Chapter 19
Frances
Aside from the soft hush of our footsteps, the Romano mansion is dead quiet. Unwilling to wake anyone up, I silently guide Darius down the hallway, attuned to every creak and shift of air around us. As we descend the winding staircase, sunlight spills through the large, wide windows, catching on the chandeliers and warming the cold marble beneath our feet.
I pause for a second, taking in the polished floors, the glittering glass, the ample space. It’s all so different from the orphanage, where light comes through cracked panes and the floors groan under every step. This place feels like a dream someone else is meant to have. Someone who isn’t me.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Darius rubs his eyes and yawns. “Do you think we’re even allowed to eat? I mean, without permission from your boyfriend’s family?”
“Lucky said it was fine,” I whisper back, even though I feel like I’m trespassing. “Just… be cool.”
“I knew it. He is your boyfriend!” Darius smiles, looking more alert now.
“Shh,” I press my finger on my lips.
“You can shush me all you want, but you didn’t deny it.” He grins ear to ear as if he’d just caught me in a lie.
I let out a heavy sigh since I know he won’t stop asking me about who Lucky is to me until I give him an answer.
“Lucky’s not my boyfriend. He’s a… friend,” I finally relent.
“We don’t do friends.” He arches a brow.
“Well, we do now. And Lucky is our friend. There… you happy?”
Darius glances around the grand, lavish foyer and shrugs. “We could do worse.”
I chuckle under my breath and smile.
He’s right. As friends go, I could definitely do worse than Lucky Luciano Romano. However, it’s not the wealth or his family’s generous hospitality that makes him a good friend.
It’s him—Lucky. And last night, we were more than just friendly—we were perfect.
Still, even perfection has an expiration date. Nothing lasts forever in life. Especially mine.
It took all the restraint I had to leave his room this morning. After the night we had, we both needed a shower and some food in our systems. I also wanted to check on Darius.
Back at the orphanage, we’re up by six-thirty and eating breakfast by seven sharp, no excuses. So I wasn’t surprised when I walked into his room a few minutes ago and found him already freshly showered, dressed, and the bed made, just like the nuns drilled into us. And, like me, he was also starving.
As we make our way to the kitchen in search of breakfast, we pass the grand dining room, where a long table surrounded by a dozen empty chairs sits beneath a vase of white roses that likely cost more than our combined tuition.
For a second, I hesitate. Maybe we are being rude, like Darius said—creeping around the mansion while everyone’s still asleep, thinking about food. Are we supposed to wait for someone to invite us? Stay in our respective rooms until someone calls us for breakfast? I don’t know the rules in houses like this. Neither of us does. We’re just hungry. But after everything the Romanos have done for us, the last thing I want is to seem ungrateful.
As if hearing my internal struggle, Lucky appears out of nowhere. His hair is damp, his shirt rumpled as if he just pulled it on, and he’s carrying a duffle bag under his arm, but all I see is that swoony, crooked grin on his face aimed at me.
Crap … did I just describe Lucky’s smiles as swoony? God, help me.
I plead with my heart to settle down as he places a chaste kiss on my cheek and then focuses on my little brother.
“You sleep okay, little man?”
“It was alright.” Darius shrugs nonchalantly.
“He slept in a king-size bed with sheets that probably have a higher thread count than my entire wardrobe,” I tease, eyeing Darius with affection.
“Well, you must be hungry. Kitchen’s this way,” he says, motioning us down another corridor.
“Are you sure it’s okay with your parents? We wouldn’t want to be rude. We can wait for everyone else to wake up,” I say, my anxiety coming back to me.
“So you’re going to starve just because everyone got hammered last night? Yeah, that’s not happening, babe. Am I right, D?” He winks at Darius before giving him a high five.
“What he said,” Darius piles on, letting his stomach do all the decision-making for him.
Seeing as I’m outnumbered, I don’t put up a fight and let Lucky lead the way.
The kitchen is tucked in the back of the house, and it feels just as luxurious as the rest of it. Sunlight pours in through warm yellow curtains, the smell of fresh bread and coffee lingering in the air while plants and herbs decorate every windowsill.
“Ah! Finalmente! ” a woman’s voice sings the second we step in. “I was wondering if all this food was going to go to waste.”
Piled high on the grand kitchen island are stacks of golden pancakes, bowls of glistening berries, and platters of flaky pastries, muffins, and scones still warm from the oven. My eyes drink it all in, wide and stunned, just as Darius’s stomach lets out a loud, helpless growl.
