye.” She was in a complete daze. She felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. It was eight years ago all over again. She’d given a man her heart, and he’d stepped on it. The thing was, she wasn’t sure if she’d survive it this time.

“Frances?” Snapping fingers focused her vision. “Honey. You with me?” It was Chrissy.

She shook her head. “Sorry. What’d you say?” Francesca asked.

“That man loves you. I’m sure there’s some sort of logical explanation.”

“Yeah. Very logical.” She grabbed her purse and began saying her goodbyes. “Hey, listen, can we not tell the guys about this?”

“Sure,” Violet said.

“Where are you going, Frances?” Jessica said.

“I gotta go. I’m fine. Really, I am. Thanks for the invite. Bye.”

She knew that the women were worried, but she didn’t care. She was shocked, mad, and heartbroken. She got in her car and began to head home, but somehow she ended up on the highway. Tony texted her a few times, but she didn’t call him back. Four hours later she was in Miami. She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten there; her head was still in a surprised stupor. She didn’t even have the man’s address. She wished she did, because she needed to catch him in the act and get proper closure. Instead, she ended up in front of what looked like a bar or nightclub, and handed a valet her keys. It was nearly two in the morning, but it was a trendy spot in the area of South Beach, the lights were on, and beautiful people loitered in the area. Francesca was still wearing what she had been wearing at the Pier—a pencil skirt, a wraparound blouse, and stilettos—so she was actually appropriately attired. She walked inside, headed straight to the bar, and sat down.

She ordered a stiff drink, knocked it back, and dialed Tony.

He answered. “I’ve been worried. You didn’t text me when you got home.”

“I’m here.”

“Okay. You going to bed?”

“No. I’m here. In Miami,” she said curtly.

“In Miami? Where?”

“In…” She looked around and asked the man next to her, who was sitting way too close, “Where am I? What’s this place called?”

“Beautiful,” the man responded.

She shook her head at the same time as she heard Tony huff something into the phone. “Thanks, but really, what’s the name of this place?”

The man laughed. “That’s the name. Not that you’re not. Beautiful, that is. But what I meant is that the place is called Beautiful.”

“Oh.” She smiled wryly. She repeated the information into the phone.

“Yeah. I heard,” he said petulantly. “Stay put. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She hung up and ordered another drink. The guy next to her began to talk to her, but she wasn’t in the mood, so she turned her body and gave the man her back.

By the time Tony arrived, she’d had three drinks. He stomped in looking all gloriously male. “Mi amor, what are you doing here?” He leaned in to give her a kiss, but she turned her cheek.

“Good luck with that one, man. She looks pissed,” the man seated next to her said.

“Mind your own business,” Francesca slurred as she stood. “Tony, take me to your house.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to his car. She paused, looking at him questioningly. “Wait! My car?”

“Don’t worry, I took care of it. I paid the valet to drop it off at my house at the end of his shift.”

“Smart thinking. Don’t think I should drive.”

He laughed. “Good call.”

Once in the car, he spoke first. “You missed me?”

Ha! The man thinks I drove all the way down to Miami because I missed him. Silly man.

“No plans tonight?” she asked, not bothering to answer his question.

He looked at her, confused, and then at the clock on the dashboard. “Uh…no. It’s the middle of the night. By the way, next time, let me know when you decide to drive for four hours. I don’t like you making that long drive alone.”

She snorted. “How nice of you.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re acting weird.”

“Where are we?” she asked when he parked his car.

“My house.” She got out of the car and looked up at the hideous cement structure. She didn’t say a word—she had bigger fish to fry than an ugly house at the moment.

“Sixty-five forty-seven is the code to get inside. Remember it.”

Yeah, sure. Remember it? Did he not see she had a lot of things on her mind—including three too many drinks? She stood by the front door but didn’t walk inside.

“So, tell me about Trick and Vinnie.”

“They’re friends of mine. Hadn’t seen them in years.”

“And where did you meet these two friends of yours?”

“What’s with the twenty questions, Francesca? I’m beginning to think you’re not here because you missed me.”

