Chapter 48 #2
He gestured toward the box. “It sounds significantly worse when you say it out loud.”
She narrowed her eyes at the gift, the neat ribbon and glossy lid far too innocent for the weight it carried, every muscle on alert.
“Just open it,” he urged. “Worst case? You hate it. That gives you new roast material.”
She snorted softly. “Like I’m running low.”
“Oh yeah?” His brow arched. “Name one.”
“You sleep in long underwear.”
He grimaced. “Blame Gi Gi’s Crossing. Drafty windows. And ghost rumors.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, no matter how hard she fought it. Slowly, she reached for the box.
Her fingers hovered over the lid, hesitating. She didn’t want it to matter. But it did. Because this wasn’t just a gift. It was a test. A litmus for whether he truly saw her.
“I’m still me,” she said softly. “The woman who threw a stiletto at a fashion show.”
“I know.”
“The one who laughed when you said you loved me.”
He nodded.
“The one who signed you up for a senior kink dating site.”
He winced. “I deserved that and far worse. I was controlling. Condescending. Not to mention I didn’t tell you I was Mr. Uptight before we had sex. The gentleman in me will never forgive myself for that.”
She sighed. “See? That’s the problem. Our values don’t mesh. You like nice. I like snark.”
He leaned in, voice low and earnest. “I’ve got it on very good authority, George, that when opposites attract, they mate for life.”
She rolled her eyes, but her hands betrayed her, tugging at the ribbon.
She lifted the lid, pushed back the tissue, and gasped, loud enough to start an avalanche in Alaska.
Her traitor of a heart practically vaulted out of its hiding spot, perched on her shoulder, and batted goo-goo eyes at Marcus like it had lost all self-respect.
A Birkin winked up at her. One she’d never even seen in the wild.
“Is this the latest?” Her voice wobbled.
“It is.”
“But how?” She touched it reverently, fingers trembling. “Is it on loan?”
“It’s yours. No fine print. No return policy.”
“Marcus…” Her voice was equal parts awe and panic. “These cost more than my condo. And even if you can afford one, there’s a waitlist. You have to know someone. Someone with serious connections.”
His smile tilted wistful. “I have connections.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Please tell me they’re not mafia related.”
He chuckled, brushing her fingers in a way that set her pulse stuttering. “Not that.”
“Then what?”
“Darling, you deserve beautiful things. Even if you have a habit of throwing stilettos at them.”
“No fine print?” she pressed, her voice low and unsteady.
“You can take it and never look back.”
She glanced at the door. Was that what she wanted? To take the bag and bolt? “Just for fun—are there any other options?”
“You could stay.” His eyes held hers steady. “Put me through my paces. Make me prove I’ve changed. That I’m not the same asshole who tried to control you.”
Her heart loved that option so much it practically launched itself across the table and kissed him. Thank God the rest of her body had more restraint. “That doesn’t sound unbearable. But why would I waste my redemption energy on you?”
“Because I love you.” His voice cracked. “And I know I don’t deserve you. But I’m hoping you’ll let me prove I can be worthy of you. Francesca B…” His throat worked. “I’m so sorry.”
I’m sorry!
Damn it. He had to go and say the one thing that proved he didn’t get her at all. Who was she if not gloriously, unapologetically unforgiving?
“Why’d you have to go and ruin everything with an apology?”
“Because you deserve one.”
“Apologies are for the lily-livered.”
He gave a small smile, eyes warm. “Cut me open, and I’m sure there’s a lily in there somewhere. But I’m hoping you’ll look past that.”
“Why would I do that?” she demanded.
“I’m glad you asked.” His grin turned pure cocky bastard. “Let’s just say my skill at foreplay more than makes up for a faulty liver.”
She gave a faux-bored yawn. “Does it now? I can’t seem to remember.”
He chuckled, low and dangerous. “I suspected you might say that. So here’s my last argument. One you can accept or not.”
“Better be brilliant. I hate winning easy.” Her heart thudded a warning: make it count, or she’d walk away without a backward glance.
“Damaged livers can heal,” he said steadily. “Mine’s flawed. But give me time to prove I love you, and it’ll work itself out. If a pickled liver can heal, then surely a liliefied one can too.”
“Liliefied? Did you just make that up?” She arched a brow. “You can’t slap flowers onto body parts and call it romance.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Please tell me you have more to add to this conversation than that pithy phrase.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I know fixing my egregious apology flaw won’t be as easy as flipping a switch…one day a lily-liver, the next a Frankie-approved boyfriend. But I’m willing to do the work.”
She tapped a nail against her lip, stalling even as her chest pulled tighter. “How long is that going to take? I’m not exactly known for my patience.”
He winked. “While you’ve mastered perfection, I may stumble. So how about this? We build in a few hundred screwups I’m allowed while I learn how to deserve you.”
She mock-shuddered. “And I’m supposed to trust you’re worth this great sacrifice on my part?”
“In and out of the bedroom,” he husked, flashing a smile that made her toes curl inside her heels.
