Burning Down the Spouse (22 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Separated Women, #Greek Americans, #Humorous, #Contemporary, #Women Cooks, #General, #Romance, #Humorous Fiction, #Fiction, #Cultural Heritage, #Love Stories

BOOK: Burning Down the Spouse
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“Frankie Bennett?”
Her head lifted, wary with caution. Oh, if the universe were feeling charitable, this wouldn’t be someone who wanted to experience her crazy firsthand by way of an autograph. “Maybe,” she said without turning around, scrunching her eyes shut to ward off the stranger’s next words.
“It’s Marco Sabatini.”
When she turned, she half smiled, her eyes teasing when she took in his sharp suit and tie and his freshly scrubbed, albeit, lined face. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you because you didn’t slur your words.”
He let his head hang to his chest, the curls on it gleaming and still damp in the stream of sun from the diner’s window. “I’m ashamed, Frankie. I had way too much to drink last night, and I’m always an ass when I do.”
Throwing the towel she’d just cleaned the front countertop with over her shoulder, Frankie nodded in total sympathy. “I get it. Not the drinking part, but the ‘find a way to dull the pain’ part. I didn’t drink when Mitch and I split, I slept. For six solid months.”
He smiled, though Frankie wondered if it was just out of courtesy. There was nothing in it beyond its dental perfection that said he felt it. He was as numb as he could be without the aid of booze. “Nikos mentioned that on the phone this morning. I bet you were a lot less hazardous that way, though.”
“Well, there is that. So how do you feel this afternoon?”
“Like a shithead. That’s why I’m here. To apologize.”
“Not necessary, and I’m sorry, too. For what Mitch did to your marriage. I really had no idea. I thought Bamby was his first affair. Crazy that, huh?”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he pulled at the lines beginning to form under his aquamarine blue eyes, as though he could erase the dark shadows forming there. “I don’t know who Bamby is, but I’m sorry you had to find out about Carrie by way of my out-of-control behavior. I’d like to make it up to you.”
Frankie cocked her head to the left. “You don’t have anything to make up, Marco. It’s over. Though, would it upset you too much if I asked you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“I don’t understand the Mitch-Carrie thing at all. When did this all go down?”
And which part of stupid was I lost in when it did?
Marco shoved his hands in his trousers, his face grim. “Your hus . . . Mitch was checking out diners to do some show or something.”
Bells clanged in her head. The road trip to scout potential places to shoot the show. Of course. The original plan for
Mitch in the Kitchen
had been to call the show
Mitch in
Your
Kitchen
. Mitch would show up, take over the restaurant’s kitchen, and have a cookoff—or something like that. The idea was canned in favor of the production costs at a time when the Bon Appetit Channel still wasn’t sure Mitch could fly solo. She sighed. “I remember—about a year and a half ago, right?”
Marco’s nod was somber. “Yeah. Carrie was a real fan of his from his days on some other show—”
“
Road to Randall
,” Frankie interrupted as the memory rushed back. “He and Chef Randall were friends. Well, until Mitch’s popularity rose and Randall’s didn’t. That’s when the Bon Appetit Channel offered him a test run for his own gig.”
Marco’s grim look returned. “Carrie was excited to meet him. So when Nikos accepted the invitation, mostly because Carrie begged and pleaded for him to at least meet with Mitch and the production crew, she was beyond herself. She told Nikos he could always say no and that would be that. No harm, no foul. Nikos only agreed because Carrie was my wife. He never would have let Mitch film here. Trouble is Carrie didn’t follow her own advice. No doesn’t seem to be in her vocabulary. Not where Mitch was concerned, anyway. They met while I was at, of all things, a dental implant convention. She, according to Nikos’s version, got pretty friendly, and well . . . you know the rest.”
Embarrassment flooded her. Her fingers gripped the ties on her apron, fiddling with them while she struggled to come to terms with her ex-husband’s philandering. Philandering that clearly stretched across at least two states. “I’m so sorry.”
