Chapter 9

A few days later, Tony and Francesca walked into the conference room of a ritzy hotel a few miles outside of Tarpon Springs for a press conference announcing the fight between Rodrigo and Tony. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Rodrigo; he’d called and texted her a few times, but she’d ignored the messages. She didn’t want to rehash the past. Having him around all of a sudden didn’t fit in with her plan to try to move forward.

But of course, Rodrigo’s eyes found her almost as soon as she walked in. “Frankie,” he said, moving toward her with a smile. It was the same smile that used to leave her a blubbering mess. His dimples were out in full force, and if she’d been a lesser woman, she would have swooned.

“Frances. It’s Frances now.”

“I’ve been calling you, but you don’t answer. You look great. I mean, like really great.” Luckily, Tony was speaking with his agent on the other side of the large room; if there was one thing Francesca knew for certain, Tony was one seriously jealous man, and this conversation would have been stopped right there. “You never dressed this way for me.”

“Thanks, I guess.” She looked around the room hoping she was needed somewhere, because talking to the guy who had broken her heart was not something she wanted to do. What was odd was that she’d been trying to avoid him mostly because she didn’t want to revisit her feelings, but along the way something had changed. Maybe it was Tony; maybe it was just time. But now, seeing Rodrigo, having him in front of her, she just didn’t feel much of anything. Maybe she didn’t hold a grudge anymore. Maybe she was finally over it. Over Rodrigo. She had never thought she’d see the day, and she wasn’t prepared for the feeling of apathy. But still, she didn’t owe him anything. Including a conversation.

“Maybe we can grab some coffee or dinner?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time. I’d love to catch up.”

“No. I don’t think I’d like to catch up.” She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her hand.

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s been eight years.”

She shook her head and turned away again, but he wouldn’t let go; instead he got closer. “You look amazing, Frankie.” She felt him stroke her hair. “We should catch up. I thought about you a lot through the years.”

She turned her head around to look at the man who had ripped her heart out. Her look must have said a lot, because he flinched and his brow furrowed.

She walked forward and poked his chest. “So now that I got tits and a short skirt—”

“You’re wearing pants,” he interrupted.

She looked down at her clothes, then back at him. “Whatever. The point is, now that I’m not Frankie anymore, you want me?”

He grabbed the finger that was poking him, and his expression became serious. “What are you talking about? I wanted you when you were Frankie, and to me you’re still Frankie. Where is all this anger coming from? You never used to get upset.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I did.”

“I’m at a loss here. Seriously, help me out, ’cause you’re acting like a completely different person from the one I knew.”

Francesca looked at him, and he seemed genuinely unaware of the effect he’d had on her all these years ago.

“I saw you.” She was leaning in, talking low. She didn’t want anyone hearing her business. “I saw you leaving a restaurant with some woman. It was the night of our second wedding anniversary, and you said you couldn’t make it because you had to train. But I saw you. You were holding hands and laughing.” She leaned in some more and whispered in his ear, “You were my first love. I loved you wholeheartedly, and you broke my heart into a million little pieces.” Then she moved a little away so that she was looking him in the face again. “And now that I look like this, now what? Now you want me? Can I ask you something? Had I dressed this way all those years ago, would it have made a difference? Would you have been faithful?”

He reached forward and put his hands on her shoulders roughly. “Stop!” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I made mistakes I wasn’t proud of. I was young. We were young. We shouldn’t have gotten married and you know that. I came to terms with that fact by the time I’d signed those divorce papers. I thought you had too. I thought that’s why you wanted the divorce. I don’t know what has hardened you this much. The Frankie I remember, the one I loved wholeheartedly as well, the one who dressed in T-shirts and shorts—she was sweet, soft, and beautiful. Never got angry. This one, this hardened woman in front of me…no, I wouldn’t have dated this one. But it’s not because of the way you look, it’s…it’s because you’re cold now.”

She took a step back. It was as if he’d punched her in the gut. “I am not cold. Don’t turn this around. I was sad and lonely. You were never around, I was alone in another country and you were fucking around on me.”

