Chapter 20
Frances
The ride back to the orphanage is quieter than I expected. Usually, Lucky would have some loud hip-hop music blasting through the speakers, but not tonight. The silence isn’t awkward or uncomfortable, but the kind of stillness that comes when your body and mind are exhausted, and your heart’s working overtime to keep up.
Darius is in the backseat, his eyes drooping, humming to himself as he stares out the window as if he were still high on sugar and video games. He had the best time at the Romanos. I can tell by the way his fingers keep twitching as if still pressing the controller’s buttons.
Aside from what I’m referring to as the ‘Remus Incident,’ I must admit that my time at the Romano mansion over the holiday was more enjoyable than I initially expected. And that’s all down to Lucky and his family.
Everyone there was so welcoming of me and Darius, almost as if we were an extended part of their clan. It was nice. It was more than nice. It was the family setting that orphans like Darius and I should have always had in our lives.
Perhaps before, I would have resented being faced with all that love under one roof when kids like my brother and I went without, but the opposite happened. I basked in that feeling of family, and for a minute, I pretended they were mine. Silly, I know. But ever since Lucky came into my life, I’ve learned to grab these stolen moments of joy any way I can.
Unable to stop myself, I steal a glance at the boy who’s tilted my world on its axis from the corner of my eye. One of Lucky’s hands is on the wheel, while the other rests casually on the console between us. Close enough to touch. Far enough that I don’t. My gaze lingers on the veins running through his large, strong hand, then drifts up his muscular arm, across his broad shoulders, to the vein pulsing in his neck and the tense tick of his jaw.
He’s still angry. Probably replaying what happened with his so-called cousin over breakfast. I don’t blame him for being upset. Remus had no right to talk to me like that. His words still ring in my head, sharp and uninvited like glass under my skin.
I rub at my sore wrist, a faint bruise starting to form where his fingers dug into my skin. With my index and thumb, I softly caress my medallion, wondering what Remus meant by me being Lucky’s death sentence.
Why all the theatrics? Why would he even care who Lucky spends time with?
Clearly, he didn’t like me from the get-go, probably thinking my status in life was beneath his friend and unworthy of even being invited to the Romano home. But still, to tell, no, to order Lucky to stay away from me in such a dramatic fashion, seemed like overkill.
Maybe that’s just who Remus is—a drama queen who doesn’t like other people playing with his toys. Well, fuck him. He won’t scare me away that easily, even if it’s obvious he’s got a few marbles loose in the head.
“I’m sorry,” Lucky says suddenly, his voice low and soft to prevent Darius from hearing him. “About Remus.”
I look away from my bracelet and straight at him. He’s not looking at me, but I can see the guilt written all over his face and how his grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning pale white from the sheer force of it.
“He had no right to talk to you like that. To fucking manhandle you like that.”
“No,” I agree, “he didn’t.”
Lucky glances at me with a flicker of emotion in his eyes and says, “I don’t know what got into him. That wasn’t like him.”
“Really?” I raise a suspicious brow. “Because it felt like it came pretty natural to him. Like he’s used to talking to people that way. Used to hurting them too.”
Lucky lets out a slow breath, setting his eyes back on the road. “He has no excuse for what he did. I know that. It’s… fuck… I don’t know. He’s… been through a lot. We all have.”
That makes me bristle. “So have I. Doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole.”
“I know.”
Another beat of silence stretches between us as the car hums, attempting to fill the empty space.
“Is he… someone important to you?” I finally vocalize the probing question that has been on my mind since I met the elitist asshole. I don’t know why the question comes out as tight as it does. Maybe because I already know the answer, or because it will sting hearing Lucky confirm it.
“Yeah. He is.” Lucky nods, landing a punch on my gut. “Aside from Enzo… Remus is the closest thing I have to a best friend. He’s family.”
Family.
I guess that word means something different to him than it does to me. Family doesn’t treat the people we care about like shit. Or at least they shouldn’t.
I frown and avert my gaze, pressing my lips into a thin line just as the orphanage comes into view. Once Lucky has parked the car in front, he reaches over and gently hooks two fingers beneath my chin, turning my face toward his.
“But even family needs to know when they’ve overstepped.” His thumb brushes the curve of my jaw, soft and reverent. “I’ll make sure Remus never crosses that line again. You have my word.”
God help me. I want to believe him. And sitting here in his car, under the dim, blue wash of twilight, I almost do.
Lucky’s hand drops before I can lean into it, and I see the flicker of restraint in his eyes, the war between want and propriety. Darius is in the backseat, after all. And the last thing either of us needs is for Sister Margaretta to catch us lip-locked in his car.
