“When I was a kid, I always thought I’d grow up to be a superhero.”
She laughs, and it makes me happy. Not just her laugh—that makes me happy, but I love how comfortable she is. This is our third official date. It took a few days to make it happen, but I rented a room at a little bed and breakfast outside Chicago. Not to have sex—I still haven’t done more than kiss this woman, somehow—but just to spend time with her, to give us privacy. She’s supposed to be at the bakery, but Mark is covering for her while she slips away with me for a few hours.
Until now, I’ve never enjoyed lying in bed with someone, not having sex.
“My apologies. No other person in the history of the universe ever wanted to grow up to be a superhero. I bow to your supreme uniqueness,” she says, lifting up from the pillows wedged behind her to give a little bow.
“Thank you,” I say, with mock satisfaction. “First kiss?”
“Adrian.”
My eyes widen. “Your brother’s Adrian?”
Grinning, she nods. “We were kids. We were playing house—I made Adrian play house with me all the time. He had to be my husband because he’s the only person in the house I wasn’t related to, and one day when he was leaving for pretend work, I gave him a kiss. Mateo made fun of me and I got so embarrassed I cried.”
“Aww,” I say on a laugh, tugging her into my arms and dropping a little kiss on top of her head. “Your brother’s such an asshole.”
“Well, kids are usually assholes, but yes, he was an asshole then, too.”
“Why did Adrian live with you guys when you were kids? I mean, I heard about what your dad did to his family, obviously, but how come he took him in after?”
Francesca shrugs. “I don’t even attempt to understand the motives of the Morelli men,” she tells me. “My father’s psychotic. He’s sick now, so maybe I shouldn’t say that, but he’s seriously messed up. Mateo is too, but I don’t think on the same level. Maybe just not yet. Maybe it takes time for the evil to really marinate and turn you truly evil. I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t sound like you and your brother are close.”
“I’m not really close to any of my brothers. I’m closer to Vince. He’s younger and he’s a lot better. He’s not like the rest of them. Joey isn’t bad, but he’s in prison. It’s been so long since I’ve actually been around him, we just drifted. I never went to visit him because Mateo told me not to. He’ll give him money for the commissary or whatever it’s called, but no one visits.”
“How come?”
She shrugs. “Mateo’s very particular about things. He’s the brother I tried to get close to as a kid. He’s always had charisma and I wasn’t immune to it, but I was of no use to him; I was just his annoying little sister, so he was never interested.”
“That’s tough.”
Nodding as she looks off at the wall, she says, “I’m glad you’re close to your sisters. When you told me that story at the bakery about Madeline, I thought about it all night long. I thought how nice it must be to have someone like that care about you.” Glancing at me a bit shyly, she amends, “Someone like you, I mean.”
“I care about you too, you know,” I tell her.
Looking up at me through those long, dark lashes, she says, “You barely know me.”
“I know enough to care.”
“Are you usually like this with girls?”
I shake my head. “Nope, not all. Not girlfriends, at least. I’m protective of family, and it’s the damndest thing, but I feel the same way for you. I can’t explain it.”
Teasingly, she says, “You think of me like a sister?”
My eyes wander over her body lazily and my hand drifts toward her face, caressing her jawline. “No, ma’am, I most certainly do not.”
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asks.
“I do not. I believe in lust at first sight. Doesn’t take much more than that to want a beautiful woman, but oftentimes a little interaction can kill it. Do you?”
“I don’t know,” she says, thoughtfully. For a moment she’s quiet, lost in thought. I could talk, but I talk too much around her—I want her to talk. So I don’t say anything, I just wait. “I used to,” she finally says. “I’ve always been kind of lonely, I guess. My mom died when I was just a baby, so I never really had one. My father’s legitimately psychotic. My older brother is the head of the family, but he never yearned for any kind of closeness with me. I never felt valuable. You just didn’t in my family, if you were a girl. Girls aren’t useful, only the boys are, so if you’re a Morelli girl, you just sort of… you just exist, and you’re not terribly important to anyone. It’s almost like if you were gone, no one would even notice, until Sunday when no one was there to help serve dinner.”