Chapter 11

ELEVEN

“ I ’m sorry, Frankie. I really am. But we have to let you go.”

When it rains, it really, really pours. I’m not talking buckets of rain or a silly little thundershower. I’m talking a hurricane out of nowhere.

One week after Pete gave his notice and Xavier made his explosive pronouncements on the pier, my mouth fell open, and my eyes flew up from where I’d been covertly peeling dried tempera paint from my fingertips.

“You have to what?” I asked.

Principal Stewart, better known to me as Carrie, the kindly woman with ashy-blond hair who ran staff meetings, bought everyone a round of drinks at the end of the school year and sometimes provided a place to send unruly students, just looked at me with sympathy across her desk.

“For what it’s worth, we really are sad to be losing you,” she said. “You’re a good teacher, Frankie, and the kids will miss you. I’m happy to write you a glowing reference, no matter what you choose to do.”

My brow wrinkled into a web of lines—I felt like I was lost and unable to read a map. “I don’t understand. What have I done to deserve being fired in the middle of the school year?”

The teacher shortage in New York was well known. People didn’t lose their jobs unless serious stuff went down, like endangering students or sexual assault.

Carrie sighed. “It’s not really you, Frankie. It’s…the complications you’ve brought with you this year.” When I continued to stare like she was talking gibberish, Carrie pointed to her window. We both followed the gesture toward the spot on the other side of the school fence, where, yes, a few photographers lay in wait under a molting maple tree.

I blinked. “You’re firing me for a couple of tabloid photographers?”

Carrie grimaced. “It’s two now. There will be another three or four by the end of the day. You said they would lose interest?—”

“And they have,” I interrupted. “There were at least a dozen here the day that story broke in the Post .”

“Yes, and since your—Mr.—er—the duke?—”

“Xavier,” I said. “You can just call him my daughter’s father. And there was only one photographer here yesterday at this time.”

“Since he announced this morning that he is possibly opening another restaurant in the city,” Carrie continued like I hadn’t said anything, “and the Post thought that running another feature on your mother would be a good idea, I think it’s fair to say their interest isn’t waning.”

I swallowed back a lump newly forming in my throat. When Xavier’s text from London a few days ago had told me the same news, I had initially been happy, if only because it would give him a legitimate reason to be in New York and close to Sofia before the baby was born. I knew it was only a temporary fix, but I liked the idea of not being his primary focus, given the current tension between us.

The feature on my mother, however, was something I was just trying to ignore.

“I—but—I’m not at fault here, Carrie,” I said. “I haven’t done anything but exist.”

I hated the pity that sprang into her eyes. I hated even more that a part of me knew this was coming. It’s not like I hadn’t heard the whispers of staff behind my back over the last few weeks. Wondering if I was going to stay a teacher when I was getting my fifteen minutes of fame.

I’d brushed it off as jealousy. Nothing to get worked up about. Certainly not fired over.

Carrie’s expression told me it was a very real issue.

“Look, if it were just some photographers, I wouldn’t get so upset,” she said. “But they’re harassing students now. Yesterday, a few of them asked some of the kids about you and your daughter, wanting to know where you live, where she goes to school. As far as I know, no one was able to tell them anything. But one grabbed a girl’s arm and yanked her against the fence. It left a bruise, and the child was very shook up.” Carrie shook her head in disgust.

I swallowed. I knew about that, but really, what was I supposed to do about it?

“The district is trying to get a temporary police patrol in place,” Carrie said. “One is already coming to clear out the photographers before you leave. But no matter what happens, we can’t keep putting the kids at risk. And since you’re not yet tenured, the union rep agreed severance is the best way to go. Even if we do love you here.”

She reached across her desk and set an envelope in front of me, presumably carrying my discharge papers, or whatever they were called. I stared at it for a moment, unable to move. Was this really happening? First, my brother left, then my relationship fell apart, a surprise pregnancy, and now losing my job?

What was happening to my life?

“You’ll receive salary until the end of the year, after which the district has chosen not to renew your contract,” Carrie said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave at the end of the school day.” Her hand squeezed mine like it was trying to pulse life back into it. “I’m sorry, Frankie. But your time at P.S. 058 is over.”

I was still numb as I gathered my personal knick-knacks and belongings from my classroom and the teacher’s lounge. There was surprisingly little after having taught the third grade for three years now.

Perhaps that should have clued me in on the importance of my job. So many teachers donated a variety of resources to enrich their classrooms, but I’d generally depended on the materials left to me by the prior teachers, subsidizing with parent donations when they could.

In the end, my belongings fit into a small cardboard box with room to spare.

A few books I’d donated to the classroom library.

A coffee cup with “Future Mrs. Darcy” printed on the side.

A box of my favorite English Breakfast tea and a half-empty jar of honey.

A picture of Sofia and a potted fern.

That was it. That was all I had to show for my years as a third-grade teacher at Carroll Elementary.

I’d still barely even registered that I was crossing the empty playground for the last time, ready to cart my box home, when my name was shouted behind me.

