Aftermath (51 page)

He fielded their questions happily, still slightly dazed by all the excitement. Celia pulled him into an embrace and he had to resist the urge to cry on her shoulder. He felt so many different things in that moment—gratitude, humbleness, joy, and a little bit of fear.

“Congratulations, Daddy,” she said, rubbing his back as she hugged him. “You're gonna do just fine.”

He nodded, blinked back the tears that threatened to plunge forth at any moment and took a deep breath. Frankie licked his lips before speaking.

“Misa, do you think I can talk to you in private for a minute?” His voice was low and even, his eyes fixed on Misa's face.

Lily squirmed slightly, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of Frankie being alone with her child after all that had happened. “Frankie, you can say what you need to say in front of all of us,” she said.

Misa held her hand up to stop her mother from speaking. “No,” she said. “It's okay.” She looked at Frankie and nodded. She led the way to an empty waiting room at the end of the hall and shut the door behind them. Standing uncomfortably before Frankie, she waited to hear what he had to say.

He stared at her for a long time, thinking about what she had done, thinking about what had been done to her son. Try as he might, he couldn't hate Misa for killing Steven. Not now that he had heard the truth about his brother's past.

“I want to tell you that…” Frankie's voice trailed off and he wiped a few errant tears that fell from his eyes. He hadn't anticipated that becoming a father would make him so emotional. “Misa, I practically watched you grow up. I remember you when you were younger, when you got married, when you had your son, and I've watched Shane growing up, too.” He looked at the floor. “All of the shit that's happened lately … I can't front like I'm not hurt by what you did.” He got choked up but caught himself. “But I know you and Shane got hurt in all of this, too. We … we gotta put it behind us. Since Camille and I have this baby, we're gonna have to be a family. She's gonna be a part of all our lives and we're gonna have to be around each other and everything.” Frankie was stumbling over his words and he realized it. But he was powerless to control his stammering. “I just don't want us to … hate each other…” He bit the inside of his cheek nervously, wishing he could find the words to say what he really wanted to say to Misa.

She watched him struggling and then she spoke up at last. “Frankie,” she said. “I could never hate you, even after all that's happened.” Misa looked into his eyes as she said it. “I never meant to cause you any pain, and I know that sounds crazy because he was your brother. But from the very start, I was never mad at
you
. My anger that night was toward him alone,” she said, still too bitter to utter Steven's name. “I wasn't thinking about you or about Camille, or even about myself. All I could think about was Shane and what had been done to him.” She shook her head. “But I never intended to hurt you, Frankie. You were always good to me. All those years when Louis was nowhere to be found, it was you and Camille's generosity that made it possible for Shane and I to have what we needed. I will never forget everything you did for me over the years.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the next as she stood. “You hurt my sister, though. You made it really hard for her for the past few months, and she's done you no harm. It's me you were mad at, and I feel like it's my fault she had to suffer all this time.”

Frankie sighed. “I know I hurt Camille. I can't take back what I did to her. But, I'm gonna do my best to make it up to her. I just want to be a good father to this baby and I want peace in my family … what's left of it.”

Misa didn't reply.

“And it's
not
your fault,” he corrected her. “I'm a man and I take responsibility for my own actions. I shouldn't have treated Camille the way that I did.” He stared back at her. “I'm sorry, too,” he said. “For a lot of things. What happened to Shane was horrible.” He looked down at the floor. “Nothing I can say will fix what was done to him. But I am sorry for what happened.”

Misa looked away. No one was sorrier than she was.

“How is he?” Frankie asked.

Her face spread into a smile instantly. “He's doing great. He can't wait to play with his new cousin.” She watched Frankie smile at the thought of Shane playing happily again. “You know,” she said. “I think you're going to be a great father, Frankie.”

He smiled at that. “I hope so,” he said, rubbing his head as if he wasn't so sure. “I don't know the first thing about fatherhood, but I'm gonna do my best.”