So, instead, he just looks at me as if he wanted to kiss me, and I look at him, wishing he would.
“Are you two going to make googly eyes all night, or can we go home?” Darius drawls, wedging his head between the front seats like an annoyed little brother.
“I… um… we should go,” I murmur, unable to pull away my gaze from his.
“See you back at school on Monday?” he asks, clearing his throat.
I nod, biting back the stupid smile that is trying to pull at my lips. “You can count on it.”
“Oh, I will. Every last second until then.” He smiles shyly before turning his attention to Darius. “Be cool, little man. And take care of your sister for me.”
“She can take care of herself, idiot.” Darius rolls his eyes.
“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” Lucky laughs. “Where’s the love? I thought we were becoming best buds.”
“It’s going to take a lot more than video games to win me over,” Darius smirks at him.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to double my efforts next time,” Lucky retorts with an easy grin. “How does spending Christmas over at my house sound?”
Darius’ eyes begin to sparkle with excitement, even if he pretends to remain indifferent.
“That might work.” He shrugs before getting out of the car.
Lucky chuckles under his breath, but when he turns to me, all mirth leaves him.
“It kills me that I have to leave you here,” he says in a whisper.
“Where else would I go?”
Lucky’s russet gaze darkens with sorrow at my answer as he gently takes my sore wrist in his hand, lifting it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss on the inside, his mouth lingering as if trying to soothe the ache with nothing but his touch.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs against my skin. “I miss you already, and I haven’t even left you yet. The fuck is that about?” he adds, a shy smile tugging at his mouth as he lifts his head and looks deep into my eyes as if he’s hoping to take a piece of my soul with him.
On bated breath, I watch him, longing coiling tight in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“I… should go,” I stammer, fearing I’ll do something stupid like kiss him if I stay a second longer. Or worse—gift wrap my love-sick soul for him to take.
“Okay,” he mumbles, the smile on his lips never reaching his sad eyes.
I force myself to step out of the car, knowing Lucky won’t drive off until he’s sure Darius and I make it safely inside. And for a split second, I want to turn around and run back into his arms, straight out of some cheesy, romantic movie. But real life doesn’t work like that. Not mine, anyway.
The orphanage’s front door creaks open, and the familiar scent of lemon polish and old Bibles pulls me out of the dream state I’ve been living in, snapping me back to reality. Sister Agnes is the first to greet us at the door. “Welcome back,” she says, smiling gently. “Did you both have a good time with the Romanos?”
Before I can answer, Darius is already off and running. “They had so much food! And there was this fountain of chocolate and strawberries, and these little spicy meatballs on sticks. And Lucky had a gaming room in his mansion! Like, not even joking, his actual mansion! ”
Sister Agnes laughs at his joyous excitement, placing a hand on his shoulder to slow him down. “Sounds like a dream come true. I’m so happy you got to live it.”
I watch him beam up at her as if he just stepped off a spaceship and she’s the first human that understands him. His joy is so unfiltered, so bright, that it’s infectious. I can’t help but smile, even if a part of me is sad that our time with Lucky and his family has ended.
However, not everyone’s smiling at our joy. Sister Margaretta lingers near the staircase, arms folded, her sharp gaze pinning me to the wall as if she could see all the sins behind my eyes.
“And you, Frances?” she says, tone clipped. “Did you enjoy yourself?” I feel her judgment before the question even lands.
I nod, smiling with all the sincerity I can fake. “Yes. Very much.”
“And did you and Darius behave yourselves while you were living it up with the Romanos?”
“Of course.” I swallow dryly. “We wouldn’t have done anything to cause you shame, Mother Superior.” Her lips press into a line so thin it might vanish.
She doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way her eyes narrow, calculating. But thankfully, she doesn’t press for more information. At least, not tonight.
Instead, she turns with a stiff nod and disappears down the hall like a shadow.
“I’m so happy you both enjoyed yourselves. Though I must say your absence this Thanksgiving was felt. To some more than others.” Sister Agnes gives me a small, comforting pat on the arm before following Sister Margaretta.
I watch them leave as Darius bounds up the stairs, rushing to draw the Romano mansion and their gaming room before he forgets what they look like. I wish him goodnight, but he’s already gone, too excited to memorize the holiday with a drawing.
Not wanting to stick around in case Sister Margaretta returns with questions I’m unwilling to answer, I head to my room and lock myself inside. But once I’m on my own, in the solitude of my room, it hits me all at once—the quiet, the stillness, the emptiness around me.