“Now, this is what I’m talking about!” Darius hollers, running to grab a plate and filling it as high as he can manage.
I’m about to reprimand him since, again, I don’t want us to look rude, but Lucky’s cook just chuckles at Darius’ excitement.
“Take a seat and leave some room on your plate for bacon and eggs, piccolino. I’m almost done.”
“A far cry from porridge, huh?” Lucky whispers in my ear, placing a tender hand on the small of my back.
“This is definitely different,” I reply softly, still amazed at the abundance of food in this kitchen.
He throws me a loving smile before he coaxes me closer to his cook and says, “Lourdes, you haven’t officially met her, but this is Frankie.”
“Hi,” I greet, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“So this is your Frankie,” she gushes at the stove, her apron dusted with flour while a pan of bacon sizzles behind her. Her eyes twinkle with warmth as she sets down a bowl and wipes her hands on her apron before pulling me into a big hug. “She’s perfetta, ” she says to Lucky, pulling away just to cup my face. “You didn’t tell me she had such beautiful eyes. Così belli. ”
I’m already blushing profusely under her gaze while Lucky stands beside me, his chestnut eyes filled with tenderness. “ Lei lo è. Perfetta, ” he says softly, the heat of his hand making me swallow dryly.
“I… um… nice to meet you.” I swallow dryly. “And thank you for all the recipes you gave Lucky to pass on to me. I’ve learned so much because of them.”
“I’m glad. Lucky says you cook even better than me,” Lourdes says with her brows arched, her thick Italian accent smoothing out every word like honey.
“He said what?” I whip around to glare at him.
He holds up both hands and laughs. “I said she might one day. She has the talent for it. All Frankie needs is a good teacher. Maybe even go to culinary school.” My brows pinch together at the remark.
He knows I can’t afford culinary school. He knows that my plans for the future are already set in stone. So why is he telling people otherwise?
“Well, if you ever want to come to the house, I’m more than happy to teach you.”
Come to the house. She means Lucky’s real home.
“Thank you,” I reply on autopilot, unsure whether the cause of the knot that forms in my stomach is Lucky’s statement about my future or the reminder of how different his reality is from mine.
Lucky quickly sees my shift in mood and swiftly retreats his hand from my back again. “Take a seat. I’m just going to pop into the laundry room real quick and be back in a jiff.”
That’s when my eyes land on his duffle bag, mortification coloring my cheeks bright red.
Crap. Those are probably his bed sheets. Kill me now.
I don’t have time to dwell on my embarrassment for too long as Lourdes starts asking me questions about the recipes she sent, especially the ones I enjoyed most. Perhaps it’s the aroma in the room or the easy conversation with her about the tricks of the trade that eases my tension by the time Lucky returns.
“Done!” Darius says from the other side of the kitchen, practically skipping over to us. “Ready for my bacon and eggs now, please.”
“Glad to hear it.” Lourdes laughs while an impatient Darius watches her whisking some eggs into shape from the sidelines.
Lucky tilts his head, indicating for me to follow him, and we settle at the large table by the tall windows, where sunlight spills over yet another vase of freshly cut flowers.
“Are you okay?” he asks, entwining his fingers with mine under the table once I’ve sat down. I nod, not wanting to pick a fight with him right now in front of Darius and Lourdes. “You don’t need to lie to me. I can tell you’re upset,” he murmurs, giving my hand an encouraging squeeze.
“Why did you tell Lourdes I was going to culinary school?” I finally ask, facing him.
His shoulders slouch back into his chair, but his hand remains latched to mine, and he replies, “I didn’t say you were going. I said you would benefit from it. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one from where I’m sitting,” I hush out, unable to hide my inexplicable anger.
Why am I so angry that he said such a thing?
Is it because he should know better than to vocalize a dream that will never come to fruition? Or is it that I resent him for even thinking it could be possible?
“I’m sorry,” he says after a long pause. He then leans in and hides a strand of my hair behind my ear, looking deep into my eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
I stare into his warm brown orbs, seeing actual regret there. “It’s okay,” I let out a heavy sigh.
“Yeah?” His eyes light up. “You forgive me?”
“You’re kind of making it hard not to,” I retort, feeling my lips curve into a smile.
“Well, fuck me. I think that’s the first fight we had where you didn’t physically attack me.” He laughs, leaning closer.
“Don’t tempt me. I still might,” I tease.
