Chapter Five
“A ballerina.”
I exaggerate my grimace, drawling, “No. That’s so typical.”
Francesca swats me in the stomach. “Shut up. What did you want to be, then, Mr. Atypical?”
“When I was a kid, I always thought I’d grow up to be a superhero.”
She laughs, and it makes me happy. Not just her laugh—that makes me happy, but I love how comfortable she is. This is our third official date. It took a few days to make it happen, but I rented a room at a little bed and breakfast outside Chicago. Not to have sex—I still haven’t done more than kiss this woman, somehow—but just to spend time with her, to give us privacy. She’s supposed to be at the bakery, but Mark is covering for her while she slips away with me for a few hours.
Until now, I’ve never enjoyed lying in bed with someone, not having sex.
“My apologies. No other person in the history of the universe ever wanted to grow up to be a superhero. I bow to your supreme uniqueness,” she says, lifting up from the pillows wedged behind her to give a little bow.
“Thank you,” I say, with mock satisfaction. “First kiss?”
“Adrian.”
My eyes widen. “Your brother’s Adrian?”
Grinning, she nods. “We were kids. We were playing house—I made Adrian play house with me all the time. He had to be my husband because he’s the only person in the house I wasn’t related to, and one day when he was leaving for pretend work, I gave him a kiss. Mateo made fun of me and I got so embarrassed I cried.”
“Aww,” I say on a laugh, tugging her into my arms and dropping a little kiss on top of her head. “Your brother’s such an asshole.”
“Well, kids are usually assholes, but yes, he was an asshole then, too.”
“Why did Adrian live with you guys when you were kids? I mean, I heard about what your dad did to his family, obviously, but how come he took him in after?”
Francesca shrugs. “I don’t even attempt to understand the motives of the Morelli men,” she tells me. “My father’s psychotic. He’s sick now, so maybe I shouldn’t say that, but he’s seriously messed up. Mateo is too, but I don’t think on the same level. Maybe just not yet. Maybe it takes time for the evil to really marinate and turn you truly evil. I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t sound like you and your brother are close.”
“I’m not really close to any of my brothers. I’m closer to Vince. He’s younger and he’s a lot better. He’s not like the rest of them. Joey isn’t bad, but he’s in prison. It’s been so long since I’ve actually been around him, we just drifted. I never went to visit him because Mateo told me not to. He’ll give him money for the commissary or whatever it’s called, but no one visits.”
“How come?”
She shrugs. “Mateo’s very particular about things. He’s the brother I tried to get close to as a kid. He’s always had charisma and I wasn’t immune to it, but I was of no use to him; I was just his annoying little sister, so he was never interested.”
“That’s tough.”
Nodding as she looks off at the wall, she says, “I’m glad you’re close to your sisters. When you told me that story at the bakery about Madeline, I thought about it all night long. I thought how nice it must be to have someone like that care about you.” Glancing at me a bit shyly, she amends, “Someone like you, I mean.”
“I care about you too, you know,” I tell her.
Looking up at me through those long, dark lashes, she says, “You barely know me.”
“I know enough to care.”
“Are you usually like this with girls?”
I shake my head. “Nope, not all. Not girlfriends, at least. I’m protective of family, and it’s the damndest thing, but I feel the same way for you. I can’t explain it.”
Teasingly, she says, “You think of me like a sister?”
My eyes wander over her body lazily and my hand drifts toward her face, caressing her jawline. “No, ma’am, I most certainly do not.”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asks.
“I do not. I believe in lust at first sight. Doesn’t take much more than that to want a beautiful woman, but oftentimes a little interaction can kill it. Do you?”