I miss him. God, I just saw him. Spent almost two whole days with him. But still… I miss him. Not just the way he touches me. Not just the way his voice drops low when he says my name. I miss the way I feel safe around him. Seen. The way he looks at me like I’m not broken. Like I’m enough. Like I’m perfect even with all my jagged edges and baggage.
I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, the shadows cast by the streetlamp outside crawling slowly along the walls.
I lie there and think about his lips pressed on my inner wrist. The way he didn’t kiss me, even when we both wanted it. The way he said he’d protect me, even from his own people.
The way Lucky looked at me before I left as if a piece of him was shattered.
Maybe that shouldn’t mean something. But it does. Maybe I shouldn’t want more. But I do. And maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have fallen for him. But it’s clear to me now… that I already have.
Monday morning couldn’t come fast enough.
The small heels of my shoes echo down the tiled halls of Sacred Heart like war drums as I scan every passing face for the one person who has been haunting my dreams all weekend.
I slept like shit. Tossed and turned every night until I was half-sure I’d imagined every kiss, every caress, every longing look in the dark. But I didn’t.
They happened. But holding on to the memory of them no longer suffices. And now I need to see him. Like, need need.
Not for safety. Not for reassurance. Not even for the high of his touch. No. I need to see him because my body feels wired for him, and it’s driving me insane.
I round the corner, and there he is, leaning against a locker as if he owned the hallway. He’s talking to someone—I don’t even clock who—because the moment our eyes meet, everything else fades out.
He grins. Lazy. A little cocky. All Lucky. And what do I do? I walk right up to him, grab his hand as if it were my own right, and tug him with me without saying a damn word. And he lets me.
“Oh? We’re doing the strong, silent type thing this morning, huh?” he teases, hurrying his pace to match mine. “You miss me that bad, Frankie?”
I don’t answer. Just keep walking until I find the utility closet two doors down from the science lab. I open it, shove him inside, and lock the door behind us.
It’s dark, the only light a thin, pale strip beneath the door. The air is sharp with bleach and disinfectant, but underneath it, I catch the warm, familiar scent of Lucky’s cologne.
“You definitely missed me,” he whispers, his voice dripping with amusement. But the second his eyes adjust to the dim lighting and land on me, the teasing vanishes. His cocky grin slips away as he takes in the rise and fall of my chest, my fists clenched at my sides just to keep from grabbing him, from pushing him against the wall and kissing his stupid, beautiful face.
As if Lucky is tuned into every thought in my head, he steps closer, his body brushing mine. “Fuck, I missed you, too,” he breathes out before yanking my head back by the hair and crashing his lips to mine. Hard. Hungry. As if he’s been starving for a taste of me and just got handed the feast.
I melt into him, letting his mouth consume mine, his hands gripping my hips, unable to decide whether to pull me closer or hold himself back before he devours me completely.
When I start to get lightheaded, I break away from our kiss, breathless, and whisper, “That’s not why I pulled you in here.”
“Oh?” he pants, licking his lips, his eyes fixed on my mouth as if he’d go crazy if he didn’t get another hit.
“I want to try something,” I tell him, placing my palms against his hard chest until his back is flush against the wall.
“Whatever you want.” His gaze darkens, his brows lifting just slightly. “This is your show.”
Lucky’s eyes go wide in surprise when I slowly drop to my knees, his Adam’s apple working double time when I look up at him, fingers trailing along the zipper of his pants with deliberate slowness. There’s a certain power in this moment as I watch every sarcastic comment, every smirk, every joke he’s ever had die on his lips.
He’s speechless. Good. He can’t be the only one of us who is unpredictable.
“I might not be good at this,” I say as I slowly pull at his belt buckle to loosen it. “But I want to try.”
“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth before slamming the back of his head against the wall and shutting his eyes.
“No,” I reprimand, cupping the bulge in his pants, feeling it instantly harden under my touch. “I want you to watch me.”
“Then this is gonna be the fastest blowjob in history. Just seeing you on your knees has me half there already,” he states, pained, but he does as I say, locking eyes with me. My heart swells when he softly grabs my chin, running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m not sure you know how much power you have over me.”
Don’t I, though?
Ever since we started our little experiment —Lucky wanting me to have all the facts about the pleasure I’d be giving up if I took my vows—he’s been adamant about giving me everything while taking almost nothing for himself. That right there was giving me all the power. It took a weekend of missing him, replaying every second we’d spent together, to realize just how much that mattered to me.
So, after surfing the net on the phone he gave me—finding porn sites Sister Margaretta would probably drown me in holy water for—I did my best to research all the ways I could show Lucky that I want his pleasure too. That I need it to feed my own.
