Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Frankie rarely entered the house from the front doors. It left a sinking, empty feeling deep in her gut to stand in that large space, all the wealth and opulence of her privileged life staring back at her, and then the silence stretched on. Why they lived in such a place where wings separated studies and dining halls, she never understood.
One couldn’t understand how lonely a table felt when it stretched on for twenty feet and only three or four people filled the seats. It could only be made worse by the fact that those same people sitting there barely liked one another on a good day. That’s how it felt sometimes.
Entering the main house through the garage served another purpose. Her father refused to allow anyone to park in the front of the home. If a guest stayed longer than a few minutes, they should park alongside the house in a designated area. The rest of them? That’s what the twenty-car garage was for.
Using the garage entry allowed her to see who was actually home before she had to face them. A quick survey of parked vehicles, black being her father’s, white, Carina’s, and the rest were security, plus her own Supra.
The missing Mercedes coup that her father preferred when in New York wasn’t in its usual slot between the flashier Aston Martin and the rarely used Lamborghini. Only one of two white Rolls sat parked a little further down, meaning her stepmother wouldn’t be waiting inside, either.
Frankie didn’t even wonder if the two were together. Carina had been somewhere in Milan for the last several months, and her father could be anywhere between Manhattan and New Jersey at any given time of day when he was home.
She stopped at the Supra to toss in the soccer bag that also contained her homework for the weekend. Pulling out her phone while she had the chance, Frankie logged into the two social medias she did have, ignoring the notifications that popped up, and navigated to James’ profile to block him.
After tossing the keys to the Supra in the driver’s seat, she finally headed for the door at the far end of the garage. A quick scan of her thumbprint allowed her entrance, and the clatter of a drawer being closed reminded her that, in fact, she wasn’t entirely alone.
She could count on Sissy. Even when doing so hurt, too.
The French au pair remained the one constant in her life. Sissy waited in the same spot she always did when she knew Frankie would be returning home from whatever practice or game had kept her away for longer than usual.
It wasn’t like she had a life or friends, for that matter. What were those?
Getting close to people meant answering questions that either, she didn’t have the answers to because she knew better than to ask, or...it was something she didn’t want to tell. A dead mom, too much money, and an absent father connected to the mob were certainly conversation starters, but not ones that she cared to have.
She knew people, mostly her peers, thought she was weird. Some had even said exactly that, and usually, it didn’t hurt much. They didn’t know her. Not really.
Hell, she didn’t know herself. Why let the opinions of others matter?
Sissy stood behind the large island in the middle of the kitchen. The glossy white of the countertop melded into the same toned cabinetry and appliances. Dimmed overhead lighting kept the space from feeling too large and empty.
“Was it an ice cream or fruit kind of game?” asked Sissy.
That made Frankie smile again. “Ice cream.”
Her former nanny—now the estate manager—pushed a single-serving tub of cookies and cream heaven her way. A bowl of freshly cut fruit also waited on the counter. Frankie liked both.
“You want ice cream and you’re smiling?” Sissy lifted one eyebrow as Frankie took a stool for a seat, already grabbing the cold tub and waiting spoon on top. “Seems a little suspicious to me.”
“Today wasn’t great. You make it better.”
Sissy’s chin tipped up at the declaration. “Oh?”
Frankie shrugged. “I always know I’m coming home to you.”
“Oh.” Sissy had a knack for picking up on Frankie’s moods and where they stemmed. “Sal wanted me to tell you—”
“That he’s sorry. His flight got changed and he’ll make the next one. Yadda, yadda. Just spare me, Sissy.”
The older woman, as gentle as she was, hated two things: being interrupted and swearing.
“Sorry,” Frankie mumbled at the sharp look that came her way.
“Mmhmm.”
“It’s the same excuses.”
“I believe some things did come up for him today, and he meant to greet you at the door with your favorite takeout after missing the game, but then he got another call.”
Sissy’s coifed chignon tilted in the direction of a newspaper that had been left sitting on the edge of the kitchen island. She didn’t offer further explanation and allowed Frankie’s perusal of the headlining story to fill in the blanks.