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“Is everything all right?” Frankie asks as she lies across my lap, one hand entwined with mine, the other she runs across Prince’s fur as he lies on the floor at my feet, clearly enjoying all the attention she is giving him.
“Oh, apparently some paparazzi got us on camera at the coffee shop last week and our picture is out in the public, so we may need to…” I don’t get to finish my sentence about laying low because Frankie has bolted upright, her face panic-stricken.
“What!” she practically screams at me and jumps up, now furiously pacing my living room while digging her phone out of her pocket. “This can’t be happening...” she murmurs to herself, and I stand up to go to her. Her response is a little unsettling. Every other woman who has been photographed with me actually loves it, but I should have known that Frankie is not like anyone else.
“Hey,” I say calmly as I grab her shoulders so she stops pacing, and I turn her body so she is facing me. “It will be okay, don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?!” Her eyes are wide, and she is more panicked now than she was after being assaulted last night. I am slightly confused.
“Where are the pictures? I need to see them.” I find the email from my publicity team and bring them up on my phone. Together, we hunch over my phone looking at the images, and I realize she is shaking. I put my arm around her and rub her back because I am concerned about her response to this.
The photos are grainy and most of the photos are of me. There are two with me kissing her, but none that show her face, so she hasn’t been outed as my woman, yet. But it is only a matter of time because I want to be with her every second of every day.
“You can’t really see you...” I say, trying to alleviate her stress. I feel her take a breath, and tension leaves her body as I draw her in for a hug. We stand there hugging, me enveloping her, but before I can ask her any questions, her phone rings and her body goes rigid.
“Shit,” she murmurs, and I notice her body has started shaking again as she steps away from me to grabs her phone. I am not sure what she is feeling or what is going on with her right now, but I am concerned.
She picks up the phone and doesn’t say anything, but I can hear a man shouting at her from the other end of the phone. Her eyes close and I walk to her, but her hand shoots out, stopping me in my tracks. What the fuck is going on here?
I try to stay calm because she is beside herself in fear, and concern seeps out of me. I know that she is hiding something, and I am not happy that another man is yelling at her down the phone line. I can’t make out the words, it sounds like it is another language, probably Italian.
I watch her and her eyes don’t meet mine. Dread fills my body. How can we go from such a great afternoon in each other's arms to now not even meeting each other's eyes? She ends the call, not having said a single word.
“I need to go,” she whispers out.
“What’s going on, who was that?” I ask, nearly demanding answers at this point, because I am so beside myself, and she is not giving me anything.
She starts to grab her bag and put on her shoes. “Frankie!” I all but shout and cringe internally because I don’t ever shout at people, but I don’t want her to run from me.
“I need to go, Marco, please just let me go,” she whispers out, her voice cracking. I can see tears welling in her eyes.
“Baby,” I say as I rush to her. “What is going on, please just tell me?” I grab her cheeks in my hands and push her hair back from her face, wanting, no, needing to look at her, to connect with her. Her eyes lift and look at mine; she looks broken, damaged, and sad.
“I have to go, Marco.” There is something in her tone I don’t like. Like she is saying goodbye forever, not just goodbye for the night.
“I don’t want you to go, stay here with me tonight. I will take you back to your place in the morning.” I all but plead to her. Our eyes haven’t left each other’s, and I notice a silent tear streak down her cheek. I catch it, gently wiping it away.
She shakes her head and starts to pull away from my embrace.
“You can’t walk home now, it is dark outside,” I say, trying anything to get her to stay.
“I will be fine, but I need to go now. I can’t face any paparazzi that may show up here. I need to leave before they come.” She starts walking to my front door to leave. The thought of her walking home alone at night doesn’t sit well with me at all. Especially, after what happened last night.
“I will walk you home, Frankie. You can’t go back home in the dark by yourself,” I say as I gather my things.
“No!” she yells back to me.
“Yes!” I yell back to her. The two of us are now fighting over her leaving, and I still don’t understand any of it. But before I can stop her she begins to move and is out my door before I even have my shoes on. She didn’t even say goodbye.
* * *
I am sitting in my father’s den, sipping a glass of whiskey. It is perhaps the last place I should be, but I feel like I need to be closer to him and this is the place we all come to if that is what we need.
Shaun, mom, and I agreed to keep this room untouched, so we can sit in it, think of dad and remember him. It is where I do my best thinking. I came here to my parents’ house late this afternoon after Frankie walked out. I had so many feelings running around in my mind; I needed to just sit still and gather my thoughts.
Now onto my second glass of whiskey, I sit on the old leather chesterfield lounge and have the gas fire going. Not because it is cold, but because I feel like I need warmth. I have discovered that is what my life is like when Frankie isn’t in it. Cold. She brings me so much warmth. It is weird because we haven’t known each other long, but yet I can’t deny the feelings I have.
My mother knocks on the door softly and walks in. Seeing me on the sofa, she walks over quietly and sits next to me. I didn’t speak to her when I arrived, I just came straight to dad’s den, and she has left me here for an hour, giving me the space I need.
