Chapter 7

SEVEN

“ W hat are you doing here?”

The question flew out of my mouth sharper than one of Nonna’s kitchen knives. My mother and Xavier twisted toward me with twin expressions of confusion.

Confusion and guilt.

I hadn’t seen my mother in nearly six months, but she looked a lot better than when I’d run into her at the little bodega where she worked in Hunt’s Point. Instead of ill-fitting jeans and over-bleached hair, she looked much more refreshed, maybe even younger than a woman in her late fifties. Her mottled skin had been plumped, tightened, and painted, her nails covered with two-inch, hot pink acrylics, and her caramel hair reconditioned, professionally highlighted, and almost certainly lengthened with extensions.

Even her clothes looked new. The too-tight black pants, frilly green sweater, and high-heeled booties had nary a scuff nor a pulled thread. That bag looked like real Chanel, not just a street-table knockoff.

Xavier, of course, looked dashing as ever, but unlike my mother, he didn’t exactly look refreshed. Dark circles under his blue eyes told me the man hadn’t been sleeping well. And the tight line of his mouth and furrow between his brows showed that he wasn’t happy either. With my mother or with me, I didn’t know.

“My flight arrived early,” he said. “Thought I’d meet you here instead of the hotel to see the peanut.” He looked behind me, and his frown deepened. “Where is she?”

“Not you,” I said, completely ignoring his question. “ Her .” I pointed at my mother. “Mami, what are you doing here?”

My mother threaded a few fingers through her hair and gave me an indecipherable look with green eyes that were irritatingly like my own. In fact, the more I peered at her, the more surreal it all became.

My siblings and I all took after our dad’s side with our coloring—fair, if lightly tanned skin, dark brown-black hair, and the fine-boned stature of Zola genetics. But we all shared our mother’s green eyes, and now that I was looking, I could see other things she’d given me. The lips that were a little fuller than most of my sisters’. High cheekbones and a heart-shaped jaw. And my short, curvy shape. That was definitely hers as well.

But for all the similarities, her face was utterly indecipherable. I found myself wishing I knew her better, if only to understand what in the world she was thinking.

Or planning to do.

“ Mamita , are you telling me your mother isn’t welcome at your home?” she asked through a thick Bronx accent as she tucked a few sun-kissed strands behind her ear, from which a thick gold hoop swung.

The guilt trip yanked me out of my stupor.

“Correct,” I said sharply. “She is not. You need to go.”

“Ces, come on. She’s your mum. She has a lot to tell you?—”

“Why are you taking her side?” I demanded, turning my ire on him. “You know what she’s said about us in the papers. Or are you forgetting?”

Xavier pressed his broad mouth into a thin line. “I remember perfectly.”

He shot my mother a narrow blue glance I found oddly comforting. It was the same expression he gave his chefs when they misbehaved. The same one that was meant to tell them they risked being literally thrown out by their shirt collars.

That was when most of them did exactly what he said.

Mami, however, had no idea what that expression meant. She unwisely chose to ignore it. “Thank you, Xavier. Such a gentleman, Frankie. You have a good one here.”

“She came to apologize, Ces,” Xavier said. “At least, she’s been apologizing to me for the last half hour. The Daily Mail cornered her for that interview and printed lies. She didn’t have the money to sue, and you know the libel laws in England are weak. They can basically print whatever they want.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I snapped. “She has nothing to say that interests me anymore. And please spare me the bullshit about libel laws. Not when she’s been spouting off to American publications this morning .”

Xavier reared, his head pivoting to my mother so fast it was as if a rubber band snapped. “What?”

I glared at her, pleased at least a little color had risen in her cheeks. “Check the New York Post. Joni was very proud of the fact that she made Page Six , like a bona fide New York socialite. Too bad she’s so broke, Mami. She’d be your perfect target.”

Xavier took his phone out of his jacket pocket and pulled up the site I’d seen earlier that day. Immediately, his blue eyes lost all reflection of the sky and turned to storm clouds.

Mami just sighed. “Frankie, it was taken completely out of context. I said so many nice things about you they didn’t even print!”

“Things like ‘there was something wrong with her from the beginning’?” Xavier read with disgust as he thumbed through the article. “‘Same as the little girl. My husband wasn’t good for much, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’” He looked up. “The papers in the US can’t print things like this without confirmed quotes. There are strict laws about it. My lawyers told me.”

“Exactly,” I spat. “Everything in there is on record.” I tipped my head at my mother. “How much did they give you? Enough for a little nip and tuck, I see. Nice new bag. Get your hair and nails done, huh?”

