No response.
Marcus:If I show up in a three-piece suit and Myrtle greets me at the fountain, I’m staging a twisted ankle and limping back to the manor.
Frankie:Oh, sweetie. Myrtle is the backup. Primary wig’s name is Blanche. She smokes menthols, cheats at poker, and once faked her death to avoid a second wedding.
He grinned at the screen like an idiot. Head over heels for the girl.
Frankie:See you Saturday.
An hour later, his phone buzzed. The brothers’ group chat. They’d clearly compared notes first.
Antonio:You’re serious about telling her? Then wait until after the Gatsby Festival. Give her one clean night. Outcomes: A) you tell her before, she detonates, torches the festival, hates you and the town; B) you tell her after, she still detonates, but at least she has one good memory to come back to. My vote is B.
Another buzz.
Luca:Tell her the truth. Always. Just do not expect forgiveness on your timeline. Outcomes: 1) she walks and never looks back; 2) she walks and circles back; 3)she does not walk, but she makes you earn every inch. If she loves you, she will find her way through the anger. You just have to be strong enough to stand in the storm until she gets there.
And another.
Giovanni:My playbook: worst case she makes you a Gi Gi’s Crossing spectacle and coins new verbs with your name; middle case she bans you from her closet and the cat hisses when you inhale; best case you grovel correctly, she softens, and you two get a long life of being wrong together. Also, if she throws another stiletto, duck faster.
Marcus exhaled, thumb resting on the glass. He could feel the hours he’d been holding his breath slide out of him.
Marcus:Copy. After the festival. Private place. No shoes within throwing distance.
Another ping.
Lorenzo:Good. And take water. People forget to hydrate during righteous fury.
Luca:And flowers. Not roses. Something scrappy that survives weather.
Giovanni:Helmet optional.
He set the phone down. The countdown had started. What were the odds he would make it through her tirade without a few new scars, and maybe, if he was lucky, a future? Even then, the zip code problem would still be waiting. She was not staying, and he might bethe one the town kept. An apology could win forgiveness, but it would not decide who moved.
Chapter 38
Saturday night, Marcus stood in the shadows at the edge of the square, watching golden light and Gatsby-era decadence spill over the crowd. Harriet the Spy had slipped him last week’s Gazette with a knowing smirk—the paper sat in his palm like a court summons. He knew every line, but he looked anyway.
Miss Informed
By Miss Informed
Staff Writer,Gi Gi’s Gazette
Glittered Golf Cart, Missing Hunk — Coincidence?
Well, well, well. Absolutely Not Him handed over keys and a disclaimer.
Our very own runaway heiress, Francesca B, was spotted cruising town in a golf cart gifted by the hottest hunk in Gi Gi’s Crossing. Not your average small-town gesture. This one came with keys, attitude, and insiders say, a verbal disclaimer:Absolutely not yours forever.
Rude.
Naturally, Francesca did what any woman of style, spite, and unprocessed romantic tension would do. She bedazzled the hell out of it. Rhinestones. Streamers.Possibly vengeance-powered headlights. All week she’s been seen terrorizing sidewalks and traffic law with Sir Hissalot riding shotgun and looking ready to collect a debt. Did I mention she doesn’t have a driver’s license?
Here’s the kicker: He’s missing in action.
The man renovating Gi Gi’s Manor, last seen arriving at Francesca’s workplace in a suit that screamed marry me, has since vanished. One moment, he’s dressed like he’s about to drop. The next, gone. Not even a brooding text to one of the locals.