“I’m not going to stand here and lie to you. I did fuck around and I’m sorry. It was only once. I don’t want to make excuses, because I was in the wrong, but shit, Frankie, it was after months of your lack of attention. I asked you to come with me everywhere, and you never went. Hell, you didn’t even seem fazed by the divorce.”

“Fazed?” She leaned in and spoke softly. “I was destroyed. Utterly destroyed.”

That seemed to surprise him. “I had no idea. Nothing ever seemed to affect you. I never even knew about you seeing me with a woman. You packed up your shit, left, and sent divorce papers. You shoulda said something. I never heard from you again. I made mistakes—I was young, arrogant, and stupid—but I was not the only one who made mistakes. Don’t make me the bad guy here, Francesca, or whatever the hell your name is now.” He sighed in frustration, then intertwined his fingers with hers and led her out the room to a bench near the lobby. She was too shocked to speak. “Listen to me. That was a long time ago. I’ve changed. Obviously, so have you. I wish we’d have spoken sooner. I wish I’d known that it affected you this much. Are you still fighting?”

She shook her head.

“Why? You were so good. You loved it so much.”

“So it wasn’t that I was unsexy? That’s not the reason you cheated on me?”

“Hell, no. I’ve always found you sexy. Your spirit—it’s the sexiest thing about you. Changing your clothes doesn’t change who you are. Like I said, I was young and stupid and you were distant and I didn’t know where your head was at. Communication was never your strong suit.” A man she didn’t know stuck his head out and called out to Rodrigo that the press conference was about to begin. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “I gotta go. I hope we can finish this conversation soon.” With that, he stood and returned to the press conference, leaving her with a whirlwind of thoughts. She sat there for some time, lost in those thoughts. She’d had it all wrong. Completely wrong.

She felt dazed by the time she stepped back into the room. Tony and Rodrigo were sitting at a table with microphones in front of them, being asked questions by reporters. The fight was going to be televised on pay-per-view, and the sports reporters were having a field day. They were directing most of the questions at Tony, asking how he’d lost the last fight. How he’d felt about losing. If he was nervous fighting the younger, fitter Rodrigo. He answered most of the questions with a snarky comment or joke. She had to admit he wasn’t thrown off balance by the questions, and the crowd loved his arrogance. The fighters threw some verbal jabs at each other, and by the end of the press conference both were standing in fighter poses for the cameras.

Seeing her only two lovers standing side by side being pitted against each other was strange. Both men were quite the specimen. If you were only to have two lovers, these would be the men you wanted. Tony was lighter-toned in comparison to Rodrigo’s olive skin. He was also slightly shorter, although he had a broader chest. Tony seemed slightly more intimidating because he was now sporting a full beard. It was nicely trimmed, but it definitely made him seem meaner. In front of the crowd, he was jovial and funny, whereas Rodrigo was the embodiment of professionalism. He answered the questions seriously, didn’t joke around, didn’t play it up for the press. Basically, he wasn’t cocky because he knew he had the skills and the training to win.

The press conference ended, and Tony put his arm around Francesca’s shoulders as they walked out. “Where’d you run off to? I was looking for you earlier.”

“Just had to make some calls and stuff.”

“How’d you think the press conference went?”

“Good. Press loves you, you know that.”

“Okay, you seem like you want to say something. Spit it out.”

“Just that…maybe you should really start toning it down.”

He let her go. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t win last time, Tony.”

“Oh, so I don’t have the goods to back it up and therefore I should just assume defeat this time around?” He walked toward the car, and she moved quickly to catch up.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just meant that the loss should’ve humbled you a little. Obviously it didn’t. You are training hard, and I’m so proud of you, but you’re not twenty anymore. Just—tone it down. Be real.”

“Real?” He looked at her. “Look who’s talking.” He opened the passenger door of her car. “I have to swing by the hotel today. Do you want to go with me or should I drop you off at home?”

“I’m sorry I upset you, Tony. This is what I didn’t want. I’m still the co-owner of WtF, and I have to be able to tell you things as my fighter and not as…” She wasn’t sure what word to use. “As the guy I’m sleeping with. Just think about it, okay? I wasn’t trying to be hurtful.”

