11. — daddy issues and daddy’s issues. #3
He tipped his head toward the door. “I don’t like to talk about it outside of the rooms of recovery, if I can help it. Are you coming, or not? Because either way, I really fucking need a meeting right now.”
“You’re not using, are you?”
Would she even know if he was?
“No, but I want to. More than I’ve ever wanted to in the last ten years since I stopped.”
“Because of Carina?”
“My addiction stems from my own inability to cope. My cowardness. Not anyone else.” His sadness bled through in his dimmed gaze and forming frown.
“Because I hurt someone I love, again. Because it’s easier not to feel guilt by swallowing pills than it is to face it and make amends.
Because if I tell her any of this, it also means opening a door I can’t close. ”
Frankie nibbled at the inside of her lip before whispering, “You love Carina? Like, you’re in love with her?”
His hand remained on the church door, but he didn’t pull it open quite yet.
“I think I always have. I just don’t know how to say it after so many years of telling her that I can’t.
That I don’t. I know her and I are bad together sometimes, that we’ve done and said horrible things to one another, and yeah, we’re beyond toxic a lot of the time, but... ”
“But?” she pressed.
Salvatore shrugged. “But nothing. I’ve spent a lot of years tacking things on to that statement because it was easier than letting myself feel how I did.
Because I’d already loved someone else so much, and then she died, and I just...
I wanted to die with her. But I had you.
You can’t imagine the guilt and the grief it caused me, the heartache. ”
“It shouldn’t hurt to love someone, Daddy.”
He smiled little. “Maybe it does when it also feels like letting go of something else. And maybe it does when you’re familiar with all there is to lose.”
···
“I started to think you weren’t coming home,” came a familiar voice from down the hall.
Frankie glanced up from her phone, and the texts Nico had recently sent her, to see him waiting for her in front of her Greenwich Village penthouse doors. A duffle bag, two boxes, and a few bulging plastic bags sat at his feet. She laughed at the sight.
“Did you go shopping for my penthouse?”
He shrugged. “I had time, but not entirely. Sissy packed you a bag.”
He pointed at the duffle.
“She also wants you to come get Sassy for a bit,” he added. “I guess she’s distraught because she can’t figure out where you are or when you’re coming back.”
That morning, she would’ve said never. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
Walking down the hall to greet him with a soft kiss, she said against his lips, “I’ll go get her tonight.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Tonight?”
“I only have the Rolls. I want the Supra, too. I can drive with you tonight, stay until morning, and bring Sassy with me until the party.”
“You forgot something.”
“Did I?”
Nico nodded. “You walk the stage for your diploma tomorrow, babe.”
“So, I’ll stay tomorrow and come after graduation.”
He eyed her curiously. “Why the change?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes things are just bigger than me, you know?”
His teeth flashed in a smile. “Yeah, I know. Hard to believe, huh?”
“That’s probably another part of growing up, right? I get to figure all that shit out.”
Nico outright laughed. “That, and so much more. Come on, get the door open so you can help me haul this stuff in.”
She put the key into the deadbolt. “How was work?” Frankie asked, grabbing the duffle.
He grabbed one of the two boxes in the hallway. “Not very interesting today. Except for the part where the Skip gave me keys to a place in Vauxhall.”
“Like an apartment?”
Nico made a noise under a breath. “Or like a house.”
“A whole house?”
“I mean, it’s nothing big, but—”
“A house, Nico?”
The two stood in the entry foyer of the penthouse, the light from the wall of windows in the living room making the white walls even brighter around them. They stared at one another, neither moving an inch, nor saying anything.
He broke the silence first.
“He owed me, that’s all,” Nico said.
“For what? How long have you been working for this guy? It can’t be long; you’ve only been around for a handful of months. I mean—”
“Frankie, stop.”
She did. Especially as he stepped forward and his warm palms found the sides of her throat so he could tip her head back and stare down at her.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
She didn’t know.
“I just...I don’t understand,” she mumbled. “It makes me nervous, I think.”