She snorted. “Missed you? Yeah, that’s exactly it. I missed you. Did you miss me?” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “As much as the girls you were with? The girls you’re fucking around on me with! And while I’m at it, let’s talk about the fact that you were almost fucking arrested. Or that I trusted you and you’re a liar! I can’t believe you!” she yelled.

“I didn’t do anything. Whatever you heard, it’s not true.”

“I trusted you. Why the fuck did I trust you?” Tears clouded her eyes.

“Calm the fuck down. You gotta listen to me.”

“I don’t gotta do anything.”

He really had no idea what was going on. When she finally walked into his house, she made as if to slam the door in his face, but he caught it right before it smacked into his nose.

“Francesca—”

“Don’t Francesca me!”

“That’s jour fucking name!” he yelled, his patience wearing thin.

She put her hand against the wall, reached down, took off one high-heeled shoe, and flung it at him. He had to duck in order to avoid it. Then she took off the other one and proceeded to aim at his head. Luckily, he was faster and she was slightly drunk.

Note to self, Tony thought, Francesca is a mean-as-fuck drunk.

“Mi amor.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t do anything.”

She stomped barefoot toward him, placed her hands on his chest, and shoved him. “We’ve been dating for like two minutes and you already have your tongue down some whore’s throat. Two whores,” she amended. “In bikinis—which is so much worse, by the way!”

“I think it’s cute that you’re jealous.” The words just slipped out, and instantly he knew it was totally the wrong thing to say.

“Oh, you think this is funny, huh?” She got on the tips of her toes and reached up to the mantel, where he kept a three-foot-tall trophy.

Note to self, he thought, Francesca has absolutely no sense of humor when she’s drunk. None. Zilch. And what the fuck is she doing?

“Move the fuck outta my way, asshole.” She opened the door and proceeded to stomp barefoot out of his house to the driveway.

Where was she— “Oh, no. No no no no.”

He raced out and saw her standing by his car, her breathing ragged. She held the bottom of the trophy up, like it was a bat, and looked him dead in the eye. Then she swung.

The crazy-ass female was swinging at his baby! His 1969 Camaro. The love of his life. The most work he’d ever put into anything.

“Ow.” She dropped the weapon to the ground and grabbed her wrist. “Shit, that did, like, no damage.”

“Thank God!” He walked toward her, his blood boiling, and bent down to retrieve the trophy before she could try to inflict any more damage. “I can’t believe you attacked my baby!” He paced back and forth, his nostrils flaring, spittle shooting out as he yelled. “You drive me fucking crazy!” He stopped in front of her and placed both hands on her shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking? Thank fuck the trophy’s plastic.”

“I can’t believe you cheated on me. I’m so mad at myself.”

“I can tell!” He took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so pissed off. “Feel better?”

“No!” She still held her wrist. “I didn’t do anything other than hurt myself. Fuck. It hurts.”

Without much thought, he bent down, wrapped one arm around her thighs, and lifted her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

He stalked back toward his house. “Unless you want to finally admit you love me, I suggest you shut up.”

“I’m not scared of you. Put me down this instant. And love? This isn’t love I’m feeling. It’s betrayal. I feel like kicking your ass!”

“Why is that, you think? Maybe you’re so damn frustrated with your feelings that you act out—and on my fucking car!—instead of just saying what you want to actually say, which is, ‘Tony, I love you and I got jealous.’ Just fucking say it! Don’t you get it? You’re fucking hurting me! Every time you don’t tell me how you feel, you’re breaking my damn heart!”

“You cheated on me!”

“No, I didn’t!”

He opened the door with his foot and, once inside, kicked it closed. He headed to his bedroom and threw her on his bed.

“What the fuck?” she yelped before swiping the hair off her face and scooting back against the headboard.

He toed his shoes off. Her eyes were the size of saucers, and she looked scared. As she should, because he was royally pissed off. “You’re the tough girl, right?” He leaned over the bed, grabbed both of her ankles, and pulled her to the end of the bed. “You’re fearless. No one fucks with you. You don’t love anyone.”