“As the guy you’re sleeping with? And I’m not being real? Says the woman who can’t admit she’s in an actual grown-up relationship.”

They both got in the car and spent the rest of the day stewing in silence.

“Frrrrancesca!” She was bent over her bathtub, scrubbing. “Frrrrancesca!”

“What the hell?” She came running down the hall and crashed right into him. “What happened?” She looked around to see if there was a fire or an emergency of some sort. Instead she found him standing with her cell phone in hand. Immediately she snatched the phone from his grip.

He looked livid. His hair was standing up all over the place, as if he had been running his fingers through it. His nostrils were flared and his lips pursed. “What?” She looked at her phone as if the answer lay there. “What?” she repeated, but more curt this time.

“You’re cheating on me.”

“What?”

He took an intimidating step closer to her, but she didn’t budge. “You’re fucking me and him? We’ve practically been living together! Is that where you disappeared to at the press conference?”

“Excuse me?” She shoved him back a little, but he was like a brick wall. “Do not talk to me like that.”

He threw his hands up in the air and started rambling on in Spanish before he faced her again. “Don’t bat your eyes, throw your pussy in my face, and then go sleep with your husband.”

“My what? My husband? Rodrigo?” She looked at her phone, then at the angry man, and back at her phone again. “You were looking through my phone?” She stalked closer to him. “You were looking through my phone! I trusted you. Opened up to you, and you don’t trust me? You son of a bitch!” She pushed him back, and this time he budged. “You’re just grasping at straws. There’s nothing between him and me. There wasn’t anything there when I left him, much less now. You know, you’re always trying to fix me, but you’re all messed up too. You’re trying to sabotage a good thing because of your own issues!”

“Oh, really? Then why did he send you a text that says—” He snatched the phone from her hand and read it out loud. “ ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you yesterday, Frankie, and I’m especially sorry for hurting you while we were married. I’ve missed you a lot through the years. You were beautiful then, and you’re beautiful now, no matter how much you’ve changed. Go out to dinner with me—we need to talk this out.’ ” Tony slammed the phone onto the table. “You were talking to him yesterday. And he hurt you? How? ’Cause we’ve been…what the hell have we been doing all this time? Screwing, dating? You married Rodrigo and you say it didn’t go well, but there’s more you’re not telling me, isn’t there? I can tell, because you are too closed off to just be bitter about an ex. So don’t waltz in here and tell me that I have issues when you’re a fucking bagful of issues.”

“You’re a dick.”

She walked down the hall and he followed. “Maybe you’re just sticking around because I’m the big payday for WtF!”

She was surprised and taken aback that he had come up with this convoluted idea. “Do you really think that?” She shoved him again, both hands against his chest, but his body barely moved. “How could you think that? Let me enlighten you so that you can feel better about yourself, Tony. Rodrigo cheated on me. Until yesterday, I thought he had cheated on me right and left. Turns out it was only one time, but it doesn’t really matter because it still hurt me to see someone laughing and touching my husband. We spoke briefly before your press conference began; that’s why he sent that text. He said some things that hurt me, but they were true things. I don’t think I’m mad at him anymore. I’ve actually been avoiding him because you are so fucking jealous. He was young. Shit, I was young. We were stupid and rushed into things. But I grew up in a gym full of men. This person you see here, with these suits, perfect hair, and uncomfortable fucking shoes, I created her. It is my armor and I won’t let you or any man crack that armor.

