“I thought you might want to know that Marcus has returned to Manhattan. According to my sources, he did so on the same day you came home.”
“You mean you haven’t spoken to him in person?”
Ms. Birdie shook her head. “He’s not taking my calls. It’s my understanding he’s keeping to himself. But I imagine if you reached out, he’d take your call.”
Frankie shook her head emphatically. “Not happening. Whatever we had, it’s broken. Beyond repair.” The words tasted like dirt because they were a lie. She had already ruled out a life sentence for his sins. The question was whether he had ruled one in for hers.
Ms. Birdie’s silence stretched, patient and damning.
Frankie glowered. “Please. One article and a Hallmark scribble don’t erase sabotage and sex under false pretenses.”
“Are you saying his admitting the truth repaired nothing? His gifting you his ultimate secret repaired nothing? Knowing he loves you repaired nothing?” Ms. Birdie’s voice rose with eachnothing. “Is your intention, given what you now know, truly to do nothing?”
Frankie inhaled for five seconds and exhaled slowly. “Well. I guess the least I could do is send him a sympathy card. Blank inside. Let him do the work for once.”
Now that she knew why his privacy was so important, she regretted the very public revenge she’d chosen. Had she known, she would have still unleashed her wrath, but not via a swingers’ ad, and not in the middle of the town square where all the gossips had gathered to blather.
The mere thought of Marcus being in danger caused the hairs on the back of Frankie’s neck to stand and her heart to squeeze.
Or maybe, just maybe, her heart was squeezing because she loved him, too.
Was it possible to be in love with your enemy? If that were the case, it would explain the constant heartburn she had experienced since returning to Manhattan.
But love couldn’t undo the damage done.
Or could it?
How did one even go about finding out if love was enough?
With a grand gesture, an annoying voice whispered in her head.
Hell.
Now that she understood his connection with the article, she had to admit that Marcus’s grand gesture went a long way toward making things okay. Sure, there were fights still to be had, but if they both fought fair, if neither of them burned any damn bridges to make a point, their fights wouldn’t be deal breakers.
The bottom line was that if Frankie wanted to find out if love was enough, she needed to reach out to Marcus.
And do what?
Apologize was the obvious answer.
Only, she didn’t do apologies. She didn’t accept them, nor did she give them. They were for the lily-livered. And that was not on the table for negotiations.
Marcus had understood that, and in lieu of an apology, he had risen to the occasion by giving her his scariest secret. She applauded his creativity.
She didn’t have a life-threatening secret she could hand him in return. Which meant she’d have to fall back on a traditional grand gesture. Something ripped straight from a romance novel. It would have to be loud enough to get his attention, and quiet enough to protect him.
Public to the world. Private in its meaning.
But in what universe did that unicorn exist?
Frankie tapped her finger against her lip.
“I can see the wheels turning. Do I want to know what you’re plotting?” Ms. Birdie asked. “If it’s murder, blink twice.”
“Tempting,” Frankie muttered. “But ever since you gave me the whole don’t burn your metaphorical bridges’ speech, my appetite for murder has sadly diminished.”
Ms. Birdie’s lips twitched. “That’s nice, dear.”