He dropped a peck to her lips. Then, another and another.
“Don’t be nervous. This is what I want, babe.”
That made her think.
“Is he connected? This...boss. Your Skip?”
Nico smiled widely. “Yeah, you’re spot on.”
“That makes me more nervous.”
“Don’t be. I happen to be good at what I do.”
“Which is...?”
Nico laughed and pulled away, heading for the remaining box in the hallway. Over his shoulder, he said, “Marry me someday, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Frankie. That’s how it works.”
She froze. “What?”
He carried the box in, stopping alongside her to give her a chuckle. “What did you think I meant in bed when I said, in theory, I could tell you things.”
“I didn’t really think about it,” she admitted.
Nico nodded once. “Okay, well that’s what I meant. That’s how it works,” he repeated pointedly.
“Well, I’m not going to marry you just so you’ll tell me every detail about your day.”
“Damn. That’s cold.”
Frankie scoffed. “Please, it probably didn’t even sting.”
“Not really. But you didn’t say never, either. So...”
“Uh—”
“Nope, too late. The option is still there.”
“For what?”
Nico leaned in close enough to kiss her grinning cheek, his green eyes gleaming with something like delight and pure pleasure. “That you’re gonna marry me someday.”
He dropped the box onto the other one, immediately opening it to pull out two things. First, he handed her the item that wasn’t wrapped in brown paper. A package of Egyptian cotton sheets. Cream in color, and still in new packaging.
“And if you don’t know how to make your own bed,” he joked, “don’t worry, it’s not hard. I’ll teach you.”
She smacked his arm lightly. “Mean.”
Nico laughed. “There’s also towels, dishes, a set of pots and pans, and some other necessities for your place. Between the boxes and bags.”
Frankie sighed while surveying the items in the foyer. “I can’t believe you really went shopping for me. I’m not incapable, Nico.”
“I know, but I think you coming here was just a reaction to a bad situation. You weren’t ready, which is also probably part of the reason you haven’t gone out to get any of this yourself.”
“Fair enough.”
“Mmhmm. Furniture next, okay? Shit, we can even do some of that on our phones tonight. They’ll probably deliver it tomorrow while you’re walking the stage. I can set it up with the doorman to give the delivery guys access, if you want.”
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.
“What?” he asked, noticing.
“You’d do all that?”
“Babe, that’s not even...anything. It’s not big or hard. It’s just something you need.”
“But you think about that, do you? About things I need.”
He didn’t look away from her when he replied, “Lately, all the fucking time, Frankie.”
She liked that far more than she probably should.
“So, what’s that?” she asked, pointing at the other item he held.
Square and thin in shape, he’d had it wrapped in brown paper, and a string of twine tied around it in a makeshift bow.
“This,” he said, handing it over to her, “took some time and work.”
She flipped the package over in her hands, trying to guess the item inside by the shape and weight. It almost felt like a picture frame.
“Is it a photo or something?”
“Close,” he murmured. “Open it up. I’m sorry it’s a little late for your birthday. Let’s just call it a late birthday and early graduation gift.”
She undid the twine and started to pull away the paper, never taking her gaze from him until she had the item fully exposed.
The abstract art on an eight-inch by eight-inch framed canvas took her by surprise.
Waves of teal melted into splatters of white and mixed gold, making the scene on the canvas look like a wave rippling across the plane.
Then, she saw the name scrawled in the bottom right corner.
Delilah Dove.
“Someone mentioned your mom was an artist. I guess she did a lot of the murals around Brooklyn for the old restaurants and cafés.”
“Where you did you find this?”
Not even her father kept her mother’s paintings. At least, none she had ever seen. Something else that Salvatore couldn’t bear to look at even if it took something irreplaceable away from Frankie.
“Like I said, it took some work. And time, but nothing is impossible. I’d do anything for you, you know? I just thought maybe you’d want something of hers in this place, too. Something you could see everyday, if you wanted.”
Now, she couldn’t see through the tears.