“For years I was mocked for fighting. I was a tomboy. One of the guys. And he left me not for a girl in shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers but for a beautiful woman with big tits, a short skirt, and long hair—a few of them, I thought. And this is what you didn’t know. I was depressed after that. Very depressed.” She pushed her stretchy exercise shorts down her thighs and yanked her panties down, exposing her tattoo. “This tattoo.” She pointed at her hip, where the lettering read, If you’re ready to die, then you’re ready to live. She pulled her clothes back up. “I wanted to die, Tony. I never had friends, because girls didn’t want to be friends with me and boys didn’t know how to handle me, really. So I was all alone when I came crawling back home. A twenty-year-old divorced laughingstock. I felt like a failure. I didn’t leave my room for months. Months! I cried. I contemplated taking my life, Tony! At twenty, that’s not the shit you think about. So no, I don’t want to rehash that life. Yes, I’ve become so accustomed to being independent that I may just very well end up alone, but you know what, Tony? The one thing that I have is my dignity. And if you think that I would sleep with you, the second person ever in my twenty-eight years of life, just to get into your pocket, just for money, then I made the biggest mistake of my entire life, because I cannot even wrap my head around the fact that you’d think that about me!” Tears leaked out of her eyes, but she wasn’t sobbing. Not yet. Not in front of him. Never.

He reached for her, but she pulled back. “Do not touch me,” she hissed.

She grabbed the first keys she found, which happened to be the ones to his Camaro, and stomped out, not bothering to ask for permission to use it.

“Don’t you dare leave this house, Francesca!”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” She slammed the door so hard behind her that the pictures on the wall fell down.

Francesca was mad. Fuming. She drove to a nearby park and used the track to take out some of her aggression. She ran until she was drenched in sweat. And still she didn’t want to see him. Anger was better than sadness, her father used to tell her all the time. So she held on to the anger because she was afraid that if she thought about it too much, she’d fall into a dark place she hadn’t visited or wanted to revisit in nearly a decade. She hadn’t been exaggerating earlier; the failure of her marriage had caused her to fall into a deep, dark depression that consumed her. The kind of depression where she had mentally planned out the steps to end her own life. Only after serious medical help and a lot of therapy had she been able to start living again. She was terrified that it would happen again. That was the real reason she stayed away from men. Loving someone that deeply could potentially destroy her when it ended, and the prospect of that happening terrified her. She’d barely survived it last time.

It was well past midnight when she went home and saw the lights still on. She didn’t want to see Tony, so she drove to the nearest hotel and got a room. She took a shower and then paced around her room until exhaustion hit.

Surely she’d scared the shit out of Tony now. He was right; she had a lot of baggage. But honestly, he had a lot of baggage too. That temper, his jealousy…She didn’t want to be in a volatile relationship. She closed her eyes and tossed and turned for the better part of the night until she finally fell asleep.

It was four in the morning. Where the hell was she?

Francesca had left her phone, so he’d called everyone they knew. He was worried. She was right; his insecurities were the cause of his aggression. Not only with her, but in general. Everything stemmed from his stupid insecurities, and yet she had known that and still accepted him for who he was. But he hadn’t done the same with her.

He was fairly sure he’d lose his mind if he didn’t find her soon. She was such an intense woman, he wasn’t sure what she’d do when she lost control of her temper. And after what she’d admitted to him last night…he was terrified. Thinking of her crying somewhere was killing him. He took her car and drove around looking for her.

When daylight broke, he called the only person he knew who could calm him down. “Sofia, I need your help.” He ran his hand through his hair. He hadn’t spoken to his sister in weeks, and he missed her like crazy. He had three other sisters, but he was closest to her.

“Tony?” she said groggily. He heard a man’s voice in the background. “What time is it?”

“Are you…you’re…are you there with someone? You know what, don’t answer that. I can’t deal with that right now. Can you talk?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Tony knew he was a mess, but he couldn’t seem to get a grip, so he started spitting it out. Everything. He told her he’d been dating Francesca and about the fight last night. “And now I don’t know what the hell to do. I fucked up.”

“Have you told her you love her?”

Tony was pacing as he spoke, and when she said those words his phone slipped through his fingers. He fumbled with it for a few seconds. “Sorry. You there? I dropped the phone.”

His sister laughed. “I take it that’s a no.” She laughed again, but in the next breath her voice turned serious. “Tony, we’ve never ever talked about Dad and how he used to push you the way he did. You were the only boy, and he basically bred you to be a fighter. Then, when he died, I thought you would give up fighting altogether, since I never thought it was what you loved to do. You used to say you wanted to be a teacher. Remember that? You always said you wanted to work with kids. But you didn’t. You trained harder and fought harder after Dad died. He’s gone, Tony. You don’t need to prove anything to him or to anyone anymore. This anger you have inside, you need to let it go. The guy I see on TV or in the magazines looks frustrated and unhappy.

