The Worst Best Man(108)
Unfortunately, the world had a key to her apartment. Two big bodies hit her mattress, jostling her under the covers.
“Go away.”
Her pillow, the one that smelled like Aiden’s shampoo—oh God, his thousand-million-dollar shampoo was still in her shower—was ripped from her face.
Her brother Marco smiled down at her. “There she is,” he said cheerfully.
“Get. Out.”
“It’s either us or Ma, and she’s curled up in the fetal position crying about all those beautiful Kilbourn babies she’ll never get to hold,” Gio announced from the foot of her bed.
Frankie did the last thing her brothers expected her to do. She burst into tears. In all her adult years, she had never once cried in their presence. Not even that time when one of their buffoon cousins broke her arm playing flag football on Thanksgiving.
“Oh, shit,” Marco whispered.
“What do we do?” Gio demanded.
“I can still hear you, idiots,” Frankie sobbed, ripping the pillow out of Marco’s hand and holding it over her head.
“She trying to suffocate herself?”
“I’m callin’ Rach. She’ll know what to do.”
“You’re not calling anyone! I’m fine!” Frankie wailed. If she was going to humiliate herself, she was going to commit to it. At least it would teach her brothers to never enter her apartment without an express invitation again.
Not that they’d be interrupting anything. New life plan: She was going to age badly and rescue a bunch of cats that would one day eat her in her sleep.
Frankie heard Marco on the phone in her living room through the paper-thin walls. “I never saw her like this before,” he was saying.
“What can we do, Frankie?” Gio was asking. “You want us to go beat the shit out of him?”
She sat upright. “No, I don’t want you to beat the shit out of him!”
He frowned. “You want us to beat the shit out of her?”
“Maybe.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t want anyone beating the shit out of anyone. It wasn’t true. He was set up, but we’re still broken up. Okay?”
“I’m confused.”
She flopped back down on the bed and held the pillow over her face.
Marco came back in the room. “Rach gave me a really specific list. I’m gonna go get the stuff. You stay here. And don’t let her look out the window.”
“Why?” Frankie asked, sitting up again.
“Shit. I thought you couldn’t hear me through the pillow.”
“What’s outside my window?” Frankie scrambled over the mattress, and Gio made a dive for her, but she dodged him. She pressed her face to the dingy glass. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“Fuckin’ paparazzi,” Gio sighed.
“Why are there cameramen outside my building?”
“I guess you didn’t see the news today.”
“What the hell could have possibly happened?”
“Aiden filed a lawsuit against that Mar-goat chick and every blog and news site that printed the story. Most of them already printed retractions.”
“How is this my life?” she murmured to herself.
“I’m going out the alley. Be back in a few,” Marco said, shrugging back into his coat.
Frankie drew her blinds, throwing the apartment into the gloomy kind of darkness she felt in her heart. She let Gio talk her into at least getting out of bed and brushing her hair, but when she spotted Aiden’s comb and a stray pair of boxer briefs in the hamper, she lost all desire to behave like a human.
They slumped on the couch staring at a rerun until Marco returned.
“Okay, we got some glossy magazines that don’t say anything about keeping your man on the cover,” he said unloading the bag on her coffee table. “Some tissues in case that thing that happened in there happens again. Six different kinds of chocolate bars. Two pints of ice cream because any more than that and you’ll hate yourself in the morning. And a quart of chicken noodle.”
“What’s in the other bag?” Frankie asked, with a sniffle.
“I bought a bunch of blow ‘em up Blurays that we can watch. And the taco truck was two blocks over, so I got some of those, too.”
“Thanks, Marco,” she said. “Thanks, Gio.”
Gio ruffled her freshly brushed hair and flipped her off. “Family.”
--------
Aiden hadn’t called. When she finally got the nerve to turn her phone back on, she had fifteen missed calls from him, but that was before the showdown at his penthouse. He hadn’t called her since. But he had texted.
Aiden: I know you said no calling. But you didn’t explicitly say no texting. And until you tell me otherwise, I’ll keep texting. I miss you. I’m sorry.
Aiden: I have exactly everything I had before you, but now it feels like nothing.
Aiden: I wish we were on your couch. You cuddled up to me. Me playing with your hair. Leftovers going cold on the table. I miss you.
Aiden: I’m suing a bunch of people today. I thought you should know. No one gets away with hurting you, Franchesca. Not even me. I’m in misery without you.
The next morning the gifts started. No direct contact. Just little gifts with handwritten cards delivered by messenger. On Tuesday, he sent a stack of romance novels and a hefty gift card to Christian’s salon to her apartment. On Wednesday, when she finally returned to work, he had gourmet hot chocolate delivered for her, Brenda, and Raul. Frankie didn’t want to know how he knew she was at work. If he was still keeping tabs on her, he still had hope. Something she didn’t.