Chapter 2
Frances
Nestled between a tranquil convent and the historic St. Mary’s Orphanage, just a few blocks from the towering steeple of St. Mary’s Cathedral, Sacred Heart Academy stands as a beacon of faith, learning, and tradition.
Or so they say.
Most people assume that every student at this elite Catholic school is not only devout but also the epitome of morality and discipline.
In reality? It’s all bullshit.
Most of the kids at Sacred Heart are entitled snobs—one worse than the last. When a school has to require community service just to graduate, you know the majority couldn’t care less about helping others unless, of course, they’re forced to.
And joy, oh joy, I get to be one of the chosen few to attend this oh-so-coveted school. Not because my parents are cutting checks for fifty grand a year but because Sacred Heart Academy also enrolls students from St. Mary’s Orphanage—like me.
Yep.
If it weren’t for the uniforms, you could pick us out instantly.
I’ve even witnessed some of the crueler kids play a game to guess who’s filthy rich and who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. Who goes home to loving parents and who was abandoned at birth.
It’s sick.
But I’m almost at the finish line.
Senior year.
The year I finally get to flip this place the middle finger and say, ‘ Sayonara, bitches!’
Well… not in those exact words.
Sister Margaretta would lose her mind if I spoke like that. I can practically hear her now.
‘Frances, a nun should only speak when there is something valid to say. Otherwise, silence is key to the betterment of a nun’s life. And please, for the love of all that’s holy, stop with the cursing already. You’re a child of God. Not a heathen. Need I remind you that such things will not be tolerated in the nunnery?’
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention—I’m going to be a nun.
Or at least, that’s the plan.
The minute I graduate, Sister Margaretta will vouch for me in applying to the convent. Once accepted, I’ll start my discernment with Mother Superior as my mentor and spiritual adviser. It will take roughly around six to nine years before I can take my final vows, but I don’t mind the wait. As long as I get three square meals a day and a place to lay my head at night, I’m golden.
Because anything is better than the alternative—living on the streets.
That’s exactly where I should be by now.
I aged out of the orphanage last summer, and if it weren’t for Sister Margaretta pulling strings to keep me there so I could finish high school, I’d be another lost soul wandering the cold, windy Chicago streets.
This isn’t the first time Mother Superior has saved my life.
At just three months old, I was abandoned in a car seat right in front of St. Mary’s Church. Sister Margaretta was the one who found and named me. She could have easily allowed the authorities to bounce me from one foster home to another. Instead, she ensured I stayed at the orphanage, where she was the director, in order to keep me safe. And when she became headmistress of Sacred Heart, she ensured I was enrolled here, too, giving me access to the best education money could buy.
As I said, Sister Margaretta has been a godsend in my life.
If it wasn’t for her, I shudder to think what would have become of me.
Now, it’s my turn to pay it forward—to become a nun she can be proud of.
And that means no cursing.
Which is really freaking hard for me, considering it’s the one sin I enjoy committing.
That and eating—or, as Sister Margaretta calls it, the sin of gluttony.
Although eating and drinking for pleasure is not seen as sinful, eating or drinking in excess is.
And when I like something, I indulge in it. No two ways about it.
God, I love food.
I love everything about it.
From its inception to its creation.
I love the smell of a busy kitchen or the scent of fresh herbs plucked in the garden. I love the way a single ingredient can transform a dish, the sizzle of onions hitting a hot pan, or the warmth of bread fresh from the oven. I love the stories food tells and how a meal can bring everyone together. Every bite is an experience, a memory in the making, a celebration of flavor and life itself.
If I weren’t on the path to becoming a nun, I’d consider culinary school. But that shit’s expensive, so… nun it is.
“Frances… Frances… Frankie! “
I snap out of my thoughts, tearing my gaze away from the window and back to my calculus class.
“Yes, Sister Agnes?” I ask, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
Sister Agnes sighs, her expression softening when she sees my flustered state.
“Can you come to the board, please, and finish this equation?”
“Sure. I can come to the board,” I reply halfheartedly. Finishing the equation? That’s another story.
