Chapter 120

“No, I think it’s cute,” Lucy says, sitting on the edge of the bed and tilting her head to the side as she considers my second sundress-and-sweatshirt outfit in as many days. “I think you look beachy. Cool.”

My shoulders slump a little as I look down at myself, considering. “I’m not sure ‘beachy’ and ‘cool’ are the right descriptors for a mob boss’s new girlfriend.”

“Is that what you are?” Lucy asks, leaning forward, eager.

I laugh a little, blushing as I shrug. “I mean, I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “We didn’t really…talk about it.”

“Well, you have to talk about it,” she says, sitting up straight and lifting her chin. “You have to define the relationship. Don’t let him get out of it, Iris – these mafia boys, they’ll take a mile if you give them an inch.”

I bite my lip. “I’m not as brave as you, Lucy,” I sigh. “I’m not used to…asserting myself.”

“Well then grow a backbone, baby!” she says, laughing at me good-heartedly. “It’s cool – I’ll help you. No worries.” She hops up from her place on the bed and loops her arm in mine, turning us towards the door.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, grinning, caught up in her bold high spirits.

“We’re walking right into that room,” she says, pointing towards the door. “And we’re not asking permission first.”

“Lucy…” I say, hesitating. Because, I mean, Christian sent her in here because he wanted to have a quiet word with the guys…

“Iris!” she protests, scoffing at me. “Do it! Courage! Bravery! You’re the boss!”

I laugh, shaking my head, but I square my shoulders anyway. “I’m the boss.”

“Yes!” Lucy shouts, laughing, throwing one hand up into the air. Bolstered by her, I move forward, Lucy following an inch behind, and push through the door, sweeping into the kitchen.

The men fall quiet, watching us as we enter the room. I head right for the fridge, my comfort zone, and open it.

“Iris?” Christian calls over to me. “Is everything…okay?”

“Yup!” I call back, laughing a little, a bit of a thrill running through me as Lucy hops up onto the counter, grabbing another croissant and taking a bite. “All good.”

“All right,” he calls back, laughing a little, I think realizing that Lucy and I are asserting our place in the little home, quietly refusing to be caged away in the bedroom. And my heart swells a bit – as ridiculous as it is – when he doesn’t send us right back.

The boys turn back to each other, either continuing their conversation or starting a new one. Either way, they accept our presence without complaint.

“Anything else to eat in there?” Lucy asks, grinning down at me before glancing at her croissant. “I mean, I love a crusty buttery carb, but we’re going to need some real sustenance at some point.”

I bite my lip, considering it all, some part of me registering that behind me the boys are starting to stand up, to move around, their little conference apparently breaking up.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Lucy,” I say with a sigh, sorting through the leftovers from last night and what little fresh, uncooked food we have left. “It’s not looking good.”

Lucy groans dramatically, making me laugh, acting like it’s the absolute end of the world and I just told her we’re all going to slowly starve to death.

“Sounds like we need a food run,” Frankie says, and I jump and spin a little when I hear his voice right behind me. He smirks, and I scowl at him when I realize that he spooked me on purpose, just for the fun of it.

“Food run!” Lucy says eagerly, jumping down from the counter. “I love a food run!”

“That’s okay, Luce,” Frankie says, turning his charming smile on her. “Iris and I can handle this one.”

“But –“ she protests, but then she freezes a little when Frankie just looks at her steadily, willing her to understand what he means.

My stomach sinks as I, too, figure it out.

“Ooookay,” Lucy says, shrugging and giving us both a pretty smile. She heads into the living room to wrap an arm around Tony’s waist, grinning up at him.

“Come on, Bambs,” Frankie says, smiling at me and tilting his head towards the door. “You grab some money from the sugar daddy, I’ll grab the car keys. We’ll make a day of it.”

Ten minutes later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Nico’s car with Frankie at the wheel and I’ve never felt so horribly awkward in my entire life.

Frankie, because he’s Frankie, is apparently immune to this though, singing lightly along to the radio with his window cracked open, his eyes on the road. So he doesn’t see me twisting my hands in my lap, my head hanging, just feeling so…weird.

Because, I mean, I don’t regret anything that happened with Christian – not at all. It’s kind of what I’ve been waiting for my whole life.

But…whatever was happening with me and Frankie? That was important to me and it was going somewhere.

And I know he knows it.

But somehow, someway, I’m the only one reacting to it. And I just feel so weird.

I sigh heartily as we pull into the parking lot of the little tiny town, the wad of bills burning a hole in my pocket. Because I just want to get in there and buy a whole bunch of food and get home and start cooking it. That will center me, I know – give me a chance to think it all through.

“Bambs,” Frankie says, his voice unusually deep and soft, reaching out a hand and laying it gently on my forearm as I start to push open my door. I freeze, turning towards him. He gives me a soft smile. “Seriously, Bambs, it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Like what?” I whisper.

But he just tilts his head, staring at me, his face uncharacteristically serious. He knows I know that he means it doesn’t have to be awkward, and strange, and stilted between us.

Frankie – he’s just…given up, hasn’t he? The realization breaks my heart.

I pull the door shut and turn to him.

“Don’t we?” My words are just a whisper.

“No, babe,” he says, shaking his head, his hand still on my arm. “Nothing’s changed.”

“What?” I frown now, not getting it.

“You’ve always been the boss’s girl, deep down,” he says, and I watch as he visibly tucks away a sigh, denying it space in his mouth. “Nothing…happened. It’s all…exactly the same.”

He looks away from me now, staring out the windshield. His jaw clenches, just for a moment.

And something about that – the way he just blatantly lies to me.

God, I go from awkward to angry in a split second.

“You’re such an asshole, Frank,” I hiss.

I yank my arm from beneath his hand and push open my car door, stepping out and slamming it behind me as I storm towards the little shop.

“Iris!” He shouts after me, but I don’t turn around. I push open the shop door with an angry shove that sends the little bells on it tinkling madly and grab a basket, starting to shove ingredients into it haphazardly.

I hear the bells ring again behind me, but I still gasp when Frankie grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. “What!” he growls, pulling me closer. “I’m making this easy on you, Iris! What the hell do you want!?”

“I want you to not lie about it, Frankie!” I snap, stepping closer and glaring up at him.

“Lie about what, Iris?” He leans in, challenging me. Making me say it.

My mouth falls open, the words ready on my tongue, but something in my throat stops them.

And I just make an embarrassing little squeak, staring up at him.

Frankie laughs, a low, dark sound, and pulls me a little closer. “What’s wrong, Iris? Can’t quite get it out? Can’t find the words to describe it?”

But I just bare my teeth and step closer.