“I don’t know,” she says, thoughtfully. For a moment she’s quiet, lost in thought. I could talk, but I talk too much around her—I want her to talk. So I don’t say anything, I just wait. “I used to,” she finally says. “I’ve always been kind of lonely, I guess. My mom died when I was just a baby, so I never really had one. My father’s legitimately psychotic. My older brother is the head of the family, but he never yearned for any kind of closeness with me. I never felt valuable. You just didn’t in my family, if you were a girl. Girls aren’t useful, only the boys are, so if you’re a Morelli girl, you just sort of… you just exist, and you’re not terribly important to anyone. It’s almost like if you were gone, no one would even notice, until Sunday when no one was there to help serve dinner.”
I hate everything she just said, but I continue to listen.
“When I was little, I used to imagine I would be saved from my life someday. It sounds silly to want to be saved from a life like mine, from living in a house worth millions of dollars with more money than I could ever spend and a closet full of designer dresses and shoes. That sounds ridiculous, I realize that.”
“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” I tell her, seriously. “Material things can’t replace what you were missing.”
Nodding, she says, “Yeah. Well, I used to pretend I was a princess in a castle, and some dashing commoner fell in love with me and he wanted me so much, he would do anything, risk anything to have me. He would sneak to the window outside my bedroom in the castle just to see me, just to hear the sound of my voice, just the whispers as I told him to leave, because he couldn’t be there, he didn’t fit in my life and it was dangerous.” She smiles, rolling her eyes at her younger self, and reaches over onto the nightstand for her wine glass, taking a sip and replacing it. “It was always dangerous, because in my fantasies there was usually a spoiled, ruthless prince I was supposed to be with—I knew plenty about spoiled, ruthless men—but it was the devoted commoner I wanted. Someone who could steal me away from the castle, who could hide me away in a simple cottage, no gowns, no fripperies, just love. Love was enough. Love was all I wanted.”
I want to respond, but I don’t know how. I feel so goddamn sad for that little girl. I imagine Maddie feeling that way, and I can’t. I can’t even fathom it.
But Francesca isn’t done. “When I got older, I had this romantic streak. It’s like my fantasy from childhood remained in my heart somehow, only it was real then—I was a princess in a castle with pretty gowns and fripperies and completely lacking in love. There was a ruthless, spoiled prince—he wasn’t my love interest, he was my brother, but that still worked. An uncaring, ruthless older brother, and a younger, unloved princess. He could still be plenty dangerous, if he gave a damn. I always thought maybe his protective nature would come out when I started dating. I didn’t realize that I wouldn’t start dating. I didn’t realize that growing up with a homicidal father and the kind of family I have, it didn’t lend itself to dating. I went to school and I interacted with outsiders, but they all kept their distance. A couple of the girls didn’t, they befriended me, but you know, half of them only did it to get to Mateo,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Him and his goddamn magnetism. Anyway, the guys did not bite. I never got asked on a single date in high school. I had no one to go to prom with, so I stayed home. It was even lonelier.”
Jesus, I hate all of that, too. Was there anything about her life that didn’t suck?
“Then I started working at the bakery. I liked working at the bakery. It suited me. It’s usually pretty calm, pretty predictable, and in the back of my mind I always had this dumbass fantasy of my golden-haired commoner coming in one day, just by chance. He’d see me and it would be like being hit by lightning. He would be drawn to me and he wouldn’t know why—it would just be love at first sight. Without ever needing to know what makes me special, he would just see it, and he would just love me, and he would have to have me. He would pursue me, and I would resist because I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. Because maybe someone would care if I actually left, maybe I just didn’t know I mattered.”
Francesca stops now, her nose turning a little red. She clears her throat and turns her face away from me, grabbing her wine glass and taking a long sip. My stomach sinks when she looks back, and her eyes look a little red-rimmed, and I realize she’s actually upset. This is an upsetting memory. I want to stop her, I want to tell her she doesn’t have to tell me more, but I also need to hear it. I need to know everything about this woman. I don’t need her to convince me she’s special; I’m fucking convinced. But I want her to tell me anyway.