I stand up and walk to the head of the class, already sweating under the weight of all the eyes watching me.
Sister Agnes extends the whiteboard pen to me, her smile gentle and encouraging. I grab it a bit too hastily, making her smile waver for a moment.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I mean… balls, balls, balls!
I stare at the whiteboard and silently beg God to either give me the answer or open the ground beneath me so it can swallow me whole.
“Come on, Big Guy. Do me this solid,” I mutter under my breath.
But, like most of my prayers, this one goes unanswered, too.
I stare at the jumbled numbers and letters, trying to make sense of them to no avail. I could stand here until graduation, and I still wouldn’t know the answer.
I’m usually great with math. But AP Calculus? It’s my Achilles’ heel.
When Sister Agnes encouraged me to enroll in AP Calculus my senior year, citing my success in Pre-Calculus the year before, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her no.
The truth is that I freaking hate calculus. Hate it with every inch of my being.
Where Sister Agnes saw a high aptitude for equation solving my junior year, I saw loads of sleepless nights just trying to make heads or tails of it all.
I knew I should have never agreed to be in this stupid class.
And now my reluctance to disappoint Sister Agnes is biting me in the ass.
Ugh. There I go again.
I strongly dislike it.
Aside from cursing, Sister Margaretta has been on my case about using words like hate or despise . Nuns are supposed to be all about love and acceptance.
Yeah, that’s going to take a hot minute to master.
It’s hard to accept anything in life after being abandoned like garbage as a baby.
I didn’t love that. And I sure as hell refuse to accept it.
“Fuck my life! Are we really going to sit here all day watching Slowpoke struggle to rearrange numbers until they finally make sense in her tiny pea brain?”
I don’t need to turn around to know who just said that.
Luciano Romano.
Talk about an elitist prick.
He and his twin brother have been pulling pranks at Sacred Heart since elementary school. I don’t mind the jokes so much, though I know Sister Margaretta strongly dislikes them. What I do mind is that life comes so damn easy to them.
Let me count the ways they have cracked the code to life while I’m still struggling to grasp the rule book.
They’re rich. Beyond rich. Billionaire-level rich. Old money, too.
There are even rumors around school that their father is this big shot in a Chicago crime syndicate, but I never paid such gossip any mind.
I mean… c’mon?!
Crime family?
Mafia? In Chicago?
Yeah, right.
I wouldn’t put it past the twins being behind that juicy bit of gossip and spreading it like wildfire through the school just to instill fear in everyone.
They’re Machiavellian that way.
Because aside from the money and prestige, they’re also smart as hell.
Like genius-level smart.
And, of course, just when life can’t seem to be unfair enough, the Romano twins have also been blessed in the looks department. Towering at over six foot four since their growth spurt at sixteen, they possess ruffled, dark brown hair, striking chestnut eyes, and sun-kissed skin that suggests they’ve been enjoying a perpetual vacation in the Maldives. With a jawline that could cut glass and cheekbones that could launch a thousand ships, they embody the very essence of male beauty. They’re living, breathing Greek gods, and they know it.
It’s totally unfair that they have so many advantages while some of us are scrambling to get by.
Take me, for example.
Money? I don’t have any. The only cash I see is from the odd babysitting gig.
Looks? Not exactly model material either.
I stand at five feet seven inches, with curves that defy conventional beauty standards. My thighs touch without apology, and my double Ds promise a future of back discomfort. Throughout my life, I’ve never weighed less than two hundred pounds—a number that doesn’t resonate as sexy by society’s narrow definitions. Yet, there’s strength in my body, a testament to my resilience and individuality, so fuck those haters.
And intelligence?
Well, given how long I’ve been standing in front of this whiteboard, I think it’s safe to say genius isn’t exactly on my resume, either.
“Frances… do you need a minute?” Sister Agnes asks softly beside me, ever the patient one.
What I need is the answer, Agnes. That’s what I need.
I try to keep that thought to myself, but my face betrays me like it always does. I know I look pissed, so there’s no use denying it.