Just the idea disgusted me. My stomach roiled, and it was from a hell of a lot more than morning sickness. Even as the smug look on her face started to fade, I wanted to be sick.

Xavier finished scanning the article and looked up with that blue flickering dangerously in his eyes. He stood up and joined me on the sidewalk to face her. I crossed my arms with satisfaction. Xavier and I might have ended our romantic relationship, but I couldn’t lie—it felt good for him to have my back at last.

“Tell me, Mrs. Zola—” he started.

“It’s Ortiz,” I cut in through my teeth. “She never took Daddy’s name.”

I’d never been gladder for it.

“Ortiz,” Xavier repeated in a voice with a whole lot more lurking beneath its even surface. “What’s your end game here? Spit salacious shit about your daughter and me for what? A few extra quid? Fifteen minutes of fame?” He cocked his head. “That’s barely worked for the Markles, you know. And I’m certainly no Duke of Sussex. The papers won’t be interested in you forever, and meanwhile you’ll alienate Francesca completely. Honestly, I think you’ve done a good enough job of that over the years without the help of the press.”

My mother stood slowly, picking up her Chanel handbag from the steps. As if she could see the disdain in our eyes as we looked at the designer label, she thrust it guiltily behind her back.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” she insisted. “Obviously. They were willing to pay more if I said things like that. They promised.”

While I had essentially already known that, it hurt to hear her say it so willingly. As if she didn’t really need to feel bad. As if I was the one who ought to understand.

“You don’t realize how hard it is,” she said, her Bronx accent growing thicker with every syllable. “Every day. I live in this terrible apartment with four other women just like me, fresh out of the joint. Tracy, she lasted two months before jumping off the wagon. We all got minimum wage jobs because no one hires anyone with a record. My hair looked like it had been washed in garbage, all my friends were gone, and then none of my kids would see me?—”

“Lea said?—”

“Lea cut me out after you shared that interview from the summer,” my mother spat. “Ungrateful. I couldn’t believe her.”

I pursed my lips. “I hope they paid you well.”

Mami shrugged. “It was enough to cover my rent for a few months, but…”

“But you wanted more, so you turned to the Post instead,” Xavier continued for her. “Did they pay better?”

She shot him a glare. “I just need a little more. Just enough to get back on my feet.”

“Or pay for Botox?” I asked as Xavier muttered something like “for fuck’s sake” under his breath.

“The article did well today,” Mami said, as if that was supposed to make me feel better. “People are interested in you, baby. They want more. Another magazine said they’d pay for a video. A group interview with you, Frankie. More, if the duke here does it too.” She swallowed. “Five hundred thou for all three of us. We can split it fifty-fifty if you want, even though his highness doesn’t exactly need the cash, does he? You let me take it all—enough to get an apartment of my own somewhere, you know?—and that’s the last, I promise. Who knows, they’d probably pay you for an exclusive of your own. Get a little something to help fix this place up for you and Sofia. I’m on your side here, Frankie. I’m your mother. This could be a good thing for all of us.”

It was impossible to miss the glee that passed over her face as she considered that amount of money. It was fleeting, but she couldn’t hide it completely.

Which told me one thing only—this would never be the last thing she’d ask of me. And because she was even asking, she wasn’t a mother at all.

I swallowed thickly, counted to ten, then finally managed to look at her without wanting to tear her eyes out.

“I’m going to go inside,” I said quietly. “And you’re going to leave. And then I’m going to ask Matthew to file a restraining order against you. It’s what he’s wanted to do from the beginning.”

“Don’t bother him,” Xavier said as he pressed a button on his phone and tucked it back inside his back pocket. “I’ve already texted one of my lawyers.” His gaze flashed at my mother, the color of steel knives. “You’ll be receiving the notice within a few days, Ms. Ortiz. I suggest you don’t ignore it.”

He took three strides so that even in her heels, he was towering over Guadalupe Ortiz like a vulture peering over its carrion.

It fit, really. She was dead to me already.

“You’ll stay away from my family,” he said in an eerie half-whisper that somehow could have been heard over the roar of an ocean, much less the occasional car passing down Van Brunt. “You’ll leave Francesca alone. Sofia will never see you again. And if I ever hear a whisper of their names from your mouth in so much as a neighborhood pamphlet, I’ll lock you up in so much litigation, you’ll wish you’d never been born.” He cocked his head. “I let things slide in England, but let me be very clear, madam. You do not want to fuck with me or mine. And your daughter definitely qualifies as mine. Understand?”

