Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack, #7)(28)

Geoffrey nodded in agreement, taking the armchair. “He’ll ensure she understands that continuing to contact you will be classed as harassment.”

Brad spoke before Frankie could get a word in. “Mom, Dad, let’s just talk about something else.”

“Fine.” Marcia’s gaze cut to Frankie. “Selma’s son was disappointed that you didn’t stay for dinner the other day. His parents are throwing a charity ball in two weeks. He’d love to escort you there.”

Frankie raised a brow. “He’d love it so much that he’s asking through you?”

Brad chuckled, though the sound was strained. “She has a point, Mom. He’s not much of a man if he can’t, or won’t, take the time to ask her himself.”

Mouth twitching, Geoffrey inclined his head. “I share Brad’s disappointment in this,” he told his wife. “Our granddaughter is worth the effort.”

But Marcia huffed. “He’s a busy man. Oh, Francesca, Selma informed me that there’s a vacancy within her department for a—”

“I have a job.”

“Well, yes, but I’m sure it doesn’t take up much of your time and attention.”

“Building six-foot-tall sculptures really couldn’t be simpler,” Frankie said drily.

Marcia looked at her as though she were being dramatic. “Francesca, you know I dislike sarcasm.”

Brad cupped Frankie’s elbow and said quietly, “She means well.”

Did she? Right then, Frankie couldn’t have cared less. She was tired and frustrated and didn’t have the patience to yet again defend her chosen profession. As such, she didn’t stay long.

Just as she was saying her goodbyes to Geoffrey, Marcia spoke words that made Frankie grind her teeth.

“Before you leave, I’d like Lydia’s details.”

Mentally readying herself for battle, Frankie said, “No.”

“Francesca—”

“It’s too late anyway.”

Marcia went stiff as a board. “You met with her?” Anger blazed in her eyes. “You defied me?”

Frankie sighed wearily. “It’s really such a big drama that I wanted to meet these relatives that I don’t remember? You don’t think it’s natural that I had questions? Honestly?”

“Those wolves—”

“Aren’t asking for the world. What if it had been the other way around? What if it were you on the deathbed and you wanted to see me just once, would that have been such a crime?”

“You went to see that woman too, didn’t you? Iris. You went to see her. How could you do this to me?”

“I didn’t do it to you. Nor did I do it to spite you or to hurt you. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” But Marcia sure liked to make it about her.

“Doesn’t it matter to you that your mother is dead because of her son? If she hadn’t mated with him—”

“I wouldn’t have been born. Does that not matter to you?”

Geoffrey intervened then. “Francesca, you know we love you. You may not wish to hurt us, but this situation does cause us pain.”

Frankie looked at him. “I’m sorry if that’s the case.”

“I don’t think you really are,” clipped Marcia. “Don’t you see that they’re beasts? They’re barbaric. Pitiless. Vile.”

“They’re people,” said Frankie. “They drink coffee, play video games, make cookies, and watch TV.” They just also happened to shift into animals—no biggie.

“You will not see them again, Francesca, I won’t have it.”

Again with this shit? Frankie sighed. “I’m going home. You all enjoy the rest of your day.” She strode out of the room and down the hallway.

Brad jogged after her and caught her by the arm. “Frankie, wait. You have to see why they’re hurting.”

“It doesn’t have to hurt them. I’m not shoving it in their faces. I’m not living on pack territory or denouncing the family. And I won’t be made to feel guilty for this. Not by them, and not by you.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just can’t approve of it. They’ll never approve of it.”

“That’s the thing, Brad. I’m not asking for their blessing. I understand that this is hard for them, so I’d never dream of expecting them to be okay with it—that truly wouldn’t be fair. I just want them to let me be. But they won’t—not about this, not about any decision I make that they don’t like. After all, they know best. I live in a fantasyland where I’m a sculptor.”

“Frankie—”

“I have to go, I’ll see you later.” She pulled her arm free and left.

Anger kept her muscles tight throughout the drive home. But by the time she got there, the anger had fizzled out. She was no longer pissed. She was tired. Weary. Sad. It seemed that no matter what move she made, there was someone she disappointed.

Any other time, she’d have shut herself in her studio and disappeared into her own world as she worked on her sculpture. While her hand was still sore, that wasn’t going to happen.

So instead she poured herself a glass of red wine and headed through the patio door, out onto the deck. The breeze was slightly chilly, so she flung some logs into the fire pit and then settled on one of the rocking chairs. She sighed at the feel of the sun-warmed wood at her back and the scents of woodsmoke, herbs, and fragrant flowers.