Misa nodded. “Well, you've got a lot of help coming your way. Regardless of what has happened before today, we're still a family. Maybe we're a dysfunctional family, but we're still a family nonetheless.”

Frankie laughed a little. She was right. He thought about reaching to hug her, but decided against it. Sensing his hesitation, Misa hugged him instead. Frankie squeezed her tightly and was glad that the first steps toward reconciliation had been taken. They pulled away and walked back out into the waiting room where everyone waited eagerly for some sense of what had transpired.

Frankie quickly made his exit. “Good-bye, everybody,” he called out. They all said good-bye and he walked to the elevators. On the ride down, he realized that he hadn't slept in close to twenty-four hours. He yawned and felt his eyes growing heavy. But before he went home to sleep, he had to make one detour.

*   *   *

Gillian answered her
door wearing one of her old T-shirts and a pair of boy shorts and her hair hung loosely around her shoulders. Frankie bent down, kissed her on the cheek, and entered her Upper East Side town house. It had taken him an hour to get there driving from Syosset and he was drained. Still, he noticed again what a beauty Gillian was.

He had driven there in a fog mentally, still sorting through all the new revelations that had been made about his family, his past, still reeling from the fact that he was now a father. But he suddenly yearned to be in Gillian's presence. He needed to hold her, to kiss her, and to talk to her, to hear her voice in his ears. He had been avoiding her—in fact, he'd been avoiding everyone lately. It was his way of coping with all that he'd recently discovered. But now, as the emotions plunged forth with the birth of his child, he found himself longing for Gillian's presence in his life again. He realized now how much he loved her, how desperately he needed her.

“It's six o'clock in the morning. What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice raspy, sexy to him.

They sat down in her living room and Gillian folded her legs beneath her and pulled a throw blanket across her body. She stared at him closely and could tell that he hadn't slept. She knew him well enough to tell that he was anxious about something, and she wondered what was wrong. Since the trial had ended, Frankie had distanced himself from her, from everyone. He had moved out of her house and into a luxury apartment of his own in Downtown Brooklyn. His role in the family business had been scaled back considerably and Gillian had been hoping that it wouldn't be long before he decided to talk to her about what was happening.

“Camille had the baby,” he said. “A girl.”

Gillian's expression shifted ever so slightly and Frankie could see that she was getting better at maintaining her poker face. But he knew her too well. He could tell that she was hurt.

She smiled weakly, her eyes sad. “Congratulations. What's her name?”

“Bria.” Frankie pictured his daughter's perfect little face and smiled.

“That's a beautiful name,” Gillian said. She was jealous of Camille for the first time. It was an emotion she was very unfamiliar with. “So what are you doing here?” she asked bluntly.

Frankie looked at her, somewhat caught off guard by her rawness. He longed to tell her what he had come there to say, that he wished she had been the one giving birth to his daughter that morning instead of Camille. He just didn't know if it would comfort Gillian to know that.

“I love you,” he said.

Gillian stared at Frankie. It had begun to rain outside and she heard the raindrops drumming against her windowpane. It reminded her of the tears she'd shed in secret late at night as she did her best to get over him. He had broken her heart and she wanted to hate him for it.

“Yeah?” she asked.

He smiled at her, knowing she was trying to be tough. He had watched her take the helm of the family business with ease. Being in control of such an empire required her to be stern and direct, unafraid. Gillian was all of those things, and she was respected by their whole crew. Frankie knew that she could handle it on her own. If ever there was a time for him to leave the Nobles family business behind and focus on the task of being a father, this was it. But he loved Gillian, and he didn't want to let her go so easily.

“Yeah,” he responded. “I love you very much.”

She nodded. “That's nice to know,” she said. “But I don't like the way you love people. And I still don't understand why you're here.”

He frowned. “What do you mean you don't like the way I—”

“I'm not Camille!” Gillian was pissed, but she chuckled a little at the irony that she was now walking a painful mile in Camille's shoes. “What me and you had was supposed to be different.”

