“Francesc—”
“My family,” she answered her own question. “They do that shit. Cat’s almost as bad but in her own unique way. And right now, Enzo has two women who both say they’re pregnant with his kid. They live in two different states and he’s currently shacked up with another woman who luckily isn’t knocked up…yet. And he’s only twenty-eight.”
“Can I talk?” he asked when she fell momentarily silent.
“What’s there to say?” she asked back. “That was embarrassing.”
His brows drew together. “How was that embarrassing?”
“Ben” —she threw a hand out— “that happened in your house, in front of you, your folks. She even called Asheeka a bitch and she’s never even met Asheeka.”
“Yeah, that happened and she did that. She did. Nat. That doesn’t reflect on you.”
“She’s blood.”
“And Vinnie’s my blood. Does him bein’ in the mob reflect on me? My family?” he returned and knew he scored when she clamped her mouth shut. “No. I think we all learned the hard way not to take that on or pile that shit on someone who doesn’t deserve it.” He gave her a careful squeeze. “So don’t take that on.”
She turned her head to the side.
“Francesca” —he drew her closer— “do not take that shit on.”
She kept her gaze aimed to the side.
“Baby, put your arms around me and look at me.”
She remained unmoving.
“Francesca, cara, put your arms around me and look at me.”
He watched and felt her heave a sigh, and being Frankie, she didn’t do what she was told. But at least she lifted both hands, rested them on his chest, and gave him her eyes. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was something.
“Do not take that shit on,” he whispered.
He saw it again, something moving over her face, shifting in her eyes. This was bigger, weighty. He thought she was going to say something, give it to him, explain it, and he felt her body tensing as if she was going to share the weight, let it go.
But she relaxed and said, “I’m hungry.”
Benny had to admit, he was disappointed. But she’d opened up before closing down and he felt it wise at that juncture to take what she gave freely and not push for more.
So he asked, “You good?”
“Yes,” she lied immediately.
“You aren’t,” he replied. “But you are full of shit.”
Fire danced in her eyes as they started to narrow.
That made him feel better.
“We’ll talk more when we don’t have a house full of people,” he told her.
“An alternate and slightly more enjoyable plan than talking about my family or anything you might want to talk about when you don’t have a house full of people, you tear my fingernails out by their roots.”
He grinned and pulled her as close as he felt safe. “You do know you just get it over with, give in to it, let me in, you could get to the good parts.”
He knew she was done when she shut it down. “I’m too hungry to have this conversation.”
“Too hungry, maybe. Too chicken, definitely.”
Her eyes narrowed again, right to squinty, and Benny had to bite back laughter.
Fuck, as hard as she could be, she was easy.
“I’m not chicken. I’m hungry.”
“Total chicken.”
“Am not.”
“Absolutely are.”
Her eyes went to slits. “You make clucking noises, I’m kicking you in the shin.”
He let himself smile as he asked, “You gonna suck it up and talk to me later?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Chicken,” he teased.
“Am not!” she snapped, getting louder, and that was when he let himself laugh, he just did it silently.
When he quit laughing, he reminded her of something he told her the night before, “Cal, Vi, and the girls’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Shit. Right,” she muttered.
“Right then. Plan,” he stated, and she focused on him. “You got today with Ma and Pop. You got tomorrow with Cal and his girls. Monday, you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll go out to dinner. Neutral ground for you. Change of scenery. We’ll talk where you’ll feel safe.”
She stiffened in his arms. “Are you talking a date?”
“Yeah,” he answered.
She stiffened more. “Ben—”
He dipped his face to hers and he was straight-up serious when he said, “Honest to God, all I’ve done to you, what you know you mean to me, do you think in a million years I’d make anything tough on you?”
She closed her eyes.
“I wouldn’t,” he answered his own question.
She opened her eyes.
“I get you’re scared and I know why. But if I didn’t have somethin’ to offer that I’m gonna bust my balls to make good, somethin’ I know in my gut you want, same as me, this would be goin’ a whole lot differently. I haven’t earned it, baby. I don’t even f**kin’ deserve it. But I gotta ask you to trust me anyway.”
“Okay,” she whispered, straight up, right there, no hesitation.
Jesus. That felt good.
He couldn’t let that feeling settle.
He somehow got her where he wanted her; he had to press his advantage.
So he asked, “Monday?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
Thank f**k.
He knew he’d be pushing it to kiss her, as bad as he wanted that mouth.
It killed, but he didn’t kiss her.
He still gave himself a taste of her by dipping his head further and touching his lips to hers.
He lifted it and said, “Pancakes.”
She relaxed in his arms and nodded.
He let her loose only to bend and lift her in his arms.
Then he took her downstairs so she could have pancakes.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, while Theresa was in the kitchen doing dishes, Frankie was lying flat out on the couch, her mass of hair spread on the armrest where her head was resting, smiling huge at something Vinnie said to be funny.
He’d been right. She didn’t make his pop work for it. Not even for a second. And she did this two seconds after Benny had put her on that couch and she asked his pop if he minded getting her a “cup of joe,” like she did the same the day before and the day before that.
His father had grinned, openly showing his relief, then shocked the shit out of him and his ma by getting it for her.