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He nodded because she was right—it was. Clasping her hand, he tugged her to him, around the confounded machines. Maggie bent down and pressed her lips to his. “I love you, Maggie, my Irish lass.”
Her fingers lightly caressed the side of his face, which was scruffy because he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning.
“I love you, too.”
“Come on, say it,” he begged, grinning up at her.
“My Italian stallion.” She laughed and his heart lightened.
“Hell, yeah.” He gave a fist pump with his free hand. “I’ll give you a ride, too, princess. Just as soon as I stop vomiting every hour.”
She sighed and rested her forehead against his, smelling like spring and spearmint. She favored mint gum and expensive perfume, and she smelled like home.
“I’ll take you up on it, Frank, but until then, I’ll focus on your being sick meaning the medicine is doing its job.”
Frank closed his eyes and prayed her words were true. Please let it be true.
TESSWATCHEDASEmily bounced on a scrap piece of metal, the thwump, thwump, thwump of the assault echoing in the large warehouse. The child was dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a too small T-shirt that hugged her little tummy. Long red-and-black polka-dotted socks covered her legs and a pair of new cleats contributed to the incessant noise.
Monique was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, Emily,” Tess said, shouldering her new messenger bag containing the drawings she needed to tweak by hand that evening. It had been a long Tuesday of meetings with potential and long-standing Upstart clients—all after a Monday evening meeting with the captain of Prometheus and his partner. And two nights of crying over her father and the argument she’d had with her mother. All Tess wanted was an hour at the gym, a protein shake, and the comfort of her bed. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to feel. Just wanted to pretend everything was peachy keen. But she wasn’t going to ignore the chubby seven-year-old bouncing and thwunking her way along the tin.
Emily’s face lit up. “Hey, Tess!”
“What are you doing out here? You could get hurt on that.”
The child hopped off the scrap metal. “I’m waiting on Mom to take me to guess where?”
“Where?”
“Soccer! I’m going to play this summer. Isn’t that so cool?”
“The coolest.”
The clack of Monique’s high heels drew both their attention. The woman advanced like a field general… if a field general wore Jimmy Choo shoes and Chanel. “Let’s go, honey.”
“I’m ready, Mom,” Emily said, scrambling over to a pink gym bag and backpack that sat on a stack of wood. “I’m wearing my ladybug socks, see?”
Monique made a face. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to take you to soccer today. Mommy has a thing tonight. You can go tomorrow.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “No, practice is today. It’s the first one. I have to go.”
“Sorry, honey. I absolutely can’t take you today. We can try and phone your father, but otherwise, I’m dropping you at Grandy Pete’s and then I have to scoot over to Mr. B’s Bistro for an important meeting.” Monique shifted her attention to Tess. “It’s with Miles Barrow. Nothing I need you for.”
If Tess didn’t know how much in love Miles was with his wife, she might think Monique was using some creative bargaining to get the captain of Oedipus’s signature on the dotted line, using those assets she was so proud of. Oedipus had always contracted with Ullo for the super krewe’s float building needs, but Monique seemed to think next year would be different. Tess had been working on some really good stuff for the krewe, hoping Monique might present her designs over the ones she’d done herself.
But Monique could do what she wished—it was her company. The boss lady had already informed Tess she was expected at the krewe’s annual May Madcaps and Cocktails social on Saturday night, so maybe Tess could get an answer from Monique by then.
Up until this point, Tess had done what Monique had asked for when she hired her—bring in new accounts. The men and women of the krewes had been impressed to find Upstart employing an Ullo, even as the question sat in each of their eyes as they pulled out their pens to sign on the dotted lines of the contracts pulled out at the ready.
Still, something felt shady about the “thing” Monique had that evening.
Emily stomped her foot, bringing Tess’s attention back to the seven-year-old with a stormy face.
“Mom, I have to go. Have to. Dad signed me up and that’s like a promise,” Emily said.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t play. Just not today.”
