Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

And yet, she excites me.

I mean… okay, physically, it isn’t a mystery. The girl is a knockout. If she wouldn’t have had the misfortune of being spawned by Matt Morelli, she’d damn sure be gracing the glossy pages of magazines.

It’s more than that, though. I feel bizarrely protective over her, and I’m really not that kind of guy in a relationship. Since I do like the girls who can hold their own and play the game, you have to allow for a certain amount of superficiality. A certain amount of distance. Maybe I pick up the tabs when we go out, but emotionally, they aren’t my responsibility. You don’t take care of that kind of girl—but I have this impulse to take care of Francesca, because I keep thinking of her like she’s mine. Like I’ve already marked that territory, when I’ve barely kissed her.

None of the girls I’ve been with have ever brought that out in me. I’ve always had a protective streak, sure, but only with family. Never girlfriends.

It doesn’t make me anxious to think about Francesca being my girlfriend, either. I’m always exceedingly slow to label things, but I like the idea of calling her that. I like the ownership it implies—she’s mine. Go away, every other fuck who dares look at her.

She’s mine. I’m hers.

Usually when a woman approaches that point in the relationship, I feel restricted. They want to lock me down, and I’m suddenly aware of what else is out there. Every other woman I come into contact with is suddenly prettier, funnier, more interesting, maybe wilder in bed—better, in some way. Even if I really enjoy spending time with the girl, it’s always like that. I’m not quick to commit to people, and if I do, I usually feel like I got roped into it.

It’s not like I’m committed to Francesca, but I’m not looking at anyone else, either. I don’t even want to. Why look at some other girl when I could spend that same time looking at Francesca?

Well, except I can’t, because the damn girl won’t spend any time with me.

I’ve never liked a woman more than she liked me before. That’s kind of annoying. If this is what it feels like for women to date me, I owe a lot of people a lot of apologies.

Since I’m still thinking about her, I grab my phone and text her. “Why don’t you come over to my house after you get off work? We can have dinner here, no risk of being seen.”

I have some work of my own to do, so when she doesn’t text back after a few minutes, I put my phone away and go about my business.

It’s about an hour later when I finally pull it out again, and my heart about stops when I read, “Should I bring cupcakes?”

“Don’t play with my heart now, you little vixen,” I shoot back. “Are you really coming?”

A few minutes later, she answers, “Lol, I didn’t think you were going to respond. I’ll come if you still want me to.”

I’m so goddamn excited that I don’t even make the easy joke about her coming—holy shit.

Francesca Morelli finally said yes to me.

—

I actually had some unpleasant shit to do today, but I can’t help smiling like an idiot the whole time. The guy who’s getting his ass beat probably thinks I’m psychotic, but that’s okay. Maybe he won’t be such a little ball sac next time if he thinks I get joy out of seeing him beat to shit. I really don’t; it’s just business. I much prefer to give off a vibe of controlled intimidation than sadistic joy in times like these, but Francesca’s bringing me cupcakes, so I’d smile through a scorching tour of Hell right now.

It occurs to me that I should get food on my way home. I don’t know what Francesca likes to eat. I hope she’s not a vegetarian or something. I buy steaks.

As I’m walking past the little floral nook at the grocery store, a bouquet of white roses and blue hydrangeas catches my eye. I grab those, too. Since it’s the only thing I know she likes, I’m gonna buy her hydrangeas all the time.

It crosses my mind a couple times, after texting her my home address without having once heard her voice today, that this could be a trap. That would be immensely disappointing. I imagine opening the door, expecting Francesca’s gorgeous face, and instead seeing the dead-eyed, scarred visage of Adrian Palmetto, there to rip me a new asshole.

Since we’re at peace right now, it wouldn’t be the end of the line for me, but it could make things between us tenser. Adrian wouldn’t kill me, but it would definitely mean the end with Francesca. He’d warn me off, start watching her better. I’d definitely have to pull Mark for his own safety if they started to suspect anything, because trying to seduce Francesca they’d probably forgive me for, but placing a spy in their midst? That they would not.