Marco placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “It’s hardly your fault, Frankie.”
Her eyes held Marco’s. “Then why do I feel like it is?”
“Probably because all good mothers, even when murder’s involved, always ask themselves how they could’ve missed the signs,” Nikos said, all smiles and lighthearted chuckles this fine afternoon. The afternoon after the night where he had almost kissed her, then run off as if she’d held a gun to his head and forced him to almost mack on her.
Humph.
It was all she could do to get to sleep last night, and he was behaving like he hadn’t given her the diss of all disses. Charming and carefree as always.
Though, his analogy about Mitch and her playing the role of his mother wasn’t exactly far off the mark. There were many times when she’d felt like Mitch’s conduct required motherly attention.
He slapped Marco good-naturedly on the back with a playful grin. “How’s the head this morning? Did you take the aspirin I left on your nightstand?”
Nikos’s presence brought another thought to mind. One Frankie had yet to allow the freedom to process because their almost kiss had gotten in the way. Oh, but when she had a minute to herself, she was all over it.
“It’s got a freight train running through it right now. I can’t wait to get to the office and fire up the drill,” Marco commented, his face sheepish. “I was just apologizing to Frankie.”
“Good thing, too. Mama would have your hide if she knew what you did last night. Come in back and see her, huh? She’s missed you.”
Marco shook his head, his eyes avoiding Nikos’s. “Not yet. Maybe another day. I need to get back in the swing of things again.” His eyes sought Frankie’s once more, soft and filled with a sorrow she could almost taste. “So how about dinner—to make up for screwing yours up last night?”
Nikos’s face did that light to dark thing again before he said, “Frankie’s probably busy.”
Really? Had Nikos taken to looking at her day planner? Okay, so she didn’t have one, but if she did . . .
Frankie
was most certainly not busy. She might have been busy if Nikos had manned up and kissed her last night. As of now, she was as free as an ex-con out on parole. She gave Nikos a cocky glance before smiling at Marco, bright and shiny. “Nuh-uh,
Frankie’s
not busy at all. So I’d love to have dinner with you, Marco. Two victims of Mitch and some spaghetti—it’ll be like
Dawn of the Living Dead
meets
GoodFellas
.”
Marco chuckled, with a warm, and this time, genuine hint to it. “Great. I’ll drop back by soon and we’ll make plans.”
With a raised eyebrow and a cocky swing of her neck, she popped her lips in Nikos’s direction before addressing Marco. “I look forward to it.”
Nikos glared down at her. “Don’t you have onions to peel?”
The smile never left her face. Whatever was pissing Nikos off, and she had to hope it was because his best friend had just asked her out, made her almost coo with pleasure—loud and proud. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.” She wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at Marco. “Byyye,” she said flirtatiously, pushing her way through the kitchen doors, pleased she’d left that conversation with the upper hand. Nikos had no right to her personal life. He’d made that clear last night.
Voula gave her a nod and a wink of approval. “I like you today, Frankie.”
Frankie put her arm around Voula’s abundance of shoulder and grinned. “You know what, Voula? I like me today, too.”
“Frannnkieee?”
“Mr. Grinch?”
“What was that about?” Nikos demanded.
Hurling a bag of potatoes up on the large island, Frankie gave him a look of pure innocence. “What was what about?”
His face went all thunderclouds with a chance of rain. “Marco.”
“He apologized.”
“I know that much. But why would you go out with him?”
“Why would you care?”
Voula snorted along with Cosmos and Hector as they ducked out of the kitchen.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Nikos’s lips thinned. “I didn’t say I cared, but he is my best friend.”
“So he can’t have more than one friend? Is that like a man rule? Because if that’s the case, your math sucks. Simon makes three of you.” She began to peel the potatoes for shredding, with an extra bit of enthusiasm in each swipe of the peeler.
Nikos glowered. “That’s not what I meant, Frankie, and you know it.”
