Page 75 of Final Serenade

His words rang in my ears, sweet, scary, and wonderful. “I promise you have nothing to worry about. I’ve wanted it with you without a piece of rubber between us ever since our first time, but if you’re not ready—”

“Shhh.” I hushed him by pressing my mouth to his. “Yes.”

It was the strangest thing—the realization of how my decision took us to the next level. I’d never let a man into my body without protection before. There had been a string of short-lived affairs that I struggled to call relationships. There had never been anyone like Frank.

“You sure?” he double-checked, rocking against me slowly.

“Yes. I’m sure. I’m on birth control. It’s fine.” I was babbling. “I want it too.” My shoulders shivered and my legs clamped around his slick body under the water. My mouth spread into a silly grin.

“You’re excited about it, aren’t you, doll? Me fucking you without a condom?”

“I’m excited about you fucking me. Period.” I giggled, throwing my arms around his neck.

He entered me slowly, letting me savor each second of this excruciatingly exquisite torment. Water slapped against the stones as our bodies moved together to the sound of an invisible beat. It felt different. Raw. New. Uncompromising. Giving myself away to someone.

It felt real.

Frank had a whole army of people to service his needs. He merely hid them well. I’d already figured out that he was at the gym during some of those early hours when I didn’t find him in bed with me. I figured out someone cleaned and cooked on a daily basis, because dirty dishes magically disappeared every night and freshly baked croissants appeared every morning. I figured out there was someone who ran errands and handled Frank’s schedule, because he never missed a call or a meeting.

He hid other things as well—the full extent of his injuries and the lengths he’d gone to in order to maintain his health. He masked his headaches with wide smiles, but I’d seen all his pills hidden away in the bathroom cabinet and I’d also seen what kind of diet he had to follow. He wasn’t invincible. This was probably why he feared his upcoming performances wouldn’t match up to his past ones.

After being there for several days, I still found myself getting lost in the endless maze of sparsely furnished rooms and artwork-studded hallways. The paintings enthralled me the most with their bold abstract lines and generous brush strokes. They made me wonder why Frank had chosen them in the first place. Had it been the color? The composition? Or had it been an impulse? Although he didn’t strike me as someone who bought things “just because.” Everything inside the house seemed to have its purpose and its place.

His physical therapy sessions were held in the gym. I’d never met his therapist, Reese, but I knew he came in the afternoons and spent at least an hour or two with Frank. The home studio, which was off-limits, occupied the entire east wing and faced the mountains. I’d only gotten to take a peek once.

Frank hadn’t lied about access to the office. Contrary to my fears, we weren’t simply ignoring reality and having sex day and night. He kept quite busy. Brooklyn was here every day and their conversations and the conference calls always ran long. Other times, he was either gone or in the studio. We barely saw each other, which was actually an ideal arrangement. His absence gave me an opportunity to prepare for the documentary project and catch up on everything I’d had to move around to fit in our last-minute trip to Aspen.

Frank’s life was as wild as the roller coaster rides at Six Flags, and for some reason, he wanted me near. He wanted me in his house. He wanted me in his bed at night so he could wrap his arms around me and tell me all the things he couldn’t tell anyone else.

On Thursday, I was yanked out of sleep by a combination of voices, footsteps, and the distant buzzing of the lawnmower. Levi and I had covered an event in Hollywood the night before and I’d gotten in really late. Frank had probably forgotten to shut the door and bits and pieces of his conversation with the owner of a heavy Eastern European accent drifted into the bedroom through the small crack.

“You need to listen to the doctors,” the woman said, her tone authoritative. “You’re not an acrobat. People don’t pay money to see you jump through rings of fire. People pay money to see you sing.”

“People expect a full set, Hannah,” Frank countered. “Trust me, they’ll notice if I’m five songs short.”

“Aye.” The woman sounded distressed and I heard a heavy sigh. “Crazy. That’s what you are, Mr. Frank.”

He laughed.

“And I know you were riding this morning. The next time I see you on a motorcycle, I swear, I will call a tow truck and have that thing taken to a junkyard.”

After that, they walked off and their voices traveled through the house until their words faded away.

Rattled by the mention of Frank riding alone, I reached for my phone and scrolled through my social media feed, my gaze stalling on Taylor Rhinehart’s face. Her tweet had been picked up by the Hall Affinity official Twitter account and TMZ got wind of it. The tabloids were going for shock value again, because the headline twisted everything.

“How Long Are Taylor Rhinehart and Frankie Blade Going to Keep Their Relationship a Secret?”

After I skimmed through the poorly slapped together article, I closed the app. This was a good thing, right? A perfect decoy. Yet it felt like a cheap, dirty trick.

I heard footsteps. Moments later, Frank’s silhouette filled the doorway. Our eyes met.

“I’m sorry. Did we wake you?”

“Not really.” I shook my head and stretched. His bed was the size of my entire bedroom, sheets so soft, I could never tell if they were covering me. Waking up here, in this house, to an unobstructed view of the Pacific was surreal. Like a dream that was about to end.

Frank crossed the room, his trim body swallowing up the space around me. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what I loved more, fucking him or watching him. He settled next to me and his hands found my hair and ruffled it.

“Mr.Frank?” Giggling, I rolled onto my stomach and rested my chin on his thigh.

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