“Damn right.” She was out of breath. “I don’t have to put up with your shit.”

“No. Of course not, sweetheart, ’cause you can kick most men’s asses and break their hearts, right?”

“Right,” she said, swallowing hard. “And their stupid muscle cars.”

“You forgot one thing, Francesca.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re fucking lying. You’re a fraud.”

“Excuse me?”

He leaned down, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her waist, trapping her and forcing her to look at him.

“Most men see this fearless, voluptuous knockout.” He lifted a strand of her hair, then touched her lips. “But see, I got you pegged. You’re a fraud. You’re a sweet little pussycat.”

“Oh, please.” She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

“The real Francesca sings sappy love songs to herself, even though she can’t sing for shit. She wears sweatpants, walks barefoot, leaves her crap on the floor, eats cookies in bed—which, I might as well tell you right now, pisses me the fuck off, because I end up with crumbs up my ass.”

“Just brush them off!”

“They never come off. Just stop eating cookies in bed!”

“Why are we talking about cookies?” she yelled.

“I was saying…what was I saying? Oh, yeah. The real Francesca can’t cook for shit, can’t drive worth a fucking damn, and looks amazing without any makeup. She can actually kick some real ass but chooses not to tell a single soul. The real Francesca is insecure.”

She moved her head from side to side. “Fuck you, Tony.” She tried to fight it, but tears welled up in her eyes. Tony caught the tears with his thumb. “Please. Just let me go,” she said quietly.

“No.” He pressed his body against hers, so she had to stay still. “I won’t lie. I like both Francescas—even the perfect, hard-assed one. But I love that I’m the only one who gets to see the real one. I’m sad you’d think I’d hurt you. I know I don’t have the best reputation, but you have to trust me. You can’t go trying to destroy my car without so much as listening to me.”

“I saw you on television with those two girls. I heard you were in a fight. You didn’t tell me when we spoke earlier. You lied to me.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “Honestly, do you think I would cheat on you, especially knowing that there are reporters everywhere?” She opened her mouth to say something, but he continued. “And no. I am not saying I’d do it behind your back either. What I’m saying is that I wouldn’t disrespect you that way. Those two women were my sisters. We were at the beach, with their husbands. Then I met my buddies at the beach; old family friends. Some fans asked for pictures, which apparently were leaked to the media. The guys drank too much and there was a fight, but I was long gone by then. Reporters love to spin shit; most of the time it’s not even remotely true.”

She nodded, another tear escaping her eye. He bent forward and kissed the tear away.

“So the lesson we’ve learned today is that you’re a terrible drunk. Mean as fuck. Big-time overreacter.”

She didn’t disagree; instead, she tilted her head as if she was embarrassed.

“That’s cool. Now I know. I love you anyway.”

At his words, she pushed away from him. “Tony, I can’t do this. The way I feel right now…I can’t feel like this again. I feel completely out of control. My emotions are everywhere. This is the second huge fight we’ve had in what…a week?”

“It’s just growing pains. You’re used to putting on that armor of yours and blocking out emotions.”

“Maybe, but still, I fell into a huge deep depression after Rodrigo, the kind that I barely survived. I don’t know what I feel about you exactly, but I think it’s more than what I felt for him, so if you hurt me…seriously, I wouldn’t be able to survive. I know it. I don’t know what’s true and what’s not, but I know that I can’t do this anymore.” She let out a single sob, then pulled herself together. “I can’t see you anymore. I just…I just can’t.”

He looked at her, completely shocked, as a tear ran down her face. Another tear followed it, and then another, and suddenly she was crying. She couldn’t believe it. Tony moved her to his lap and held her as she sobbed ugly fat tears into his chest. He rocked her and told her how much he loved her as he caressed her back. When she had run out of tears and her head throbbed, he lifted the covers, snuggled her into bed, and held her close as she slowly fell asleep.