“And then one day he came in,” she says, with false lightness. “One day my commoner showed up, and he was taken with me. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t question it, because it was fate. He came in every single day to buy a single oatmeal raisin cookie. I knew it was just to see me. One day I went to the door when he left, because I was going to call him back, and I saw him toss the cookie in the trash can in front of the bakery. That was when I knew. That was when I completely believed he was my person, my commoner, the one who would love me beyond reason, who would do anything to just have me, because for some reason I mattered to him.”
I watch her, feeling uneasy, since this has to be the guy. This has to be the motherfucker who broke her heart.
“Eventually he asked me out. I remember it was the strangest courtship. He worked so tirelessly to get my attention, and then once he had it… it was like he stopped caring. It was the damndest thing, like there was a switch he could turn on and off, like my family. It made me a little uncomfortable, but I started thinking maybe all guys were like that. Maybe they were just different from girls. Anyway, I didn’t question it. I fell head over in heels in love with him. He didn’t even have to work for it, that’s the most embarrassing thing, looking back. I did all the work for him before I even met him. I was so lonely, so desperate for love and importance; I took it as soon as someone offered it, even if it didn’t make sense.”
More than anything, I want to comfort her. I want to pull her into my arms, I want to kiss her. I want to absorb all of her pain into myself so she doesn’t have to feel it ever again.
“He was an awful boyfriend. Once he had me, he knew I wasn’t going anywhere. He was brutal and uncaring, he was cold and he would go through the motions sometimes, say words I needed to hear, but there was nothing behind them. It didn’t matter. I gave him my virginity and my heart; I let him have every hope and dream. He was the only man I’d ever met brave enough to face my family. In fact, he liked being around my family. At a certain point I started to realize he liked spending time with them far more than he liked spending time with me. Sometimes he would come over to see me, and not see me at all. I would wait for him, I would get dressed and ready to see him and I would just wait, and he would never show up, and I thought he stood me up, and then I’d find him in with my brother.”
I’m frowning now. I have a hunch where this might be going, and I don’t like it.
Glancing at me, she says, “Mateo had taken over by this point. My father got sick and Mateo was the second guy in command, so he was the guy who had to approve any…” She takes a breath and blows it out. “But he’s not an easy guy to get an audience with, either. He keeps his circle small. When he has reliable people, he pays them well and keeps them out of trouble. He doesn’t have to shop around for new talent all that often.”
“I know this,” I murmur, since at least that I can comment on.
She glances over at me, then fixes her attention back on the wall in front of her. “So, once he got close to my brother, he pitched him. Wanted to work for him. I hated the idea. That was the last thing I wanted. He was supposed to be the normal guy who took me away from my life, who saved me from having to spend the rest of my life as a Morelli, and here he was trying to work for my brother? Not to mention it’s dangerous. Not to mention the job he was after, what he’d have to do. It made me physically ill. I didn’t want to believe he was even capable of it.”
“What job?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, shaking her head. “Anyway, you can probably tell where this is heading. I was an idiot, so I couldn’t. He never had any interest in me, he just saw me as a way to get close to my brother. Once Mateo hired him, he dropped me like a bad habit. He didn’t even break up with me, he just disappeared. He came by one night for drinks with the guys and I happened to see him, and I was so upset I actually confronted him, and it was… it was humiliating. He was so mean. And he knew how stupid I was. How easy I was. He told me how easy I was.” She shakes her head, blinking a few times too many. “I thought he’d be the person who showed me I was worth something to someone after all, and it turned out he was the person who verified just how worthless I was.”
I feel like I’m literally on fucking fire with anger. There’s so much heat beneath my skin, I need a cold shower. “Well, I hope that motherfucker learned his lesson. What did Mateo do when he found out?”
Her lips lift in a mockery of a smile. “Promoted him.”
“What?”
Shrugging, she grabs her wine glass and takes another sip. “He liked his ruthlessness.”
“Your brother knew what this fuck did, how he used you, and he kept him on his fucking payroll?”
“He makes my brother a lot of money.” The way she says this, it’s like she knows this is bullshit, but does she know? Does she know how incredibly fucked up that is?
