Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

I hate everything she just said, but I continue to listen.

“When I was little, I used to imagine I would be saved from my life someday. It sounds silly to want to be saved from a life like mine, from living in a house worth millions of dollars with more money than I could ever spend and a closet full of designer dresses and shoes. That sounds ridiculous, I realize that.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” I tell her, seriously. “Material things can’t replace what you were missing.”

Nodding, she says, “Yeah. Well, I used to pretend I was a princess in a castle, and some dashing commoner fell in love with me and he wanted me so much, he would do anything, risk anything to have me. He would sneak to the window outside my bedroom in the castle just to see me, just to hear the sound of my voice, just the whispers as I told him to leave, because he couldn’t be there, he didn’t fit in my life and it was dangerous.” She smiles, rolling her eyes at her younger self, and reaches over onto the nightstand for her wine glass, taking a sip and replacing it. “It was always dangerous, because in my fantasies there was usually a spoiled, ruthless prince I was supposed to be with—I knew plenty about spoiled, ruthless men—but it was the devoted commoner I wanted. Someone who could steal me away from the castle, who could hide me away in a simple cottage, no gowns, no fripperies, just love. Love was enough. Love was all I wanted.”

I want to respond, but I don’t know how. I feel so goddamn sad for that little girl. I imagine Maddie feeling that way, and I can’t. I can’t even fathom it.

But Francesca isn’t done. “When I got older, I had this romantic streak. It’s like my fantasy from childhood remained in my heart somehow, only it was real then—I was a princess in a castle with pretty gowns and fripperies and completely lacking in love. There was a ruthless, spoiled prince—he wasn’t my love interest, he was my brother, but that still worked. An uncaring, ruthless older brother, and a younger, unloved princess. He could still be plenty dangerous, if he gave a damn. I always thought maybe his protective nature would come out when I started dating. I didn’t realize that I wouldn’t start dating. I didn’t realize that growing up with a homicidal father and the kind of family I have, it didn’t lend itself to dating. I went to school and I interacted with outsiders, but they all kept their distance. A couple of the girls didn’t, they befriended me, but you know, half of them only did it to get to Mateo,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Him and his goddamn magnetism. Anyway, the guys did not bite. I never got asked on a single date in high school. I had no one to go to prom with, so I stayed home. It was even lonelier.”

Jesus, I hate all of that, too. Was there anything about her life that didn’t suck?

“Then I started working at the bakery. I liked working at the bakery. It suited me. It’s usually pretty calm, pretty predictable, and in the back of my mind I always had this dumbass fantasy of my golden-haired commoner coming in one day, just by chance. He’d see me and it would be like being hit by lightning. He would be drawn to me and he wouldn’t know why—it would just be love at first sight. Without ever needing to know what makes me special, he would just see it, and he would just love me, and he would have to have me. He would pursue me, and I would resist because I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. Because maybe someone would care if I actually left, maybe I just didn’t know I mattered.”

Francesca stops now, her nose turning a little red. She clears her throat and turns her face away from me, grabbing her wine glass and taking a long sip. My stomach sinks when she looks back, and her eyes look a little red-rimmed, and I realize she’s actually upset. This is an upsetting memory. I want to stop her, I want to tell her she doesn’t have to tell me more, but I also need to hear it. I need to know everything about this woman. I don’t need her to convince me she’s special; I’m fucking convinced. But I want her to tell me anyway.

“And then one day he came in,” she says, with false lightness. “One day my commoner showed up, and he was taken with me. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t question it, because it was fate. He came in every single day to buy a single oatmeal raisin cookie. I knew it was just to see me. One day I went to the door when he left, because I was going to call him back, and I saw him toss the cookie in the trash can in front of the bakery. That was when I knew. That was when I completely believed he was my person, my commoner, the one who would love me beyond reason, who would do anything to just have me, because for some reason I mattered to him.”