“I love you, little brother, and I’ve never gotten involved with your career because you’re a grown man and you’re good at what you do. But for years I’ve worried about you. Mom and us sisters have worried about you. You getting in fights, drinking, refusing to settle down. You’re thirty-four and we’ve yet to meet a girlfriend. What I’m trying to say is that this woman—you need to fix it with her. You won’t disappoint her, and she’s not going to leave you—she’s not Dad.”

“I only know how to fight. I don’t know anything else.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’ve made more money from your investments than you have with the fighting. You’re smart, you have a good head on your shoulders, and you’re still young enough to do something else. You’re miserable because you’ve been doing something you hate for over fifteen years.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“Don’t confuse the fact that you’re good at it with it being something you enjoy doing. I’m great at pulling teeth, but I don’t like my teeth being pulled.” She laughed.

“That was a corny dentist joke. No wonder you’re not married either.”

“You know your career has a short shelf life. Maybe it’s time. Have you considered retiring?”

“Only every damn day. My knees hurt, my shoulders are constantly sore, my back aches.”

“You sound like an old man.”

“Most days I feel like one.” He sighed. “I screwed up. Big time. Francesca was the best thing that ever happened to me, and now I don’t even know where she is. What if something happened?”

“Based on what you’re telling me, she’s a pretty strong woman. I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just needed a break. Her stuff’s there, plus she has your car, so unless she hates you so much she’s willing to risk a charge of grand theft auto, I am fairly certain she’ll be back. But I hope you’re ready to grovel when she comes back, little brother.”

Tony hung up and thought about what his sister said. Maybe it was time he retired. He would never be the fighter he’d been in his twenties; he couldn’t compete with the newcomers anymore. Hell, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. For the first time ever, he really wanted to settle down. He was tired of living out of hotels, tired of waking up early to work out, tired of dieting, tired of being sore, tired of being angry all the time. Sofia was right: the days of trying to please his father were over. The man was dead, so there was no point anymore. There never really had been one to begin with, actually. The need to be a great fighter had been so ingrained in him, it had never occurred to him that he had a choice. A choice to do something else.

There were so many new emotions and revelations boiling inside him, and there was only one person he wanted to share it with.

And that thought brought his mind to what Sofia had said about love. Was he in love with Francesca? He was definitely in like. Deep like. He wanted to be around her all the time. He wanted to argue with her, he wanted to laugh with her, he wanted her to meet his sisters. He really wanted to win the fight in Miami, make her proud, show her that she’d made the right decision by signing him. He constantly pushed her to tell him all her secrets and feelings, but what had he really told her about himself? He’d never even told her about his father or about the scar on his face. He avoided any conversations about his constant physical aches, about his fears of becoming a has-been as he got older and the new fighters got younger. When she asked, he changed the subject. Damn it, maybe Sofia had been right…about everything.

For hours Tony drove around town hoping to find Francesca. By midday, he was exhausted from lack of sleep and worry.

He went back to her house to check if she’d come home. When he found the place still empty, he left her a note and went to the gym. For an hour straight Tony pounded his fists into the punching bag. The next hour, he spent working on take-down techniques with Slade and Cain. Travis and Enzo came in a few hours later, and he sparred with them for a while.

“Looking good, brother.” Travis tapped Tony’s shoulder as he stepped out of the ring. “I haven’t seen you this focused before.”

Enzo rubbed his own shoulder. “And you defended yourself and didn’t let me take you down. Damn, you almost dislocated my shoulder with that one move.”

“Good job,” Slade said as the guys headed out.

By nightfall, Tony was seriously thinking he was going to lose his mind. He was ready to call the police and report his car stolen in order to find her. Her cell phone sat ominously on the table where she’d left it.

Other than her father, there was only one person he hadn’t called. One, because he was afraid she might actually be with him, and that would probably destroy him, and two, because he didn’t want to ask the son of a bitch who’d been trying to poach on his woman for help. But he didn’t care about his wounded pride at the moment.