“He still works for him?”
I don’t remember the last time I felt rage like this. I don’t remember the last time I felt this angry, and simultaneously this helpless to do a goddamn thing about it.
She nods her head, resting back against the pillows. “Yep. It’s more important to be useful than to be a good person in my family. So, that’s the story of my first love. I loved a black hole, and I never got my heart or my trust back.”
“What’s his name?”
Smiling slightly, she cuts a glance my way and shakes her head.
“So I’d know his name?”
“I imagine you would,” she says, nodding. “It doesn’t matter. What good would it do?”
“Well, he just moved up a spot on my hit list, so I think it might do a lot of good. Who the fuck is this asshole? I have to know.”
“I won’t tell you that. It would do no good to tell you. You can’t do anything to him. That my brother would respond to.”
“He’s a useless fuck.”
Cracking a smile, she asks, “My brother, or my first love?”
“Both,” I mutter. “What kind of fucking brother sees some asshole mistreating his sister and says, oh, hey, I should hire this stupid fuck?”
“The kind I have,” she answers.
“Well, fuck your brother. Fuck your whole family. They’re a dysfunctional band of fucking assholes.”
Smiling, she moves over closer to me, lying down so her head’s in my lap. “They’re not the greatest,” she agrees.
“It’s not funny,” I tell her, hating that she’s smiling, trying to put a brave face on this bullshit. “It’s not funny at all. They’re your family. And they’re fucking powerful—I know the power they have. There’s no excuse for this. If you were my family, if someone ever did that to you or anyone I loved, I would use every fucking resource I have to bury them. I would destroy that fucking asshole. You don’t reward shit like that. That’s fucked up.”
After a moment, she says, “When you first came into the bakery, I thought of that. But your eyes weren’t empty like his. I didn’t see it in the beginning, since I wasn’t looking for it, but I realized afterward, maybe I should’ve been able to pick up on that. His eyes were just… empty. Not even empty like Mateo’s can be sometimes, like constantly vacant. And there were little things, times he should’ve wondered if I was okay and he didn’t. Like, the first time we had sex, he hurt me, and I remember not wanting him to feel bad, and wanting to reassure him, but he didn’t need it. He didn’t ask if I was okay, he didn’t care. And I just thought he was maybe embarrassed? Or he felt guilty but he didn’t show it the normal way? I made excuses, but… he just didn’t care.”
“I want to fucking kill your brother right now,” I tell her, still so hot with anger I want to rip my clothes off and bathe in a tub of ice. This impotent rage thing isn’t familiar. Usually if I feel rage, I can do something about it. I can’t do shit about this. She won’t even tell me who this fuck is, and if she did, I can’t exactly go to Mateo and demand he fire the asshole.
I want to be able to. I want to be in a position to make demands on Francesca’s behalf, to protect her from anyone who would hurt her.
She looks up at me from my lap, her beautiful brown eyes connecting with the angry gray depths of mine, and suddenly she’s sitting up, touching my face, smiling softly.
“Your eyes aren’t empty,” she tells me, and hers shine. Somehow even after that story, even after that experience, even after growing up undervalued in a den of snakes, she still has such a gentle, kind nature.
“I could never feel empty looking at you,” I tell her, honestly.
Smiling sweetly, she leans into me to give me a kiss. It’s the same light, reserved, close-mouthed kiss like she’s given me each time until now and I’ve been fine with that up until today. Today it isn’t enough. Bracing my hand on the back of her head, I pull her closer, guiding her until she’s sitting on my lap facing me, straddling me, her knees on either side of my body. When her lips remain closed, I urge her with my mouth to open them. I want her to let me inside, in every way. I want into her body, her heart, her mind, her soul, her life. I want to bring an army with me to clear out every last dark corner, to repair every single wound that’s ever been inflicted.
Just a few minutes ago, Francesca asked if I believed in love at first sight and I told her no.
Love at third date, though. There might be something to that.