“Frankie!”

I turned at the back gate, thankfully out of view of the photographers who had been cleared from the grounds. Adam Klein was jogging after me across the playground.

I sighed and shifted my box onto one hip. This was really the last thing I needed. “Adam, what do you want?”

Since our confrontation in my classroom a few weeks earlier, Adam had wisely done as I asked and generally left me alone. Though I’d still noticed him watching me during staff meetings and covertly following me with his gaze when we passed each other in the hallway, he hadn’t so much as peeped my way beyond the occasional head nod or wave.

“Nice hello,” he said once he caught up. “Good to see you, too.”

I didn’t answer, just gave him Nonna’s patented “get it out, child” glare and waited for him to continue.

“Elaine said she saw you packing up your stuff,” he said. “Did Carrie let you go?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Looks that way, yeah. They didn’t want a paparazzi target teaching the kids and drawing bad types to the playground. I guess one of the photographers hurt a child.”

Adam looked appropriately disgusted. “That’s horrible. Jesus.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, it’s effective immediately, so I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

I turned, wondering why I’d even offered that nicety after telling Adam I wanted him to leave me alone.

“It won’t stop, you know,” Adam called as I started walking away again.

I turned back. “What won’t stop?”

“The press. The interest. I don’t get it either, but I watched it happen for years in the UK. There’s something about him. Maybe he’s rotten to the core, but that doesn’t curb people’s fascination.”

Disgust—or maybe envy—practically dripped off his vowels. I didn’t have to ask to whom he was referring.

“Xavier has a lot of charisma,” I agreed. “But in the UK, it’s because he’s the Duke of Kendal and all that. Americans don’t care about that sort of thing the way the British do. All the fuss will die down, they’ll get bored with my mom, and things will go back to normal.”

“Is it worth it, though? Especially now that’s he’s out of your life?” Adam pressed.

“Who said he was out of my life? He’s the father of my children and has every right to be a part of whatever I’m going to do next. Whereas you, unfortunately, do not . Why do I have to keep reminding you of this?”

“I saw the articles in the Post ,” Adam rattled on. “Everyone has. He’s already cost you your freedom, your youth, and now your job, Frankie. How much more are you going to let him take, huh? When are you going to realize the only person Xavier Parker looks out for is himself and no one else?”

My shoulders slumped the more he spoke. The box seemed so heavy. Suddenly, the world seemed so heavy.

“Just let me go, Adam,” I said. “I understand your concerns, but I can deal with all of this myself.”

Just like I always had.

He watched me for a long moment, then eventually nodded and took a step back.

“I have to go,” I said. “I’m meeting Xavier at Sofia’s school, and then I have to get home.” To sort out the rest of my life .

“I get it.” Adam nodded, brown eyes begging me to listen. “If you ever need anyone, just know I’m here for you. Always. I meant what I said. Don’t forget it.”

What he’d said was that he loved me.

To some, it might have felt good. Warped, maybe, but this was a warped, lonely world. So maybe it should have been nice to know that someone else in it still felt that way about me, even if it was someone like him.

But for some reason, it just made the stone in my stomach sink even lower.

I wished I could forget Adam’s revelations. I wished they had never happened at all.

I trudged the five blocks or so up to Sofia’s school like my feet were made of lead. My arms felt like rubber. That heaviness hadn’t left my shoulders—in fact, it had worsened the farther I got from the school.

“Ces.”

Xavier stepped out of his black Audi, looking svelte and casual in a pair of jeans and yet another hoodie.

“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t arriving until tonight.”

“Got in early. Thought I’d meet you for pickup.”

I swallowed as a million questions buzzed through my mind.

Was he starting that restaurant for real, or was it just an excuse to see us?

Was he here for her or for me?

Why did I want to know at all?

“Can I put these in the trunk?” I asked at last, holding up the cardboard box.

Xavier’s quick blue gaze flickered over my belongings, but before he could answer, the door to the preschool unlocked, and they opened the top half to start welcoming parents.

“Sure,” he said, then signaled to his driver to open the trunk while I turned to sign Sofia out of school.

We rode back to the house in silence while Sofia chattered about her day, talking to her daddy, a.k.a. her Favorite Person in the World, while I stared moodily out the windows, ignoring Xavier’s concerned glances. I could tell he knew something was wrong but seemed to recognize I wasn’t interested in discussing it in front of Sofia.

It wasn’t until Sofia had had her snack and settled herself in front of the TV that he cornered me in the front foyer, where I was sorting mail.

“All right,” he said. “Care to loop me in?”

I gave him a look, and he immediately pulled me outside to the front stoop, where we could talk out of Sofia’s earshot.

“What is it?” he demanded. “What happened? Was Adam bothering you again? Did he do something?—”

“Adam did nothing,” I said quietly. “I got fired today.”

Xavier’s brow crinkled. “They sacked you?”

“Yes.”

“But, why?”

I sighed. “Because of all the press. The paparazzi have been harassing students, and they had to let me go.”