“Hello?”

“Rodrigo? Tony.”

“Tony?”

“You’re lucky you’re not in town, motherfucker.” He’d meant to do this nicer, but clearly he’d failed miserably.

“Excuse me?”

“I hope you’re ready for me. I’m gonna kill you when we fight. You hear me? Fuck the rules. I’m going to annihilate you!”

The man didn’t say anything for some time and when Tony heard him again, all he heard was laughter. “Frankie told ya I asked her out, I see.”

“You’ve been texting my woman. That’s not cool.”

“Relax. We both had unresolved issues, and we sort of hashed it out at the press conference. I feel bad about the way I handled it, but I wasn’t hitting on her, man. Okay, maybe I was, a little, but now I really just want to talk to her and try to get some closure between us. She’s obviously into you, so I don’t know what you did to get her mad.”

“How do you know she’s mad?”

“You wouldn’t be calling if she wasn’t.”

Tony let out a grumble. “Mad’s not even the word.”

“Oh, she’s pissed off. I wouldn’t want to be you right now. An angry Francesca is a thing of beauty.”

Tony wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially to Rodrigo, of all people, but he was right. Angry Francesca was a thing of beauty, with her hazel eyes shining and her skin reddened. Her strength when she was riled up was what had made him chase her around like an idiot for months. But what Rodrigo didn’t know, what no one else knew, was that when she gave up control, when she allowed him to lead—that’s when she was the most beautiful. Right now, though, what Tony was afraid of was that she wasn’t mad; he feared that her spark was gone and that she was hurt physically or emotionally. What she had said about her depression, that someone had hurt her so badly that she hadn’t seen a way out of it, unnerved him. His woman was so strong, and she had pulled herself out of her darkness. And now she was the light in his life. She needed to know that. He needed her back.

“I know we’re supposed to hate each other. I mean, you’re sleeping with my ex-wife and we’re fighting in a major bout soon, but can I give you some advice?” When Tony didn’t reply, Rodrigo continued. “I screwed up eight years ago. I let her go. She was my wife and my best friend and I lost her. I should’ve fought for her. And now it’s too late. Don’t make the same mistake I did. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. She likes to run away and to hide her emotions. When you find her, she’s going to shut down. That’s just the way she is.”

“I said some pretty hurtful things. I’m not sure she’ll take me back. Shit, I don’t even know where she is.”

“She’s not here, if that’s why you’re calling. Listen, she’s into you. She’ll hear what you have to say. And if not, go with knee pads.”

“Huh?”

“So you can get on your knees and beg.”

Tony laughed. “Thanks, man. Sorry about…you know…the threat.”

“I get it. Frankie’ll do that to a man.” With that, Rodrigo disconnected.

Francesca couldn’t hide out any longer. She needed her own clothes, her own shampoo, her own bed. The anger hadn’t at all subsided, and she was mad at herself for allowing him this power over her emotions.

She opened the front door to her dark house. She’d assumed that Tony had been looking for her; after all, she had his precious car. It hadn’t occurred to her that perhaps her nearly twenty-four-hour absence had gone unnoticed. She flipped on the nearest light, leaned into the wall with one hand, and slipped off her shoes. He was probably at a bar drinking and getting into a brawl.

She needed her rest so she could talk to Tony and break things off in the morning. She had her hand on the doorknob when an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. The hallway leading toward the bedrooms was pitch-black, and she couldn’t see a thing. Her instincts kicked in, and she was about to elbow the intruder’s jaw when the grip tightened, as if to rein her in, and she smelled Tony’s enticing cologne.

“I’m sorry, mi amor.” His warm breath by her ear felt like a sensual caress she wanted to melt into, except she was still mad. He had been a complete asshole, and no matter how much she wanted to submit to the strong arms holding her, she also wanted to smack him in the head with the shoe in her left hand. “You’re so strong, I sometimes forget how fragile you can be. I’m so sorry,” he whispered again.