“I’ll settle for a make-up kiss instead,” he counters, his gaze lowering to my lips.
“What? Here?” I giggle.
“Just one kiss, Frankie. What harm can one kiss make?”
Easy for him to say.
Every kiss feels like I’m promising something I shouldn’t. Something that isn’t mine to give.
Like my future.
Before I can stop myself, I bridge the gap between us, pressing a sweet kiss on his lips. His hand instantly snakes behind my nape, holding me still just so he can take as much of me as he can. His lips move against mine, gentle at first, then deeper. Hungrier. The air between us hums, thick with everything we’re not saying. Everything we’re pretending not to feel. Just as I’m being pulled under his spell, Lucky pulls back, his eyes hooded and a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
“I might not like it when we fight, but I sure as fuck enjoy us making up.”
“Liar. You like it when we fight too,” I pant for breath.
“Not when it hurts you. Never when it hurts you,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I hope you know I’d never hurt you on purpose.” My heart drums in my chest at the sincerity in his voice.
He promises not to hurt me… but can I make the same promise?
Instead of addressing the loaded question swimming in his eyes, I cast a glance toward the other side of the kitchen, where Lourdes hums softly, weaving her magic. At the same time, Darius chats animatedly about his night at the mansion, his eyes wide and his hands flying with excitement. She listens patiently as she slides plates of scrambled eggs and bacon onto trays. With Darius in tow, she then walks over and places them in front of us.
“This all looks amazing, Lourdes. Thank you,” I say, slipping my hand from Lucky’s while doing my best to ignore his pout.
“ Mangia, mangia, ” she sings. “You’re too thin. All bones.”
I freeze for half a second and stare at her. Is that a joke? Is she messing with me?
As I look into her eyes, however, I see nothing but kindness and warmth reflected back at me, so I can tell she really means it. I guess her perception of thinness differs from the rest of the world. Not that I’m complaining.
“I could get used to this,” I murmur, already reaching for my fork.
“I hope you do,” Lucky says, earning a conspiratorial wink from Lourdes.
I try not to read into what he meant by that and dig in. With the first forkful of scrambled eggs, I get a hit of salted butter and a hint of oregano, easily making these eggs the best I’ve ever eaten.
Lucky’s right. I could learn a lot from Lourdes.
Why? It’s not like you’ll be doing this type of cooking back at the orphanage. Or the convent.
I push those somber thoughts away and focus on the feast Lourdes has done for us. As I start to relax, the sound of slow footsteps pulls my attention to the door.
And then he walks in—Remus.
His presence hits the room like a gust of cold air, and I pretend not to notice the sudden temperature drop. Unlike the rest of us, Remus looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. For all I know, he could be just getting in from God knows where, doing God knows what.
He walks over to us with deliberately slow steps while his eerie ice-blue eyes sweep over me, then land on Lucky. “Morning, Romeo,” he says dryly, his voice low and clipped, thick with his London accent.
Lucky doesn’t look up from his coffee as Remus pulls a chair from across us.
“You look like shit.” Lucky snickers.
Remus cracks a humorless grin. “Cheers to that, my friend. Looking this knackered is an expected side effect of a night well spent. What about you? You look well and rested. Uneventful night, I wager.”
“It was eventful enough.” Lucky smirks, eyeing Remus with a smug grin.
“Spending the night writing poetry about a bird is not what I would call eventful, but to each his own.”
Their banter sounds biting, but I can tell it isn’t malicious in any shape or form. In fact, it sounds like it’s their way of showing affection to one another. It’s obvious that there is history between them. And a lot of it.
“You left early last night. I didn’t have time to introduce you to Frankie and Darius.” Lucky smiles at me and my brother.
Darius offers Remus a what’s up nod, too busy going to town on his bacon to pay the new guest much mind.
I wish I could say the same.
“Actually, we did meet last night, however briefly,” I inform, hoping that’s enough to stop Remus from recounting our awkward introduction.
“You did?” Lucky looks at me, his brows pulled together. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know it was worth mentioning. Especially since you never mentioned him to me,” I retort with too much bite to go unnoticed by the Brit.
“That’s right. Why didn’t you tell your girlfriend about me, Lucky? Afraid I might steal her away from you?” Remus’s eyes lock on me, unblinking.
Like hell, that would happen.
“First of all, fat chance,” Lucky says with a laugh. “And second, I probably didn’t mention you for the same reason your Irish principessa doesn’t know about me, time being precious and all.”
