Page 5 of His For The Keeping

“I worked with my mom on the seating chart at great length.” She shrugged.

“Color me impressed. By the way, Frankie, I knew exactly which one you were. I was teasing. Just so you know, I think Patrick picked the wrong sister to marry. I’ve been watching you these past few weeks. You are intelligent, witty, and kind.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Well… thanks?”

“I came over here to see if maybe you’d like to grab coffee with me sometime this week?”

“Wait, what?”

“Coffee? The liquid caffeine that most people drink in the morning before starting their day?”

“You want me to go on a date with you?”

“Unless you find yourself so out of my league, the mere thought is offensive.”

“Um, out ofyourleague?” She was genuinely confused.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He flashed a single-dimpled grin. “How about tomorrow at ten?”

“S-Sure,” she stuttered.

“Shawn!” Patrick yelled from across the room, waving him over. “I need you.”

“I’m being hailed. I’ll find you in a bit?”

“Okay…”

Frankie’s mind was whirling. What just happened? She didn’t have time to think too much about it. The clinking of champagne glasses was a sign that speeches were about to begin. Finding her seat at the family table, Frankie sat, grateful to be off her feet.

It had been five hours since the wedding brunch had started, and Frankie was beyond ready to leave. The first two hours had gone by relatively quickly. The beginning of the speeches included introductions from the two families. She blushed when Shawn winked at her during his off-the-cuff speech. The O’Brien boys were all tall, the shortest standing six foot three. They seemed to have a body-building competition going on, each one broad and muscular. Their light, sandy-blonde hair, worn much like California surfers, flowed into their blue eyes and was a starkcontrast to the coloring of her family’s dark hair, brown eyes, and Mediterranean skin tones.

The liquor flowed freely, and the dance floor was full of people swaying to the music while others laughed and mingled around her. She had eaten her fill of delicious food and had made her rounds, putting on her social butterfly mask—as trained by her mother—before heading back to the head table where her father was sitting, holding court.

“You look beautiful today, princess,” her father said, rising as she approached.

“Thank you. I had help, of course.”

That was an understatement. Her mother had hired a professional hair and makeup artist, who showed up early that morning to get everyone ready. Every detail of the week was planned out. Frankie’s comfortable dress and ballet flats had been discarded, much to her disgust, replaced with a tight, uncomfortable dress and high heels. The halter top felt like a noose around her neck. She wanted nothing more than to slip into a t-shirt and spend some time in the garden among her nonna’s flowers. She missed the woman dearly, and Frankie always felt close to her walking among Nonna’s roses.

“I think I’m going to head home now,” Francesca said, leaning in to place a kiss on her father’s cheek.

“Are you sure, princess?”

“Yes, Papa. I’m stuffed full, and my feet hurt.”

“You don’t wear heels often.”

“I prefer flats.” She looked sideways at her mother, hoping she would get the hint and play referee between her and Angelique. If Angelique continued to lay out her clothes, there might be words.

“You don’t want to stay just a while longer?” her mother pleaded.

“I’m trying to save my energy and my feet for the actual wedding,” Frankie only half-joked.

“Don’t you want to stay and meet Patrick’s brother, Shane? He’s a Navy SEAL and your partner for all the activities this week. You know, you’re walking down the aisle together. You could sit and rest your feet while you wait. I hear he is a nice guy and a looker.”

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