They stood in the hall, still. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do just yet. “I was a jerk.” He kissed her shoulder. “I was worried. I missed you. I messed up.” He continued to kiss her shoulder and neck as he whispered how sorry he was.

She didn’t move because she wasn’t sure how to react. On the one hand, she wanted to cling to that anger, but on the other, she wanted to listen to him, forgive him, love him. Her eyes welled; they’d been doing that a lot lately. It was as if she had a backlog of tears that were trying to spill out from so many years of holding them in.

When anyone angered her, she wanted to fight back. It was her normal response, but with Tony, she just couldn’t fight. It was as if by letting him take the lead, the weight of her problems dissolved. She wanted to put aside her pride and forgive. In the dark, he unhooked her fingers from her shoe and it thumped onto the floor. “Do you forgive me?” he whispered into her ear. She felt him reach for her shirt and pull it over her head, then he pulled off her shorts and kicked them aside. He swooped down, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom. “I didn’t mean any of those things I said to you. You know that, right?”

He laid her down as if she were made of glass. The only noise was of him undressing before he climbed on top of her, his weight on his forearms. Apprehensively, she reached out and traced his scar with her index finger. He didn’t normally like people touching his very prominent scar. He knew it was impossible to ignore, even though he wished people didn’t notice. He hated it. “You are the only person who’s never asked me about my scar.”

The skin where she had touched left a lingering tingle from her contact. She must have noticed his trepidation and backtracked. “Sorry.” She closed her eyes and covered them with her hand. “Sorry. That was…not nice. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He swallowed. “No. No. It’s fine. Just caught me off guard. Most people feel uncomfortable. I mean, really, how could anyone not notice? It’s revolting.”

“It’s perfect,” she said quickly. She sensed that her reply had caught him completely off guard. “I never asked before because I forget it’s there.” She reached forward again. “Can I touch it?”

When he didn’t answer, she caressed it with the back of her hand but slower this time, seeking his silent approval. He didn’t move. She again traced it, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her palm. All of a sudden she realized that the silence, the intensity she felt, and the intimacy of what she was doing had changed something between them. The world had tilted on its axis. “Can I tell you why I love this scar?” He didn’t answer, so she went on. “The thing is, Tony, you’re flawed.” He looked at her in confusion. “You’re this devastatingly good-looking guy. Your body is perfect. Women would give their soul to the devil to have your hair.” She reached for his hair and ran her fingers through it. “Black, thick, soft. Even that dumb curl.” She pulled gently on the curl that sometimes fell on his forehead and let it go; it bounced back. “It looks perfect on you. Like it belongs there. There’s nothing wrong with you physically. Even that ridiculous beard. You look like a bear, but it’s sexy as hell. And you’re a charmer. You open your mouth, and the poor girls never stand a chance. You’re the most self-confident person I’ve ever met. But then you have this scar. It makes you human. It shows me that something went wrong somewhere, and somehow that makes it perfect. Because who wants perfect? Real perfection is flawed somehow, otherwise it isn’t real. And this scar, it makes you real.”

“Trust me, mi amor. That scar isn’t the only flaw I have. Far from it. You probably think it was from fighting.” She didn’t respond. “That’s what everyone assumes. Tony, the punk who gets into bar fights.” He reached down and twirled a chunk of her hair between his fingers. “That’s what the media say. Scarface Marino got into it at a club or some shit while he was drunk. But that’s not true.” He paused and kissed her forehead. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever told this story to anyone. Only my family knows.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Tony.”

“I want to. Maybe you’ll understand why I’m an asshole sometimes. I don’t mean to be, especially not with you. It’s just…I get so jealous I can’t control my temper.” He leaned back. “My dad…he loved women and booze. Loved them. Cheated on my mom all the time. Never brought any money home because he was either drinking or screwing. When he was home, all he wanted to do was train me. He was a boxer himself. The only memories I have of him sober is when we’d go down to the local YMCA and hit the punching bags. They were good memories, those times. He pushed me into kickboxing, and when I won my first professional fight, God, he was so happy and proud. But he was still a drunk and everyone in town knew it.