With my eyes locked on his, I tug his zipper down. My fingers slide to the waistband of his pants, pulling them just low enough that I’m at eye level with his bulging shaft. I then run a finger along the band of his boxers, making him release a hiss as I tug them down to his knees, allowing his cock to bob free—it’s hard, flushed, and aching for attention.
“Frankie,” he groans as if pleading for mercy.
I grip the base of him, my tongue trailing along the thick vein on the side before swirling over the crown. I know he likes it when his fingers thread through my hair, holding me exactly where he needs me most. I take another slow lap, his hungry groan encouraging me to wrap my lips around him, sinking down as far as I can take him.
“Holy fuck,” he growls, his hands tightening in my hair as I begin to suck, slowly pulling back before sinking in again, losing myself in the rhythm.
He lets out a quiet moan when my hands brace against the wall behind him, my eyes fluttering shut, just relishing the feel of him on my tongue. I take my time. Learn what makes him gasp. What makes him groan. What makes his legs twitch as if he were about to collapse. He tries to say my name, but it comes out like a strangled prayer and a whispered warning all at once.
I look up, lips swollen, breath warm against his skin, and smile.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he chokes as his whole body shudders in anticipation. “You’re perfect.”
And there it is… perfect. Out of all the words that exist, Lucky always chooses that word to define me—perfect.
Perfect for him.
Even on my knees, in a dark utility closet, with only a door separating from the rest of the world, I feel empowered. Strong. Loved. I feel… perfect.
I take him back in, and he lets go as if falling off a ledge, mumbling how beautiful I am, how much he wants me, how much he needs me. How much he missed me. Can’t get much more perfect than that. When he’s done, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stand up slowly, adjusting my skirt, feeling triumphant and a little euphoric.
His chest is rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, and his hands are shaking slightly as he cups my face, pulling me into another kiss—this one slower, softer, almost reverent.
His voice is raw when he resumes his speech. “I want to take you out.”
I blink, stunned. “What?”
“Saturday night,” he says, and I can tell by the look on his face that the words spilling out of his lips surprise even him. “I want to take you on a date.”
A giggle slips out of me before I can catch it. “A date?”
He nods with steel resolve. “Yeah. I want to do this right. I want to take you somewhere nice. Somewhere it’s just you and me.”
“I’m not sure I’m allowed,” I whisper, suddenly feeling the weight of Sister Margaretta’s judgment on my shoulders.
He brushes my hair back with gentle fingers. “You’re an adult, Frankie. You can do anything you want.” I bite my bottom lip, unsure. “Let me make all the preparations,” he says, lifting my chin with his fingers while his arm tightens around me. “Let me take you out. Saturday night. Say yes.”
I pause and stare into the intensity in his eyes. How they beg, plead, supplicate to have one night where it’s just him and me. One night just for us.
“Okay,” I hear myself say, incapable of denying him when he’s looking at me like that.
Lucky kisses me again, this time with a smile on his lips. We stay like that for a few more seconds—soft touches, shared breath, stolen warmth—until reality slaps us both in the face when the bell rings.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“ You missed Mass,” he grins, looking all too smug that I chose to pull him into a closet and have my way with him rather than following Sacred Heart’s rules and attending early morning Mass.
“You mean we ditched Mass.”
“Yes, we did. Though, to be fair, you did spend most of the time on your knees, so that must count for something.” He winks.
“Shut up.” I laugh, hiding my face in his chest.
“Never,” he whispers in my ear while his fingers brush my hair back. “You pulling me out of the hall like that—in front of everyone, not giving two flying fucks about who saw you—was the most romantic shit ever.”
I roll my eyes and smack his chest. “Just… get dressed before we’re late for class.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, with a smoldering panty-melting look. “We can ditch that too so I can give you a proper thank you for rocking my world this morning.”
I hate how my pussy clenches just at the idea of having Lucky on his knees, head in between my thighs. But I can’t miss class. Missing Mass will already cause Sister Margaretta’s alarm bells to ring. She’s suspicious enough of what Lucky and I have been up to. I can’t run the risk of doing something that will have her pull the plug on Lucky’s tutoring sessions. That’s our time together. It’s sacred to me.
“Raincheck. You can thank me on our date.”
“Baby, that’s too far away,” he all but pouts.
God, he’s cute when he’s like this. I almost expect him to stomp his foot and make a tantrum just so I give in and let him eat me out.
“It’s AP Calculus. I can’t miss that class. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles, unable to hide his disappointment.
“How about this afternoon? After class?” I ask, trying to cheer him up.
“Can’t. Jude and Mina haven’t left yet, so we don’t have the apartment.”
I don’t ask if that means Remus is still stateside, too, choosing to focus on lifting Lucky’s mood instead.