She tried to keep her brain in charge, but her heart was already throwing confetti.
“Lucky for you,” she murmured, “I’ve decided my reject-all-apologies policy is no longer a hill I’m willing to die on.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m honored.”
She snorted. “Don’t be. From now on, forgiveness comes with strict fine print.”
“Fine print?”
“Those I love get a limited number. Since I’ve apparently gone and fallen for you, God help me, you get a few hundred. Use them wisely.”
His grin turned wicked. “I’ll try not to cash them all in before the honeymoon.”
She smirked. “Good. Because I don’t do refunds.”
He laughed, then pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a kiss that said more than any apology ever could. When they finally came up for air, the rooftop felt smaller, more theirs, less like a battlefield and more like the start of something they could actually build.
“So,” Marcus said, tone light but edged with hope, “think you could handle living in Gi Gi’s Crossing? Full time?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not.”
He blinked, then laughed, a low, surprised sound. “Well. That’s definitive.”
Remembering compromise was apparently a cornerstone of functional relationships—her therapy book had underlined that twice—she softened. “But…I might be open to extended visits.”
“Really?”
The joy in his voice melted her insides.
“Gi Gi’s Crossing does have its quirks,” she allowed.
“I couldn’t agree more.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “And just so you know, I definitely caught that little love admission buried in all that sarcasm.”
She flushed but held his gaze. “I was hoping you’d missed it.”
“Oh, I heard it. Loud and clear.” His thumb brushed along her jaw, soft and sure. His next words landed like a vow. “You’ve been the spark that short-circuited all my careful wiring since the day you arrived, Frankie. And I don’t want it fixed.”
Her chest went tight, her heart kicking so hard she nearly forgot to breathe.
“Fine,” she managed. “Then I guess someone’s got to keep Harriet the Spy from getting elected to the new fashion board.”
He laughed, shaking his head like she was the best kind of trouble. “Fashion board?”
“Do you want to interrogate my intel or accept my compromise?”
He reached for her hand, grin warm and unguarded. “Extended visits. Deal.”
“Let’s just call it a test run,” she said, squeezing his fingers, letting him see the spark in her eyes. “And to be transparent, this doesn’t make me a small-town girl.”
He chuckled, brushing his thumb along hers, and then his expression turned serious. “Why didn’t you tell me the stiletto wasn’t a tantrum? It was…a good deed. A selfless act.”
Her chest cinched tight. “Because admitting that would’ve made me feel needy for your approval,” she said, sharper than she meant to. “And you see, my dad had this thing. He told me whiny girls were the worst. He would slap me when I cried.”
“Fucking asshole,” Marcus muttered.
Frankie nodded and continued. “I learned fast to swallow anything that looked like weakness. Even the good stuff.”
She paused, breath catching, a bitter laugh pushing at the back of her throat.
God, even now she could feel the sting of his palm on her cheek.
Could hear him, dismissive and careless.
Telling her weakness was contagious, and she was already infected.
Her fingers curled against her palm. “Therapy told me he was wrong,” she added, softer this time. “But saying it to you now? That’s the first time I actually believe it. I wasn’t too much. He was too little. And I’m done carrying that.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “If I ever cross paths with him, I’m going to punch him in the face.” His gaze softened as it locked on hers. “Not because you need me to fight that fight. But because the bastard has it coming.”
Frankie let out a short, surprised laugh. “Do it. I’ll bring the popcorn.”
“Deal.” Marcus rose and took her hand, fingers threading together like a promise. “Now, what do you say we get out of here? Find some place with a bed.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
A quiet smile passed between them, the kind that whispered this—whatever it was—might just be real.
But before they could take another step, Ziggy’s head popped around the rooftop doorway like a nosy fairy godmother. “Ugh, are you two going to stand there making googly eyes all night? Some of us are hosting an after-party. And by some of us, I mean all three of us.”
Frankie couldn’t stop her grin. God. She, the person who was a bit of an asshole, had a boyfriend and a friend. Life was very good.
She scooped up her Birkin and tucked it under her arm with theatrical flair. “Lead the way.”
Before she could follow Ziggy, Marcus caught her for one last kiss, slow and certain, pressing just enough to short-circuit every lingering doubt. Then his mouth grazed her ear. “I think you’re going to like the contents of your new Birkin.”
She pulled back and arched a brow. “My lipstick vibrator got an upgrade, didn’t it?”
His answering grin was pure sin. “Maybe.”
She shoved his chest playfully. “God, I hope it’s rechargeable.”
He laughed, caught her hand again, and this time, didn’t let go.
“You know,” she said, “between Gi Gi’s meddling, Birdie’s matchmaking, and the asshole book author’s new release, I’m starting to think this was inevitable.”
“New release?”
“So You Fell for a Jackass, Now What?”
His grin was slow, sure. “You know what they say about jackasses?”
“No,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting.
“Once you give us hope, we never let go.”
Her stomach swooped, traitorous, giddy thing. She squeezed his fingers. “Then you’d better buckle up.”