“I’m the youngest. My four sisters were always working to help my mother around the house. The kids in school would tease me all the time. Everyone knew about my dad. I didn’t want to believe he was cheating on my mom or that he was a drunk, so I got into a lot fights. My poor mother, I don’t know how she survived my high school years. I was always in trouble. Always angry. We were so broke those days. Scrambling to make rent. Living day to day.

“Well, on my eighteenth birthday an older friend of mine took me to a local bar for a drink to celebrate. We walked in and sat at the bar, and the bartender—a pretty girl with a crush on my friend—started giving us shots. Then a familiar voice yelled from behind me that the next round was on him, for the entire bar. He was celebrating something. I don’t know what. But when I turned around it was my father. He had a woman on his lap and a drink in his hand. I was so mad. He hadn’t even seen me. Hell, he hadn’t even been home that day to wish me a happy birthday.”

Tony stopped for a moment, lost in his thoughts. She waited patiently for what she already knew would not be a good story. “So anyway, we were barely making rent, and this motherfucker was buying the entire bar shots. Plus he was cheating on my mother. In front of the entire town. I stood up, and when he saw me, instead of being embarrassed, he was cool about it. Introduced me to his mistress. His mistress! I lost it and I started yelling at him, and he started yelling at me, calling me stupid and an ingrate. He said that had he not taught me to fight, I’d have been on the street, since I was too stupid to do anything else. I threw the first punch and he fell back. But you have to understand, my dad was a boxer. Even though he was older, the man was in shape. He stood up and punched me right back, broke my nose. One thing led to another, and soon we were in a full-out fight on the floor of the bar. The scuffle ended when he reached for a beer bottle that had somehow broken and used it to get me off him.”

“He cut you with the broken bottle?” She seemed genuinely hurt by the realization.

“He hit me with it.” He took a deep breath. “He died a few years ago. Cancer. He served a month in jail for assaulting me, but he never apologized. My mother divorced him soon after. But the fucker died of cancer. Alone. The only thing that made him happy was when I fought. I was angry for fighting, for being good at it. Yet I kept doing it for some sick need to get his approval. How fucked up is that?”

She reached up and touched his face. “I’m sorry for what your father did to you. It’s fucked up only because he was wrong for doing that to you. Your need to please him…that’s not fucked up. You were just a kid. And…I’m sorry too. About our fight.” There, she’d said it. “I shouldn’t have walked out. Leaving was the cowardly thing to do.”

He reached between her legs, pushed her panties to the side, and slowly entered her. No urgency, just slow and sensual.

“Francesca.” His voice was so pained and so low, she wanted to weep. “I’ve never done this with someone who mattered. Never,” he whispered. “I love you, mi amor.” He moved his body achingly slow inside her. The words tore at something deep within her—something so new and wonderful and oh so scary. The last time she’d opened her heart, it had been ripped to shreds. She wanted to tell him all of this, but she just couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth. He continued to rock in and out of her, all his weight on her. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. It was such a tender moment, and the fact she couldn’t say the words back killed her.

“Don’t say anything,” he said, as if he could sense her struggle. “I love you, and I’m going to fix me, baby. Then I’m going to fix you, my love. I’ll make you whole again. You’re going to see yourself the same way I see you,” he promised as he pushed inside her and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “Because I need you and me to be an us.”

He kissed her, stroked her face, and whispered loving things until they both reached their peak and he collapsed on her.

When they caught their breath, Francesca finally spoke up, tears in her eyes. “I’m so scared of getting hurt that I’m not capable of loving someone.” A sob escaped her lips, shocking both of them. “But you have to know that if I could love, it would be you who I’d want to love.”

“My beautiful girl, you are capable of loving. That unfamiliar feeling in the pit of your stomach, that’s love. I was stupid and slow not to notice it sooner, or maybe it’s such a new thing I couldn’t recognize it. But it’s love. You love me, and I don’t need you to say it to know. I would tell you that I’m going to make you fall in love with me, but you already have. I’ll get you to say it, though. You’ll see.”

She didn’t say anything; she simply wrapped herself in his arms, breathed him in, and fell asleep feeling all the love he had to give.