45. Francesca
45
FRANCESCA
The store smells like freshly brewed coffee and the crisp pages of new books, courtesy of the fragrance plug-in behind the counter. And for once, I’m content to just exist in it. No distractions. No pressing thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind. Just the steady hum of Fiction & Folklore around me, the low chatter of customers, the rhythmic jingle of the door as customers enter and leave. It’s peaceful.
A small part of me still expects the other shoe to drop. But I’m working on ignoring that part.
“Alright, which one?” Eloise asks, holding up two books like she’s weighing them in each hand. “The one with the morally gray warlord or the one with the sunshine heroine who falls for a grumpy reclusive artist?”
I barely glance at the covers before pointing. “Warlord.”
She grins. “I thought for sure you’d go for the grumpy sunshine combo.”
My lips twist to the side. “Is this another Graham observation?”
Margot chuckles as she leans back against the counter, glancing between me and her sister. “I’m just saying. If you and Graham were a trope, it’d be that one.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. I only really met Margot at Carter family dinner a few weeks ago, but since then, she’s stopped in several times with her sisters.
“I’m going to the back,” their youngest sister, Vivienne, says.
“Just one today, yeah?” Eloise calls out. Vivienne just holds up her hand like a signal that she heard her oldest sister.
I shake my head in amusement as I watch Vivienne disappear into the stacks. She’s the quietest of the three sisters, but there’s a determined set to her shoulders that tells me she’s on a mission.
Margot leans in conspiratorially. “She’s been on a fantasy kick lately. I think she’s trying to read her way through the entire genre.”
I grin. “More power to her. There’s some incredible fantasy out there right now.”
Eloise hums in agreement as she sets the warlord book on the counter, apparently having made her decision. “I think she’s read every middle grade fantasy book she can get her hands on.”
“I’ll try to order some more for her to try.”
“Thank you. She’d like that, I’m sure. My wallet? Not so much,” Eloise says with a chuckle.
I wave her off. “Please, it’s my job to enable book addictions. Besides, I’m always happy to help a fellow fantasy lover expand her horizons.”
Margot grins, nudging my shoulder with hers. “Careful, she’ll never leave if you keep being so accommodating. We’ll have to start paying you rent.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I would never complain about that. Surrounding myself with books and the people who love them is pretty much my dream come true.”
Eloise’s expression softens. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Something warm and genuine blooms in my chest at Eloise’s words. “That means a lot, Eloise. Truly. This store, this town, all of you . . . it already feels more like home than anywhere else ever has.”
Margot’s smile turns knowing as she leans in slightly. “And a certain brooding, tattooed husband of yours has nothing to do with that, I’m sure.”
I duck my head, but I can’t quite suppress the grin tugging at my lips or the faint blush heating my cheeks. “He may have something to do with it, yes,” I admit.
Eloise laughs, the sound bright and warm. “I knew it! You two are disgustingly cute together, you know that? Like, romance novel level swoon-worthy.”
My phone vibrates on the counter beside me, cutting through the conversation. I glance at the screen, and my stomach drops when I see the caller.
Florence.
I hesitate for a moment before picking up the phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It’s been weeks since I last saw Florence, since she showed up in Graham’s bed in a twisted attempt to drive a wedge between us. I told her then to call me when she was ready to be my sister, not our mother’s pawn.
Maybe this is it. Maybe she’s finally ready to have a real relationship, free from our parents’ influence and expectations. Or maybe it’s just another ploy, another game in the never-ending chess match that is the Ashburn family.
There’s only one way to find out.
“I’m sorry. I have to take this.” I gesture to my phone, an apologetic frown on tipping down my mouth.
“No problem. We’ll go help Vivie pick out her books,” Eloise says with a grin.
“Speak for yourself. I’m going to find a new book. I’m thinking lumberjacks,” Margot says, waggling her brows.
I give her a grateful smile before stepping into the back room and swiping to accept the video call. The second the video feed flickers to life, my breath catches.
“Florence?”
Her usually perfect makeup is smudged, mascara streaking down her cheeks in dark lines. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen like she’s been crying for hours.
“Frankie,” she says, voice breaking.
I straighten, grip tightening on the phone. “Flora, what happened?”
She sniffs, wiping at her face with a shaking hand. “I—I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Are you okay? Where are you?” I press, my heart clenching at the sight of my sister looking so wrecked.
She takes a shuddering breath, glancing around like she’s afraid someone might overhear. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t know if it’s my husband’s.”
