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And she hasn’t called again. That was a week ago. Every time the phone rings, my heart jumps. I want it to be her, even if I have no intention of answering.
Is Logan right?
Is it really that simple?
Frankie did betray me. She did something I specifically asked her not to do. But she didn’t do it out of meanness or spite.
She did it out of love.
She was trying to protect me.
Funny. I don’t ever think of myself as needing protection. I’m the Dominant. I’m the one who does the protecting.
I punished myself for not being able to protect Allison.
I punished myself by trying to convince myself that Teresa was as kindhearted as Allison.
And now, am I punishing myself again, under the guise of punishing Frankie for her betrayal? She made a mistake, for sure, but Linda and the others are trustworthy. They’ll never reveal that I go to a club. And Frankie didn’t mention the club’s name.
My phone buzzes…and my heart jumps.
Frankie.
Out of habit, I let it go to voicemail. I tremble as I play back her message.
I know I promised that I wouldn’t call you again, but Hunter, my article—it came out a couple days ago—has been nominated for a Best Buzz award! I can hardly believe it. You were the first person I wanted to tell, but I couldn’t, so I called Mandy, Isabella, Gigi, my mom. They were all ecstatic for me, but I didn’t care. I wanted to tell you, Hunter, so here I am, telling you, even though it’s clear you no longer care. I miss you, though. I miss the club. I miss our talks. I miss our intimacy. But mostly I just miss you. Goodbye. And this time I mean it. Goodbye.
Sweet Frankie.
How I love her.
Love isn’t about recreating the past or about trying to make something work that just isn’t workable. Love isn’t about finding someone who’s perfect, either. Someone who will always do what you want her to do.
Love is about cherishing someone, protecting someone, even when you know they’ll be angry at you for it.
That’s what Frankie did. She cherished me. Tried to help me. All while knowing how I’d react.
And boy, did I prove her right.
I miss her so much, and I love her even more. So I call her.
And it goes to voicemail.
I chuckle to myself. I can’t blame her.
“Hello, my beautiful angel,” I say. “This is Phantom. I’m so sorry for being such a fool. I love you so much. Meet me at the bar tonight, and together I hope we can make some beautiful music.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Hunter
My breath catches when she walks into the bar wearing the black dress from masquerade night with her black pumps and a gold lace wrap.
I sit at the bar, dressed in my Phantom garb and holding a bouquet of red roses.
I know the moment she sees me. Her gaze meets mine, and a fire ignites in my groin.
“My angel…” I say when she approaches.
“Hunter.”
I hold out my hand, and she takes it. Then I fold her into my arms.
“I’m so sorry, Frankie,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She pulls back a little. I knew it would take more than a simple “I’m sorry” to fix what happened between us. More than twenty-four long-stemmed roses. Even more than the ring I have hidden beneath my cape.
I look into her silvery blue eyes—the eyes that first mesmerized me only months ago but are seared permanently into my soul.
“Listen to me.” I cup her silky cheek. “I understand now. In a way, I think I always did, but it took a good friend to help me see the truth. We’re in this together, Frankie. We’re growing together. We’ll both make mistakes along the way. It’s normal.”
“I did what I did for—”
“Shh.” I place two fingers over her beautiful lips. “It’s okay. You were protecting me, and I would have done the same for you.”
“But I—”
“Wait. Please. Let me finish.” I trail my fingers over her lower lip. “You mean more to me than anything, Frankie. More than my job. More than the club. More than my book. More than anything.”
“More than your privacy?” She gives a nervous smile.
“Yes. More than my privacy. More than anything, Frankie.”
“I—”
“Frankie—”
This time she places her fingers over my lips, making them tingle.
“Please, just let me talk now, Hunter.”
“All right.”
“I’m sorry too. So sorry. It was a terrible mistake, and I promise it will never happen again.”
I gaze into her eyes. “I know. I should have called you before today. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but”—I rise from my stool and drop to my knees in front of her with the roses—“but I humbly ask for it anyway, baby. I ask for it because I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
She takes the flowers and then my hands.