A lump in Tony’s throat threatened to choke him. Watching the most fearless woman he’d ever known break down the way she just did almost broke him too. She had been so afraid of crying or showing any emotion for fear of falling into a depression that she’d suppressed her emotions for far too long. She might not understand that just yet, even though it was obvious to anyone who knew her. But she was strong, so much stronger than she knew. Whether she woke up and left him or decided to stay, he was glad that tonight had been cathartic for her. It was a release she had needed. He just hoped she’d finally understand she was in love with him too.

Before going for an early morning jog, he left her some toast and coffee and an old T-shirt and sweatpants that he knew would be too big, but he hoped she’d be able to make do. When he returned, his beautiful Francesca was sitting in a corner of his bed, eating her toast, getting crumbs all over his new sheets, looking tiny, almost frail. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red.

“How do you feel?”

“I have a headache, but I’ll live.” Her shoulders were hunched forward.

He sat next to her on the bed. “What are you going to do, Francesca?”

She turned those big hazel eyes on him. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

He nodded and stood up. His chest hurt, but he couldn’t force her to love him. He’d already tried that, and clearly it had backfired. “I love you, Francesca.” He struggled to get the words out because he knew he was going to have to let her go and hope she’d be back. “I just want you to be happy. I think I can make you happy, but I understand I need to give you space so you can heal and figure things out on your own. Maybe my approach made it worse. I can’t force you to love me.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to stay here until the fight. Send Cain down if you want. He can train me; he can live here in the guesthouse out back. Your keys are on the nightstand and your car’s parked outside. Stay as long as you want.”

Tears streamed down her face, and all he wanted to do was wipe them away and make the world right for her. But he’d done everything he could, and it was up to her now.

“Where are you going?” she asked in between sobs.

“I don’t want to be here when you leave. It’s too hard. I’ll be at my sister’s or something.” He turned and looked at her one last time before shutting the bedroom door.

For the next hour, Francesca lay curled up in the bed and cried. When she finally got up, she noticed three little pink pillows on the floor by the landing of the staircase that she hadn’t noticed before. As she gathered her clothes, she saw first one kitten rise from a pillow and walk up to her, and then a second, and finally a third. Tony had kittens?

She sat on the floor, and they scurried toward her, purring and rubbing against her, making her feel oddly better. She’d never had a pet before, and honestly, Tony didn’t seem like a pet kind of guy. It surprised her to see them; he’d never mentioned it to her before. She reached for the tiny little collars and read their name tags: Ariel, Bella, Cinderella. She couldn’t help but smile—the thought of her big macho Cuban with three kittens named after Disney princesses warmed her heart. As she held the rambunctious kittens, tears began to stream down her face again.

She took a long, hot shower and put on the clothes she’d worn the previous night. Before she left, she made his bed, making sure that all the crumbs were out.

The gym was relatively empty, and Tony pounded the speed bag while Cain held a stopwatch and yelled, “Faster.” Tony was going as fast as he could. It had been a little over a month since Francesca left, and he’d spent most days moping around his house, eating food his mother had brought over and going out to parties. The regret from letting Francesca go was eating away at him, but he also understood that she needed to make some decisions on her own. He pounded harder and harder, until he heard familiar voices coming from behind.

“Mi hijo!” It was his mother, Annie. “Son,” she repeated in English.

He stopped and watched as she approached them with a small tray. “I brought ju some guava pastelitos, your favorite. Dis make ju feel strong.” She practically shoved the flaky fried guava pastry into his mouth. “Here, ju have one too.” She thrust one at Cain. “Ju very eskinny,” she said to the tall man. While he was the leanest of all the fighters, skinny he was not. Cain politely took the treat and ate it.

Annie, who had been the picture of a doting mother as she handed them fried pastries and told Tony how much she missed him and how proud she was of him, abruptly changed into Momzilla and began to reprimand him for partying too much and for not eating properly. When she was satisfied, she hugged him, doted some more, and left the pastries, promising to stop by the house with some more home-cooked food during the week.

“I guess we’re done for today,” Cain said as he took another bite of flaky deliciousness. “You need to tell your mother to stop with the food. You’re not going to make weight.”

