“He’s probably dead. And if he isn’t…he was never the one we were in danger from.”
“Other than the fact his career path wasn’t exactly child friendly.”
A short laugh escaped him. “You have a point.”
Frankie crossed her arms, telling herself not to get all emotional. Yes, she wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him how happy she was he was safe from monsters, but sad childhood or not, he still had a lot of explaining to do. “So let me get this straight. You’ve decided it’s time to step into the light, and you want me there with you, so you showed up with a gift, hoping I’d forget you manipulated my life like I was some sort of fashion-forward chess piece?”
It came out sounding very much like the old Frankie, and maybe that wasn’t terrible. If the old Frankie and the new one could learn to coexist, she might actually be okay with that.
He gestured toward the box. “It sounds significantly worse when you say it out loud.”
She narrowed her eyes at the gift, the neat ribbon and glossy lid far too innocent for the weight it carried, every muscle on alert.
“Just open it,” he urged. “Worst case? You hate it. That gives you new roast material.”
She snorted softly. “Like I’m running low.”
“Oh yeah?” His brow arched. “Name one.”
“You sleep in long underwear.”
He grimaced. “Blame Gi Gi’s Crossing. Drafty windows. And ghost rumors.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, no matter how hard she fought it. Slowly, she reached for the box.
Her fingers hovered over the lid, hesitating. She didn’t want it to matter. But it did. Because this wasn’t just a gift. It was a test. A litmus for whether he truly saw her.
“I’m still me,” she said softly. “The woman who threw a stiletto at a fashion show.”
“I know.”
“The one who laughed when you said you loved me.”
He nodded.
“The one who signed you up for a senior kink dating site.”
He winced. “I deserved that and far worse. I was controlling. Condescending. Not to mention I didn’t tell you I was Mr. Uptight before we had sex. The gentleman in me will never forgive myself for that.”
She sighed. “See? That’s the problem. Our values don’t mesh. You like nice. I like snark.”
He leaned in, voice low and earnest. “I’ve got it on very good authority, George, that when opposites attract, they mate for life.”
She rolled her eyes, but her hands betrayed her, tugging at the ribbon. She lifted the lid, pushed back the tissue, and gasped, loud enough to start an avalanche in Alaska. Her traitor of a heart practically vaulted out of its hiding spot, perched on her shoulder, and batted goo-goo eyes at Marcus like it had lost all self-respect.
A Birkin winked up at her. One she’d never even seen in the wild.
“Is this the latest?” Her voice wobbled.
“It is.”
“But how?” She touched it reverently, fingers trembling. “Is it on loan?”
“It’s yours. No fine print. No return policy.”
“Marcus…” Her voice was equal parts awe and panic. “These cost more than my condo. And even if you can afford one, there’s a waitlist. You have to know someone. Someone with serious connections.”
His smile tilted wistful. “I have connections.”
