And then—
A shuffle. Soft but unmistakable.
He turned.
Frankie stepped out from a side door, backlit by the exit light, her face unreadable and fierce. The moment her gaze landed on him, the mask faltered.
She clearly hadn’t expected the rooftop to still be occupied.
Ms. Birdie must have sent her back up with some line about a forgotten wrap or bangle.
For one taut beat, they just stared at each other.
Then Marcus quietly said, “Hey.”
He braced for a flying stiletto, half-certain she kept a spare in her purse for emergencies, like running into him.
Seconds passed, slow and deliberate, as she stepped forward, each heel strike a warning.
He owed her apologies. Real ones, not the corporate PR kind he’d mastered. But he also knew she wouldn’t accept the words. Not even if they were coated in his blood.
She stopped just short of striking distance, her expression cool enough to curdle champagne. “It’scustomary to bring the designer flowers, not gifts. Didn’t anyone teach you debut etiquette?”
He held up the box he’d been clutching. “I didn’t know about the show. I came to see you. This is for you.”
A bitter laugh curled her lips. “Darling, I gave you a grand gesture. You gave me a cold shoulder. So…why now?”
“In my defense,” he said carefully, “my reasons were legitimate at the time.”
“Were?” The word sliced clean, leaving him raw.
He held out the box. “This doesn’t fix anything. It’s not a peace offering. It’s just…yours. No strings. You can throw it at me, and I’ll probably stand still and let it hit me.”
As if on cue, soft music drifted in from somewhere behind them. They turned toward the far corner of the rooftop, toward a velvet loveseat under a halo of fairy lights. A bottle of champagne waited on a low table beside it, chilled and glistening in an ice bucket.
“It looks like someone left us a truce zone over there,” Marcus said, voice low. “How about we take this and sit for a minute.” He did not trust the champagne to do all the talking, but it could buy them a respite.
Chapter 48
Frankie’s heels clicked against the rooftop’s polished stone as she followed Marcus toward a corner dressed up with twinkle lights and gauzy curtains. Subtle as a mousetrap.
Her shoulders locked and jaw clamped tight. Ms. Birdie clearly had expectations that Frankie’s heart would do the Grinch thing.
Not. Happening.
After being stood up five days straight, her heart was locked down tighter than a Birkin vault and stored somewhere Marcus DeLuca Grant (a.k.a. Absolutely Not Him) had no access.
And yet…she’d been caught. Again. So tangled in her emotions for him she hadn’t even seen Ms. Birdie’s meddling matchmaker net until it was too late. Damn it.
The ambush had started with a last-minute call: Ms. Birdie asking her to representNaked Runwayat Lola’s rooftop tribute. An hour’s notice. Ten minutes of conversation. Not one syllable suggesting Marcus would be in attendance.
Unless you counted the warning to “be on your best behavior.” Frankie did not count that. She’d perfected bad behavior long before the Lola incident.
Still, she couldn’t lie to herself. Some small, traitorous part of her had wondered if he might show. He’d been Lola’s connection at her original debut, after all. Any reasonable person could have expected him at the rescheduled event.
But she hadn’t expected this.
An after-party tête-à-tête staged with all the subtlety of a Hallmark Channel finale.