Goose bumps had rippled all over my body by the time he was finished. Maybe I should have corrected him right then. I could have mentioned that he did not have the right to be possessive of me anymore. That I did not, in fact, belong to him, nor was I his to protect any longer.

But the simple truth was, I wanted to hear him say just that. For months, I’d watched his anger rise in defense of his restaurants, his uncle, really everything but his own family, and a piece of me had been dying for him to care about us at least that much.

Part of me wanted the white knight.

Even if he had a black heart.

My mother took an unsteady step down one stair, then another, and the last until she was able to slink around Xavier’s imposing form like a cat escaping down an alley.

“I—okay,” she said softly. “Okay. But Frankie?—”

“Don’t,” I said sharply, unable to look at her anymore. “You heard him. Go.”

With another quick glance between us, she finally seemed to take the hint.

“All right,” she said as she moved down the sidewalk. “I’ll go. But Frankie, I do love you. I’m your mother, right? Mothers always love their babies. Please remember that.”

I just shook my head, unable to answer. Inside, a small part of me shattered for good, unable to be swept up at all until the woman was gone.

I took several deep breaths, waiting until I could no longer hear the clip of her heels on the uneven pavement. My eyes squeezed shut while I waited for the twist of my gut to loosen so I could find a way to maneuver myself inside.

But, as it turned out, I didn’t have to. Gently, Xavier took the keys I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, then wrapped a muscled arm around my shoulders and shepherded me up the stairs to the front door, which he quickly unlocked to guide me inside. A few seconds later, the door shut, the lights were turned on, and before I knew it, Xavier had pulled me securely into his big body while I cried, nose tucked into his chest as he gently stroked my hair.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry, babe. Fuck her. Fuck all of it. I’ve got you.”

My heart ached as tears slid down my cheeks. Only Xavier could make the dirtiest of words sound like endearments. The complete and utter tenderness in his voice broke me.

“She’s—I—God dammit !” I cried into his soft cotton shirt.

I couldn’t explain this pain completely. How could someone I barely knew have such power to hurt me?

But she did. She really did.

Xavier’s warm, fiery scent engulfed me completely, and despite how angry I still was with him, something in me relaxed. No matter what we’d been through, no matter how he’d hurt me, some part of me still registered him as a safe place.

Safe, yet still painful.

Half agony, half hope indeed.

How messed up was that?

Mine , he’d told her. Your daughter is mine .

God, part of me so deeply wanted to be.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ces,” he repeated as his large hand continued to pet my hair.

The scrunchie holding it up fell out under his ministrations, and he took advantage of it, weaving his fingers through the unruly waves, giving me more of that sweet comfort I needed.

“I should have paid more attention to what she was doing. I didn’t know.” He sighed. “Maybe I didn’t want to know.”

“Why?” I sniffled into his shirt. “Why look away from what I was trying to show you?”

He sighed. The hand in my hair paused for a moment before it continued its soothing strokes.

“I think I was a coward. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone hurting you like that. I wanted to believe it wasn’t anything.”

His hand left my hair, and then both of his palms traveled to cup my cheeks and gently raised my gaze to his. One thumb stroked my cheekbone. Tracing the outlines of my face.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

His gaze adored. His heart thumped under my hand.

“Xavi…”

He needed to stop. Comfort was one thing. This was bordering on another.

“I was an idiot,” he said softly. “I hope one day you’ll forgive me.”

“I—”

I wanted to say yes. But frankly, I wasn’t there yet. Still, this was helping. Standing up to my mother helped.

But one conversation wouldn’t erase nearly two months of pain and anguish. Sometimes neglect was the most painful weapon of all.

His blue-eyed gaze drifted down to land on my lips. It was clear what he wanted, and I wasn’t entirely certain I would stop him if he tried.

“Xavi…” I drifted off yet again.

It was the best I could manage.

“I’ll always fight for you,” he said solemnly. “I’ll prove it. You just wait.”

I bit my lip and immediately regretted it when his eyes dilated with obvious desire.

“That damn lip,” he said, then released my face with a chuckle, allowing me to step away from him and gather myself.

It was then I finally checked my watch and started when I saw the time. “Crap, we are never going to get downtown in time for the appointment.”

At the mention of the entire purpose for his visit, Xavier’s face lit up. “Oh, yes we will, babe. Give me a second and I’ll call round my car.”