The words hit me square in the chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. For a second, I don’t move, don’t react. I can’t.
My mind scrambles for something—anything—to say, but I can’t get past the implications of what she just admitted. A dozen emotions slam into me at once. Shock, disbelief, something dangerously close to anger. Is this another game? Another manipulation? Some dramatic ploy to get me to fall back into step with our mother’s plan?
But then I really look at her. At the way she’s clutching the fabric of her robe like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart. At the smudged mascara streaks staining her cheeks, the redness around her eyes. At the unmistakable terror in them.
This isn’t an act. It’s not a game. My sister is afraid.
Florence doesn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze darts around like she’s checking over her shoulder, her breath coming in shallow bursts. I’ve seen her dramatic, I’ve seen her calculated, I’ve seen her cruel. But I’ve never seen her like this.
Raw, terrified.
“Florence,” I say carefully. “Where are you?”
She sniffles, swiping at her mascara-streaked face. “Home.” Her voice is a thin thread, unraveling. “But I—Francesca, I can’t stay here.”
A chill creeps down my spine. “I thought you two had an arrangement.”
She exhales shakily, fingers gripping the fabric of the silk robe she’s wearing like it’s the only thing tethering her. “If it’s not his, he’ll kill me.” A humorless laugh bubbles out of her, brittle and cracking at the edges. “Or maybe Mother will do it first, just to save face.”
My stomach knots. Florence has always been dramatic. But this doesn’t feel like an exaggeration. This feels like a warning.
“Flora, listen to me,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and level despite the dread winding through my veins. “Pack a bag and leave. Don’t wait for permission, just go .”
She sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “And go where? I don’t exactly have a lot of options here, Frankie.”
“You can come here.” The words leave my mouth before I can second guess them. “Stay in my flat in Avalon Falls.”
Florence hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Even after what I did, you’d still help me?”
I should say no. I should remind her of what she’s done—what she’s put me through, what she tried to pull with Graham. I should tell her that she made her choice when she sided with our mother, when she let them control her, when she let them use her as a pawn against me.
And Graham—God, Graham is going to lose his mind when I tell him what I’m about to do. I can already hear his voice in my head, calm but firm, telling me not to rush in, not to trust too easily. Telling me that my sister has burned me before, and that the people in our family don’t just change overnight.
And he’s right. And I don’t even know if I trust her.
But none of that matters. Not right now.
Because Florence is crying—truly crying, not the calculated, strategic kind of tears I’ve seen her wield like a weapon. And when she looks at me, it’s not with pity or contempt or superiority. It’s with raw, naked fear. And if I walk away now, if I refuse to help her, then I’m no better than the people who raised us.
So I swallow down every doubt, every hesitation, and I say the only thing that matters.
“You’re my sister.”
Fresh tears spill out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. “I can’t. They took everything. My wallet, my passport, my car keys. My phone was charging in the library, or they would’ve taken that too.” She shudders, eyes flitting off-screen again. Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “They won’t let me leave.”
I can barely hear the ambient noise of the bookstore anymore, barely register anything beyond the blood rushing in my ears.
Florence looks back at me, mascara-smeared and broken in a way I never thought I’d see.
“You were right,” she whispers. “About all of it. About them. And I—I didn’t want to believe it, but I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice wobbles on the last word, and something inside me crumbles.
I should be angry. I should still be furious over what she pulled with Graham. But none of that matters right now. She’s my sister, and she’s scared. And if I don’t help her now, then I’m no better than the rest of my family.
I swallow, forcing my voice steady. “Okay. I’ll come get you.”
Her breath stutters. “You—what?”
“You heard me,” I say, already mentally planning everything I have to do to close up the bookstore and get to Winthrop Harbor. “I’ll bring you back to Avalon Falls.”
Her lower lip trembles. She presses a hand to her mouth, blinking rapidly like she’s trying to hold it together. “You’d do that for me?”
I don’t hesitate. “You’re my sister. If you need my help, I’ll help you.”
A broken sound leaves her throat. Relief, disbelief, something else maybe.
For the first time since answering this call, I see a flicker of the Florence I used to know, before she let our mother mold her into something unrecognizable.
She inhales sharply, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”
I exhale slowly, already running through the logistics in my head. The bookstore, Romeo, Graham— Graham . My stomach tightens. He’s not going to like this.
But that’s a problem for later. Right now, there’s only one thing that matters.
I nod. “I’m coming.”