Chapter 138

“Nothing’s going on here,” Nico snaps, turning and heading out the door without another word or look at me. “We’ll be in touch! Don’t leave the property!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Frankie calls after Nico before turning to me and rolling his eyes. “He talks to me like I’m eight.”

“Well,” I say, crossing my arms and smirking at him. “Sometimes you act like you’re eight.”

Frankie’s face bursts into a grin. “Touche, Bambita,” he says, bringing the luggage into the house and shutting the door behind him.

I exhale a long breath, hoping he doesn’t notice because…well, it’s just me and Frankie now. All alone.

“Where do you want this stuff?” Frankie asks, looking between the two final bags, either not acknowledging the awkward situation or not noticing it.

“Bag here,” I say, reaching for the cloth bag of perishables in his fist. “Luggage in the room.”

“You got it,” Frankie says, giving me a happy grin before heading into the bedroom with my bag. “Are you cooking?” he calls over his shoulder. “Last night Nico and I were left to our own devices and the results were…unappetizing.”

I laugh, setting the cloth bag down and peering into the fridge, seeing what I’ve got to work with. “What did you have?” I call.

“Poptarts,” Frankie replies, coming back into the kitchen and slipping his hands into his pockets. “And whiskey.”

I glance at Frankie over my shoulder and gag, making him laugh. I grin, turning back to the fridge, because it’s so nice to make Frankie laugh. I missed it, honestly. “Okay, Frank,” I say on a sigh, reaching for some cheese I see in the back. “Let’s see what I can whip up.”

About fifteen minutes later the counter is spread with ingredients, I’m about halfway through cooking, and Frankie is characteristically complaining and making me laugh.

“I don’t know why you’re making me doooo thisss,” he groans, tilting his head back as he pushes at the grilled cheese in the pan with the side of his spatula. “This is not within my skill set, Iris! Isn’t there anyone I can kill instead? This is too delicate - I’m either going to ruin it OR I’m going to die of boredom. Both of which are…nonpreferred.”

“You’re such a baby,” I laugh, using my hands to toss a little salad with sweet Vidalia onion dressing. “It’s grilled cheese, Frank! It doesn’t get any easier!”

“I can’t do it,” Frankie sighs, his shoulders slumping dramatically, his eyes falling half shut like he’s halfway through a marathon and can’t take another step. “It’s torture. It’s a crime against humanity. Or if not humanity, a crime against Frankity. Which is way worse.”

“Drama drama,” I sigh, grinning over at him and then lifting my chin towards the sandwich. “Time to flip, now. Go ahead.”

“Oh, I like this part,” Frankie says cheerfully, straightening up and grinning down at the pan as he uses the spatula to flip over both sandwiches, which sizzle gratifyingly on the hot pan.

“You know, you should be more grateful,” I say, setting the finished salad aside and moving to wash my hands. “Many would kill for my very famous, very exclusive grilled cheese recipe. You’re in an elite club now that you have that knowledge.”

“All my clubs are elite,” Frankie says, brandishing his spatula and leaning against the stove, smiling at me. “This is nothing new.”

I laugh and move to stand next to him, checking on the tomato soup bubbling happily in its pot. I take a spoonful, blow on it, and then taste with a frown. “Do you think it needs more salt?” I ask, scooping up a tiny portion for Frankie with the same spoon and lifting it to his lips.

He smirks at me, blows once, and then quite gently allows me to slip the spoon into his mouth. I smile softly as I pull it away, as Frankie purses his lips in consideration. “Yes, more salt,” he says, nodding seriously to me. “Also, hot sauce.”

“Hot sauce!?”

He grins, devilish. “Everything’s better with hot sauce.”

“It’s tomato soup, Frank,” I sigh, flicking a derisive glance in his direction. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t give me commands I cannot obey, donna,” he murmurs, smirking and returning his gaze to the sandwiches in the pan, ensuring that they don’t burn.

We eat in the living room, seated next to each other on the floor with our backs against the sofa, eating off the coffee table like kids as we look up at the sitcom projected on the white wall above the fireplace. It’s an old black and white series we’ve both seen a thousand times, so neither of us are watching closely. Still, the old jokes are familiar and it keeps the vibe cheerful in the room.

The food, as I knew it would be, is delicious – and Frankie, despite his complaints about being obliged to help me cook, eats every bite and goes back for seconds. I grin as I watch him clean his plate, knowing that he only complained to make me laugh.

He’s so good at that, making me laugh. Knowing what I want and need in stressful situations.

Frank. He’s always been so, so good to me, hasn’t he? And I’m just starting to learn about the depths of him – all the secrets he keeps hidden under his sometimes childish, joking façade.

“Watch this part,” Frankie murmurs, gesturing to the actress on screen with his spoon as he slurps up his second bowl of tomato soup. “God, the way she reacts to these pranks – it’s so genuine. I don’t know how they got that reaction out of her unless they just…didn’t tell her what was coming up in the scene.”

“Or she’s just that good an actress,” I say with a shrug, leaning comfortably back against the couch, one hand on my half-drunk glass of wine.

“No one’s that good of an actress,” Frankie murmurs as the scene continues, his eyes fastened on the woman, true appreciation lighting his eyes.

“I wish I was,” I murmur passively, my mind wandering a little as I relax with my friend.

“What?” Frankie asks, turning to me with a frown. “Why?”

“Because,” I say, turning to him, speaking my thoughts as they come into my mind. “Everyone in Christian’s family – they’re so clever and polished. They always know the right thing to say, and everything they say is veiled in like…six layers of knowledge and secrecy.”

Frankie laughs, nodding, letting me know that he understands what I’m talking about.

“I just sometimes feel like…” I say, letting my eyes unfocus a little as I search for the words, “this is a chess game, and everyone is six moves ahead of me. And all this time I’ve been playing parcheesi.”

Frankie bursts out laughing, bringing my gaze back to him. I smile too, unable to help it.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, Bambs,” Frankie says, grinning and putting his empty bowl and spoon on the table. “Everything is about six layers deep in this world, and everyone is fighting hard as hell to only show you the surface.”

“You do that too,” I point out, my voice soft, not wanting him to feel accused.

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, giving me a sad little smile. “I don’t want everyone to realize that six layers deep in me there isn’t a criminal mastermind, but instead just a scrappy little raccoon just trying to make it to his next meal.”

I laugh, charmed by Frankie’s apparent self-image, but even as I do I shake my head. “You’re so much more than that, Frank,” I say on a sigh, turning more fully towards him now and leaning my arm on the couch as I look at him. “The internal raccoon is also just a decoy. You’ve got even more layers going on below that.”

“Can’t fool you, can I?” Frank says, turning more fully to me as well. He takes a moment, considering me. “You’re more complicated than you think you appear too, you know,” he says, soft.

“I don’t think so,” I sigh, putting my head down on my arm even as I shake it. “I think I’m just…Iris. I think I have just about one level – and this is it.” I gesture plainly at myself – at the naïve, ex-student stripper-turned-mafia-bride that he sees before him.

“Nah,” Frankie replies, the corner of his lip turning up in a smile. “You’re Iris, but you’re also Bambi. And Daisy. And Donna Romano. You’ve got a lot going on up here, Iris,” he says, tapping his head. “And even more in here,” he continues, tapping his heart.

“So do you,” I whisper, gazing at him a little bit – unable to help it. “You just never let us see it.”

“And where,” Frankie whispers back, leaning forward towards me conspiratorially. “Would it get me, Bambi? If I did bear my heart? After all…everything I wanted is now kind of…off the table.”

I drop my gaze, a blush finding my cheeks.