Because of you , I almost added. For whatever reason, Adam’s comments about everything Xavier had cost me kept running through my mind.

“And on top of everything else,” I added. “Pete’s moving out this weekend, which means in addition to losing my job, I’m losing my other means of income.”

My God, when was it going to stop? All the loss. All the heartache.

When was I going to be able to take care of myself?

“Ces,” Xavier said. “I’m so sorry. But you’re not without help, you know.”

“I have child support from you, yes, which we still need to iron out with a mediator.”

I rubbed my forehead. It was important, but just one more thing I had to pay for with my low funds. Not to mention the idea of mapping out money with Xavier was just depressing.

“I’m only taking what’s necessary, though,” I said. “I don’t have a claim to your money, Xavi, nor do I want it, despite what the papers might say. I don’t need to be a wealthy woman, and Sofia doesn’t need to be an heiress.”

For some reason, the idea of him throwing cash at the situation hurt more than everything else. Sure, accepting it might solve these stressors, but it would also just underline how transactional our relationship had become.

On my insistence, yes. But it still hurt.

“I’m not just talking about that,” he said. “You’ve got me too.”

“I don’t have you,” I said with a bit of a snap. “You live across the freaking ocean.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“For another weekend. For your kids. Certainly not for me.”

“Says who?”

Yes, he had said he still loved me. Yes, he said he wanted us to be together. He’d offered a townhouse in the Village. He’d offered me a life.

And I’d said no to all of it.

Because I already knew that sometimes what Xavier Parker offered and what actually came to be were two different things entirely. He couldn’t save me from my problems. And I needed to stop letting him.

Suddenly unable to breathe properly, I turned away and began flipping through the mail in my hands for want of something to do . Something to manage. Something I might be able to control.

“Oh, fuck ,” I gasped, unable to help the uncharacteristic profanity or the fact that the wind had picked up suddenly off the East River enough to yank the stack of bills from my fingers and scatter them all over the steps. “Oh, dammit!”

For some reason, the accident was enough to make me cry. The cherry on top of this horrible, horrible sundae.

“I’ve got it,” Xavier said, jumping into action as he gathered the mail off the ground and set it on the front step under a rock to keep it in place. “See, got it all. No harm, babe. Ah, fuck.”

Now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop crying. Everything just seemed like too much . There was a new baby coming, on top of so much loss. My brother was gone. My job was no more. Even Pete was leaving. And then, of course, I’d lost Xavier.

The love of my life.

“It’s okay,” Xavier said, gathering me against his chest. “It’s okay, babe. You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”

“Am I?” I whimpered into his chest. “God, am I strong at all? Sometimes I feel like the weakest person on the planet.”

A large hand gently stroked my hair, petting away the fear and the torment. “We all feel that way sometimes. But you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

I sniffed back another sob. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do. Look at what you went through as a kid, losing your parents and what. And then your grandfather. Growing up in that house with all those kids and still becoming as bloody smart as you are. Taking care of Sof all by yourself, raising the most perfect little girl on the planet.”

I giggled through another sob against his chest, trying to ignore the way I basked in his warm, fresh scent. “I think you’re a little biased on that count. She has half your genetics.”

“Never. And when I think of how you endured this summer—the way you took everything that was thrown at you like a pro, barely even flinching every time some new surprise tried to knock you down.” Xavier shook his head, chin moving against the crown of my head. “I didn’t appreciate it. I was too sucked into my own fears and grief to see it then, but I see it now. You’re a brick, babe. Resilient and strong and kind and loving. More than you’ll ever know.”

I couldn’t come up with a single retort. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

“It’s okay,” he said as he rocked me gently there on my doorstep. “You can break with me.”

Gradually, my tears ceased, though I allowed him to hold me for a few more moments until I finally pulled away.

Xavier’s hands lingered on my shoulders as he examined me up and down. “All right?”

I nodded, wiping the remnants of tears out of my eyes. “All right.”

“Good.” Then his gaze jumped over my shoulder toward a letter he’d missed on the ground. “What’s that?”

I turned as he walked around me and picked up the envelope, which was scrawled with jagged handwritten letters. Not quite a child’s, but not quite an adult’s either.

“Weird,” I said as I opened it up on the spot.

Then I read the note inside and thought I might faint all over again.

Xavier grabbed it from me and read it aloud:

Frankie-

He isn’t what he seems.

Get rid of him before I get rid of you.

He looked up again just as I was peering into the envelope, where a bunch of something that looked disturbingly like ashes lay at the bottom. He looked inside, then snatched it away.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, even as he whipped a crumpled paper bag out of his pocket and stuffed the envelope and letter inside.

“You don’t know what that is,” he said. “It could be anthrax.”

“It’s just a letter?—”

“From a fucking stalker!” Xavier practically exploded, although he managed to get his murderous expression under control before turning back to me.

“A…stalker?’ I whispered, unable to feel my legs all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” Xavier said. “But yeah. You’d better call the cops, Ces. And make up the landing for me this evening. Because I’m not going anywhere.”