God, I wish I could control my temper.
Sister Margaretta has spent years trying to teach me how to rein in my emotions—especially my temper—but her efforts have been in vain. Sometimes, I can mask it, but most of the time my face does all the talking for me. If I don’t say what I’m thinking, my expression spells it out for me.
It’s a curse.
Just like my temper.
Sister Margaretta says it’s bad genes. Which is funny, considering I have no idea where I come from.
Sigh.
“Fuck this shit,” Lucky mutters behind me.
I go completely still as his chair scrapes against the floor, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard. His footsteps echo in my ears, just as loud as my pounding heartbeat.
Then I feel him behind me, his chest pressing against my back.
The asshole even smells decadent.
Before I can react and push him off me, Luciano grabs my hand, the one gripping the marker, and guides it across the whiteboard, finishing the equation as if it were nothing.
“See? The answer is two. It’s not rocket science,” he scoffs, turning to face the class as he wipes his hands together, lightly slapping them from front to back, signaling that he’s finished here.
Laughter erupts around the room, and suddenly, all I see is red.
Breathe, Frankie.
Breathe.
But it’s no use.
Before I even think about it, I tap Lucky on the shoulder, his attention on his adoring crowd.
He turns around to face me, still smirking like the cocky asshole he is—just in time to catch my fist right to his pretty-boy face.
His head snaps back, his eyes squinting as he takes a step away from me.
Satisfaction hums through my veins as blood begins to trickle down his nose.
There.
Now I can breathe.
Like he did before, I wipe my hands together, slapping them from front to back, signaling that I’m the one who’s done here.
Sister Margaretta’s scrutinizing gaze bounces between me and Lucky, who’s now holding an ice pack to his nose.
Neither of them looks thrilled to be here, but hey, it’s not like I’m having fun, either.
After I sucker-punched Lucky in the middle of class, Sister Agnes ordered me to take him to the nurse’s office. Once he had been looked after, we headed straight to see Sister Margaretta, the headmistress and my mentor, in her office, as we had been instructed.
Now, Sister Agnes is recounting the whole disaster while I keep my head down, staring at my scuffed brown shoes.
Lucky’s shoes? Polished, sleek, and likely worth more than all my worldly possessions combined.
We are as different as two people can be.
“Are you sure Luciano didn’t provoke this?” Sister Margaretta asks, her voice even.
“Does being a dick count?” I mumble under my breath, only to gain a disapproving glower from both nuns.
“I didn’t do jack squat!” Lucky complains. “All I did was help her, and this is the thanks I get?”
Oh, boohoo.
Poor baby has a boo-boo.
I bite my tongue to keep from saying just that or rolling my eyes at him. Not for his sake but for Sister Margaretta’s. She wouldn’t appreciate such childish behavior on my part. Bad enough that she has to deal with the repercussions of my knee-jerk reaction.
“To be fair, Luciano, you did antagonize Frances a bit,” Sister Agnes interjects. But when she catches the twitch of a smile on Sister Margaretta’s lips, she quickly backpedals. “That said, violence is never the answer, Frances. Luciano may have been rude, but that didn’t warrant a punch.”
Damn it.
I’m in hot water now.
“So, what are you going to do?” Lucky focuses his disgruntlement on Sister Margaretta. “If I so much as breathe wrong, you threaten to suspend me. Well? What are you going to do about She-Hulk over here?”
I jerk my head up, eyes narrowing. “Was that a dig at my size?”
Lucky looks at me like I just sprouted another head.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You called me She-Hulk. Was that some kind of jab at my weight?” My fists clench, ready to knock him out again.
Lucky blinks at me in confusion and then taps his temple. “Are you okay up there? I was talking about your temper, not your weight.” He then snaps his focus on the two nuns staring at us. “What is this? Are we dealing with a Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde situation here? Because if she’s unstable, I totally get why you don’t want to suspend her. Crazy people burn down buildings and shit.”
“I am not crazy, you jerk!” I shout.
