Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

“Well, no other fucking people. Cut that bullshit right out.”

Francesca rolls her eyes, as if I’m exasperating. “That was more for you than me.”

“Regardless, cut that bullshit right out. That’s the first thing. Any other guy comes sniffing around you, he can deal with me.”

She laughs, like this is funny.

I scowl, because that’s not fucking funny.

She gestures for me to go on. “Please, continue with your stipulations.”

“The second thing is you’re gonna stop acting like I’m gonna hurt you, because I’m not.”

“You’re getting bossy, and you can’t guarantee that.”

“Yes, I can,” I state, illogically. “And the third thing… I can’t remember the third thing, because you have me too riled with the first two.”

At this, she grins. “How can you guarantee that?”

“That I won’t hurt you?” She nods. “Simple—I already hate everyone who hurts you, and I’m pretty fucking fond of myself, so I’m not going to wind up on that list.” My eyebrows rise, like I have even a little bit of leverage here to demand things. “And I want to know what the last guy did to make you so goddamn skeptical, too.”

“I’m not just skeptical because of him,” she says. “I’m skeptical because I’ve only known you for a couple of days and I think your primary interest in me is that I make you chase me. So what happens if I stop?”

“I catch you,” I say easily.

“And get bored,” she continues, nodding once.

I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not. That’s the risk you run anytime you start a relationship. I’m not going to damn the thing before we even get it off the ground by putting a bunch of stupid rules around it.”

“This relationship was damned before there was a ground,” she points out. “I can’t meet your family. You can’t meet mine. If your sister does meet me, that just means we have to rope her into the secrecy, too. What happens if someone finds out?”

“Depends who it is,” I say, vaguely. “I can probably deal with Mateo. I don’t see him being real happy about it, but… the idea is, no one finds out.”

“People always find out. Secrets can’t stay secret forever. And how long can we stay happy in a secret relationship? Maybe it would work for you; it keeps things strictly part-time, keeps the pressures low, but it doesn’t work for me. Ultimately, I want the things out of life that would probably scare you off so fast you’d be telling my brother yourself just to get him to break us up.”

I have to smile at that. “Things like what? See, this is what I want. Tell me about you. Tell me what you want out of life.”

“I want the whole normal nine yards. I want a husband. I want babies. Ideally with a normal man, not another fucking criminal.”

“Last guy was a criminal, then. You meet him through your brother?”

“Get scared about the marriage and babies,” she commands, as if annoyed that I’m gravitating back to this fucker.

I shrug. “I’m expected to do all that myself someday.”

“Not with me.”

“No. Not with you,” I admit. “But I don’t care. I’ve never let anyone control who I’m involved with, and I’m not about to start now.”

“I just…” She shakes her head, glancing down. “I don’t want to be a game to you.”

Since that’s just about dumbest thing she’s said in the time I’ve known her, I walk right over to her, drawing her attention, and I kiss her. Nothing intense, just a soft one like the one she gave me. Then I tell her seriously, “You aren’t a game to me. I won’t toy with you.”

“It’s not that I think you’re a mean person, or that you’d hurt me on purpose. You really don’t seem to be, at all. It’s just, I’ve been wrong before.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about me. I’m completely sincere here.”

I can tell she still doesn’t trust me, but I get the feeling she’d like to. Behind the brave, sometimes saucy, sometimes sweet eyes of Francesca Morelli there’s a glint of fear that never leaves, a deeply rooted sense of caution that obviously dictates how she lives her life. I can’t explain what it is that compels me to break through all that and wipe it away, but something does. I’m the last guy in the world who comes to the rescue of a woman I’m not responsible for, a woman who doesn’t share at least some of the blood running through my veins, but I wanna make an exception for this one.

Now all I have to do is convince her of that, and then actually accomplish it without either of our families ever finding out.

Should be a piece of cake, right?

Chapter Five

“A ballerina.”

I exaggerate my grimace, drawling, “No. That’s so typical.”

Francesca swats me in the stomach. “Shut up. What did you want to be, then, Mr. Atypical?”