“That’s okay. There are plenty of quiet spots we can find in the school library later.”
Lucky’s face lights up at the thought, and I barely manage to swallow a laugh. Clearly, he’s already picturing us making out between the stacks and thinking about all the ways he can pull out my moans without getting us caught.
We sneak out of the closet like two kids after pulling off a heist. Still, I have a sneaky suspicion that someone will pay for this later—and that someone will probably be me.
The crowded hallway makes it easy for us to blend with the sea of blue and white uniforms, so I drift toward my locker as if nothing happened. Our hands brush now and then as we walk, the barely-there touches making my heart thump harder than it should. I want to grab his hand more than I care to admit. However, after the little scene I pulled this morning, I don’t need to give the rumor mill any fresh fuel. Especially not the kind that might make its way back to Mother Superior.
When we finally walk into Sister Agnes’s AP class, my stomach drops straight to the floor. Sitting right next to the whiteboard with her arms folded and her eyes sharp and glinting like a hawk is none other than Sister Margaretta herself.
“Take your seats,” Sister Agnes says, looking anxious.
My feet hesitate to move, but I force myself anyway. Lucky strides in, right behind me, unfazed as ever, and sits at the front. I slip toward the back, trying to shrink into myself.
“Good morning, class,” Sister Agnes starts once everyone has taken their seats, her voice overly bright. “We’re going to do a little pop quiz today just to check in on everyone’s understanding of the subjects taught this semester.” Groans erupt around the room while mine’s stuck in my throat.
Why do I get the feeling this pop quiz wasn’t on Sister Agnes’s lesson plan? Why does it reek of Sister Margaretta’s handiwork?
As the paper hits my desk, I scan the questions and realize something’s weird.
Wait a second… I know this. Most of it at least.
Lucky’s tutoring sessions, all my scribbled notes, his half-sarcastic, half-patient explanations… they’re all echoing in my head encouragingly, whispering I got this.
Once Sister Agnes tells us to start, my hand moves on its own, filling in answers, confidence growing with each tick of my pencil. However, I can still feel Sister Margaretta’s eyes on me like lasers, trying to cut through skin and bone to see through all the deceit and omissions I’ve been hiding from her.
“Pencils down,” Sister Agnes announces. “Pass your quizzes to the front, please.”
I hand mine over to the girl before me until it reaches the front of the class. I try not to fidget in my seat as I watch Sister Margaretta reach into the stack and pull one out as if she knew exactly where mine would be.
When the bell rings, announcing the end of class, I hurry to pack my things and leave.
“Frances,” Mother Superior says sharply before I can get out the door, flipping my quiz to Sister Agnes as if it were tainted. “Stay.” My stomach churns at the threat in her eyes.
I freeze, watching the rest of the class around me shuffle out while Lucky lingers at the door, his brow creased, eyes flicking between Sister Margaretta and me, unsure if he should step in or stay out of it. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. His jaw tightens, and I know exactly what he’s thinking because I’m thinking the same thing—if I don’t do well on this pop quiz, that’s the end of our stolen time together. Sister Margaretta will make sure of it.
Just as he’s about to say something, Sister Margaretta moves toward the door and shuts it slowly, deliberately, never once breaking eye contact with him. The click of the latch feels louder than it should.
“Sit, Frances,” Sister Margaretta orders, her back still turned to me, “You’re going to be here a while.”
I drop into the first empty seat I can find, hunching slightly.
Sister Agnes grades my quiz, and a moment later, she lights up.
“Oh, Frankie!” she says, beaming as she hands the paper to Sister Margaretta. “Luciano’s tutoring is really paying off. You got a B. A solid B. Great job!” But the way Sister Margaretta snatches it out of her hands, her eyes examining the answers, unable to find anything to scold, makes my blood run cold.
She frowns. Not because the grade is bad. But because it’s good. Too good.
“Are you not pleased, Mother Superior?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“Honestly? No,” she says flatly. “Nothing about this pleases me.”
Sister Agnes looks taken aback, lips parting as if she wanted to object but didn’t dare.
“But I suppose I must take comfort in the belief that God has a plan for you,” Sister Margaretta continues. “No matter how much I disagree with it.” Then she drops the quiz on the desk and takes three steps toward me, her gaze hardening. “Or perhaps it isn’t God’s will at all. Perhaps it’s the Devil tempting you off your path. We shall see soon enough, I fear.”
And with that remark, she turns on her heel and leaves the room.
I sit there, stunned, heart racing.
Because that? That wasn’t just judgment.
That felt like a curse.
One she believes I won’t be able to outrun.