Cain stood in the kitchen of Tony’s house the next day waiting for Tony, who wasn’t home. About to dial his number, he heard the door opening and closing, and then Tony stumbled in.

“Fuck. You’re drunk,” Cain said. It had been the first time Tony had gotten drunk since Francesca left, and obviously he’d overdone it.

“I’m not fucking drunk and I’m no fucking idiot.” His voice was hoarse and he looked green.

“Who said anything about an idiot?” Cain asked as he filled a large glass with water and handed it to Tony with some aspirin. “Be ready in ten minutes,” he said with a scowl.

“Ready? I can’t train like this.”

“Ten minutes.”

“Fuck you. I’m not training.”

“Don’t forget, no one wanted to train you. You’ve been doing pretty well even though this last month hasn’t been your best. You could still win. This better be the last time you’re drunk or hungover for training, or I won’t train you. You have ten minutes and then we leave for the gym.” He took a step toward Tony; any other man would be intimidated by the Cuban, but obviously Cain was not. “Ten minutes.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Cain and Tony were at the gym. Tony still looked green, but Cain had made his point. Drunk or not, Tony wasn’t getting off the hook.

She’d left Miami almost five hellacious weeks ago, and Francesca knew she was taking out her misery on everyone. The only thing that had changed was that within a few days of moving back, she’d gone to the local animal shelter and adopted a cat. She was lonely in her house all by herself, and she remembered that the few minutes she’d spent with Tony’s kittens had made her feel all warm and fuzzy—new emotions she was testing out. So now she was the proud owner of a big fat brown cat she named Winston.

But still, she missed Tony no end, not that she’d admit it to anyone. Hell, she was having trouble admitting it to herself. She had cried that day when she arrived home, but then she had changed into her armor and gone to work. She would never again be the same weak girl she’d been at twenty.

She understood that now; Tony had taught her that. The pain she felt at losing Tony was greater than what she’d felt at losing Rodrigo. Much more so. But he’d taught her to be strong, really strong. She’d been living in a fake world where she’d been pretending to be strong but all she was really doing was pushing everyone away. That wasn’t really strength; it was avoidance.

She was jogging, as she did almost every morning. Her mind was unable to put thoughts of Tony aside—all that he had said and the many times he had said it. Somehow the Frankie who could kick some serious ass was actually the docile, sweet side of her. And the Frances who didn’t fight anymore and wore the fancy clothes…that had somehow become the hardened, pain-in-the-ass side of her. It seemed totally backward, but the truth of the matter was that both Frankie and Frances were sides of her. Why did she continue to fight herself? Tony didn’t care. He liked all those sides of her. No, not liked—loved. She was both women, and she needed to stop fighting it. She needed to let Frankie back in.

As soon as she walked into her house, she heard her phone ring. She ran to it but missed the call. She looked at her screen and saw three missed calls from Slade and two from Cain. She also noticed that she had a number of voicemails. She clicked on the first voicemail. “It’s Cain. Tony’s fuckin’ up big-time. Thought you’d wanna know.” She wondered if it physically hurt the man to say words. She wanted—no, needed—more details. How was Tony fucking up? She clicked on the next voicemail and immediately recognized the voice as Slade’s. “Frances, call me. I spoke to Cain. Tony’s fucking up. You know Cain doesn’t do much talking, so I’m not exactly sure what ‘fucking up’ is supposed to mean, but since the man wouldn’t call and use his weekly allotted words unless he thought it was important, it must be bad. I think I gotta go down to Miami and check it out. Call me.”

Francesca slumped down into her couch. “Fuck,” she said to herself, and put her elbows on her knees and her head against her palms. She couldn’t have Slade go to Miami when the real reason for Tony’s fucking up, whatever that meant, was likely her leaving him. Plus she was the one who’d brought Tony to WtF; she needed to be the one to deal with him. Every time she thought of Tony she felt an emptiness in her chest that physically hurt. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing him, but what choice did she have? She groaned before calling Slade. After a twenty-minute conversation, they decided she would go to Miami and stay until the fight, which was about two months away.