“Could’ve fooled me, sweetheart.” He smirks.
“Don’t call me sweetheart! I have a name.”
“Yeah, Frances, I heard. What kind of name is Frances, anyway? What are you, eighty?”
“Oh, and Lucky is such a good name? What are you, a golden retriever?”
“Woof!”
“CHILDREN!” Sister Margaretta’s voice slices through our bickering like a knife, ensuring we both shut our mouths.
She presses her hands over her forehead for a long moment, then slowly drags them down before looking at us again.
“What am I supposed to do with you two?”
I shrink into my seat, my stomach twisting in knots.
I can deal with a lot, but disappointing the one person whose approval actually matters to me?
Yeah… that doesn’t sit right with me.
I hate disappointing her.
Not dislike but hate it with a fire of a thousand suns.
Sister Margaretta exhales sharply, looking worse for wear. “Luciano is right. I should suspend you, Frances. But then again, Luciano shouldn’t have been in class today if I had suspended him yesterday like I originally intended.”
Lucky’s smirk widens at that.
She glares at him, and he wisely wipes the expression off his face.
“Maybe I should just kick both of you out,” she threatens, her gaze fixed on Lucky.
No.
No, no, no.
If I get suspended, the orphanage has to kick me out. No matter how much Sister Margaretta vouches for me, the rules are clear—I can stay at Sacred Heart and St. Mary’s Orphanage until I graduate. But if I screw up… if I do anything to mess up my year… I’m gone.
“Sister Margaretta,” I blurt, my voice nearly shaking. Her gaze lands on me, cold and sharp, sending a cold chill to trickle down my spine. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I promise I won’t do it again. Please don’t kick me out.”
Lucky snorts.
“Oh, that’s all it takes? She just has to promise to be good? Well, hell, I promise I’ll act like the second coming. Does that mean I get a pass, too?”
“Will you please shut up?” I snap at him.
“Make me.”
“Have you always been this big of a jerk?”
“Are you always this much of a bit—”
My nostrils flare, my narrow-slit gaze daring him to finish his sentence.
But as Lucky’s eyes lower to meet my clenched fists on my lap, he thinks better of it.
“What? No comeback?” I taunt through gritted teeth.
“Let’s just say you’re no prize either, sweetheart.”
I hate him.
I hate him more than I have ever hated anyone in my entire life.
And that’s saying something, considering I’ve spent eighteen years hating my parents for abandoning me.
Sister Agnes clears her throat, pulling our attention to her.
“I may have a solution,” she says, looking far too upbeat, considering that my life and future hang in the balance. “It’s obvious Frances needs to learn patience and restraint. And we know Luciano could use a lesson in humility and charity. I say we put the two together and let them teach each other those qualities.”
“In a room? Alone? I don’t see how that’s a good idea,” Sister Margaretta replies dryly with a shake of the head.
“Oh, but it is. In fact, it’s the perfect solution to the issue at hand,” Sister Agnes insists with a wide smile. “Frances struggles in my class, and Luciano excels in it. He can tutor her to get her grade up. This way, he’ll have to think about someone else’s needs instead of his own for a few hours a day, while Frances not only learns calculus but also gains the tools to manage her temper.”
“I don’t like this idea,” Lucky mutters. “She’s insufferable.”
“You’ll live.” Sister Agnes smiles at him.
“Will I?” he counters sarcastically. “She’s got a mean left hook and an even worse temper. What if she kills me?”
Sister Margaretta takes a page out of Lucky’s handbook and smirks. “Then it’s a win-win.”
Lucky scowls. “Hilarious.”
“I think you might be onto something, Sister.” Sister Margaretta continues to grin widely. “The two of you need to figure out how to function in a civilized society. Yes… yes… I think this is an excellent idea, Sister Agnes.”
My stomach sinks.
Great.
Just freaking great.
If I want to avoid expulsion from school and still have a place to live, not only will I have to pass AP Calculus, but I’ll also have to deal with Luciano Romano.
Just fre… you know what… to hell with it—just fucking great!
Ugh!