Pausing, she placed her hand on her hip. “No. I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you explain?”
Nikos grappled for a moment before finding what she was sure he considered a suitable cover. “I just mean that Marco’s in a bad space right now.”
“And spaghetti would trap him in the bad space forever?” she asked, her words dipped in sugary sweetness.
He rolled his tongue in his cheek to emphasize his aggravation. “No. I just mean you saw the way he behaved last night. What if it happens again and you can’t handle it?”
Nice. Convenient. Not so well executed. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m in a bad space, too. In fact, there’s plenty of room on the couch in the bad space. I’m happy to share, and if Marco even considers ordering a thimbleful of booze, I’m out. So don’t worry your Neanderthal head about it. We’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” he gritted out.
She gave him a wide grin full of sadistic mockery, taking pleasure in his fight to keep his ire in check. Maybe there was some truth to what Jasmine said last night. Maybe. “Yeah. It is.”
Nikos turned to stalk off, his broad back rigid with tense muscle, but Frankie called him back when she remembered something about her conversation with Marco. The something she hadn’t quite been able to process but had a total grasp on now. “Hold on one minute, cranky pants. I have a question for you.”
“Does it involve what Marco’s favorite flower is?” he cooed, dripping sarcasm and discontent.
Frankie had to look down at the potatoes to keep from giggling, pleased he was so clearly jealous. “No, but it does have to do with Marco.”
Nikos raised an arrogant eyebrow while he waited.
“How about you tell me a little something about Carrie and Mitch.”
His eyes became hooded, cautious. “What’s there to tell? Didn’t
Marco
tell you everything?” he asked with a flippant tone.
Surely he didn’t think she was going to let him get away with the defensive crap, did he? Frankie shook the potato peeler at him. “Oh, he told me plenty. What I want to know is why
you
didn’t tell me their affair virtually happened right here in your diner? You’ve met Mitch! Or was that something else you wanted to protect me from?”
“You know, I sort of feel like all I’ve done is apologize to you when I did nothing wrong but try to protect you.” He gave her his best remorseful face, probably counting on the beauty of it wowing her into submission.
And it might have—if not for last night.
Not. Today.
“Uh, no. That isn’t going to work. You knew Mitch had slept with Carrie long before I interviewed for this sweatshop.”
“If you’re mad because I didn’t call you and tell you he’d tapped another chick before Bamby, I don’t think I can be held responsible. It’s not like your number was listed.”
She paused for a moment, gathering her words as another revelation hit her. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. You knew as far back as my interview that Mitch had slept with Carrie—worse, Mitch was right here in your diner when they were testing concepts for his new show. You knew all of that and you still made like you had no idea who I was. And even after you admitted you knew who I was, you didn’t say a word about Marco. Thoughts on that?”
“It’s not like we were BFFs, Frankie. You’d just walked in off the street. I was an employer looking for an employee.”
“But Marco is your BFF. Did you think he’d never come back from Botswana, like, ever? Did you really think we’d never run into each other? You lied to me!” she accused.
“Ohhhh, no, lady!” Nikos yelled right back, his eyes squinting at her. “I didn’t lie. You just never asked the question.”
Frankie snorted loud. “Please. How random is that? ‘Hey, potential boss, was my ex-husband ever here at your diner, sticking his man bits in your best friend’s wife?’ ” she yelped.
God, this man!
There was a moment of silence before Nikos let out a cackling laugh, long and sharp to her ears. He leaned against the island’s top with the heel of his hand while he caught his breath. “Man bits?”
Frankie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no, Antonakas! There’ll be none of that changing-the-mood bullshit so you can avoid conflict. Not this time. So tell me—is there anything else I should know? Did Mitch have orgies here, too? Did he try to cop a feel from poor Voula? Because I gotta tell ya, there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot Mitch hasn’t tapped around these parts! What else don’t I know that I should on the off chance I might have another messy, very public incident like last night?”

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