Remus scowls, and though I have no idea what Lucky just implied, it’s enough to shut him up. And for that, I’m grateful.
“Finished!” Darius hollers, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
“Good.” I smile at him. “Now go upstairs and brush your teeth.”
“Okay. Thanks, Ms. Lourdes. Breakfast was great.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Maybe you can persuade your big sister to bring you over to the house more often so I can fatten you up,” she says, playfully tapping her finger on his belly.
“Really?” His eyes twinkle with excitement at her before they fix on me. “Do you think Sister Margaretta would say yes to more sleepovers?”
“Fuck, I hope so,” Lucky groans under his breath while sliding his hand in between my thighs.
“No harm in asking, right?” I reply, feeling my cheeks flush.
Darius pumps his fist up, then slams it down with a gleeful “YES!” as if he’d just won at his favorite video game. He then skips out of the kitchen like his day has been made with that one promise.
“He’s a sweetheart,” Lourdes says, watching Darius leave the kitchen. “He reminds me a lot of Lucky and Enzo when they were his age.”
“Really?” I smile, turning my attention to Lucky. “I’d love to hear all about it.”
“Oh, I have stories to tell.” Lourdes laughs, walking back to the oven where a quiche awaits to be pulled out.
Ever so discreetly, I slap Lucky’s hand away and stand, reaching across the table to grab Darius’s empty plate to wash.
I don’t even see Remus move until it’s too late. Until his hand is wrapped around my wrist. Squeezing it. Hard.
“Oi,” he says sharply. “Where did you get this?”
Remus’s eyes are fixed on my bracelet as if it had razor-sharp teeth, ready to take a chunk out of his black heart. But instead of answering or telling him to let me go, my whole body goes rigid at the threat in his pale eyes.
“Let go of her,” Lucky all but growls while I try to yank my hand back.
But he doesn’t. In fact, Remus’ grip tightens, his expression morphing into something straight out of a nightmare. “I said, where the fuck did you get this?”
“Remus.” Lucky’s voice is lethal now. He’s already out of his seat, his jaw tight and eyes burning. “I said… Let. Her. Go.”
Remus doesn’t flinch, his gaze locked on mine.
“Answer me,” he demands, his voice quieter now. More dangerous. “That’s not just some trinket a girl like you would have. Did you steal it? Find it someplace and keep it? Who gave it to you?!”
Before I can speak, Lucky steps between us, grabs Remus by the throat, and states, “I’ll chop your fucking hand off if you don’t let her go this very second. I’m fucking serious, Remus. Let. Her. Go. NOW!”
Remus stares at him, then at me, and then slowly releases his grip. The blood rushes back into my wrist with a sting, but I barely notice it, too dumbfounded by what just happened.
“You’ve lost your head over this girl, mate. Not a very smart thing to do,” Remus mutters, brushing off his hand over his pants as if I somehow dirtied them.
“Maybe,” Lucky snaps, letting go of Remus’s throat. “But I’d rather lose my head than be a miserable bastard like you.”
“Miserable bastard, hey?” Remus mimics, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I saw a tinge of sadness hit his light eyes. “Better a miserable bastard than a dead one.” He then walks towards the door but pauses, glancing back at the both of us one more time. The fury in his eyes is replaced with something else now. Something colder. Something no one with a beating heart could muster. “Get rid of her,” he says. “Let her run off to her little convent, play nun for the rest of her life. Better that than her sticking around here.”
“Remus—”
“She’s going to be your fucking death sentence,” Remus interjects with a warning. “Just… get her out of your house and out of your life. Your luck can only go so far, my friend. Remember that.”
With that curse hanging in the air above us, he leaves. The kitchen is dead silent again, and I don’t realize I’m still holding my breath until Lucky wraps his arms around me.
“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.
I nod, even though I’m not. Not really. Not after that.
Lucky holds onto me a little longer until he’s sure the shock has worn off.
Lourdes sets down a glass of water in front of me, places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and says, “ Mi dispiace. That boy… that man… he’s… not well.” She tries to apologize for Remus’s behavior. “But Lucky won’t let him touch you again. I won’t either.”
I manage a stiff, little smile and mutter, “Thanks.”
I don’t want to cry in front of Lourdes. And I don’t want to cry in front of Lucky. But I suddenly feel very small, out of place, and afraid of why Remus looked like he’d seen a ghost when he caught a glimpse of my bracelet.
Could a man like him know something about my birth parents?
And if so, why does that scare me?