“It is different.”

She shook her head. “No, it's not. Otherwise, we'd still be together.”

“I just needed some space, Gigi. I never stopped loving you. I just had to get my thoughts together—about the baby, about my brother and everything. I've been rebuilding my relationship with my mother and trying to forgive her, trying to forgive myself.” He looked at her sadly. “You know me better than anybody. So you should understand that I just needed some time to figure things out.”

Gillian looked into his melancholy eyes. “You used to talk to me and tell me things. But when it mattered—when your brother died and your family secrets came out, you shut down on me, just like you did to Camille. You need to figure out why you do that to the women you claim to love. But I'm not gonna be the one to help you figure it out.”

Frankie sat in silence and let her words sink in.

“Congratulations on the baby, Frankie.”

He felt like he was being dismissed. “Gigi, I know I hurt you.”

She shrugged and looked away.

“I'm sorry.”

“That's not enough for me. I'm not Camille.”

“Stop saying that. I don't want you to be her.” He frowned, confused.

“You can't run in and out of my life like that—”

Frankie closed in on her so quickly that she was amazed. Quickly, he slid into position beside her on the sofa and cupped her chin firmly in his hand. He looked intensely into her eyes. Gillian stared back at him, speechless.

“Come on, Gigi,” he said, pleadingly. “Don't do this.”

Gillian stared at Frankie. Even with his hand gripping her face so tightly she felt no fear. She knew that Frankie would never hurt her. But the desperation in his eyes was unmistakable.

Prying his hands from her face, she spoke firmly. “
You
did this. Not me.”

Their faces merely inches apart, they stared at each other in a face-off of wills. Seconds elapsed with neither of them budging. Finally, without warning, Frankie covered Gillian's mouth with his own. He kissed her deeply and pulled her eagerly toward him. Gillian resisted at first, pushing him away, but soon she gave in under the force of his kiss. Her intensity matched his as they went at each other. He pulled her onto his lap and gripped her hungrily.

Frankie slid his hands underneath her shirt, stroking her breasts as she straddled him. His hands seemed to know her the way a pianist knows the ebony and ivory keys. It was the perfect combination of squeezing and caressing. He bit at her, nibbled on her mouth and she at his. Their kisses told a story—a tale of pleasure and pain, danger, discovery, and the ultimate safety they still found in each other's arms. Frankie's lips explored her body, tasting and sucking on her in the most erotic fashion, reducing her to moans that escaped her involuntarily. Clutching his head, Gillian pulled him closer, her body so desperate for him even though her mind was screaming no. Frankie tore at his belt, eager to free his rock-hard dick as it pressed against his jeans. Gillian reached for it, stroking it and feeling how rigid it was as she grinded in Frankie's lap. He pulled her panties to the side and entered her raw, plunging into her silky wetness.

Gillian felt an incomparable rush. All her senses responded to him and she was flooded with pleasure. His strong hands squeezed her ass as she grinded on top of him, swirling her hips in a way that caused his face to fall into ecstasy, his lips to part and his voice to sound.

She called his name.

“Yes?” he whispered softly, searching her eyes for the answer.

“… feels so good…” she managed.

“Yes,” he whispered again, so confident. “Yes, mami.”

His voice in her ears made her creamy. She rocked her hips around in circles, then back and forth. She wrapped her arms around his muscular torso, his back and shoulder muscles so well defined and his arms encircling her tightly. They were meshed together—their mouths, their hands, arms, legs, their whole selves. He sucked her breasts, alternating between sucking them and sucking her lips, her tongue, her neck. Gillian felt herself building up to a fever pitch within. Frankie felt it, too, and he watched her—the way that her face contorted into a look of pure surrender. Gillian looked him dead in the eye as she came, riding him. He watched her face, her eyes narrowed, lips parted. He loved to see that expression on her face and he kissed her again, their tongues so good together, their breathing hungry.