Page 114 of Vicious Games

I want to ask if what we shared last night together has changed anything for her. If she’s starting to see a future that isn’t draped in robes and vows of celibacy.

But fear’s a motherfucker. And fear of rejection? That’s a whole different breed of beast.

“Frankie,” I say quietly, almost afraid to break the spell. “Can I ask you something?”

“Can I stop you?” she teases, giggling as I give her another light tap on the ass. “Hey, quit that,” she scolds, but I don’t miss the way she instinctively shifts, rubbing herself against my thigh, her body betraying the ache she tries to hide.

God, part of me wants to give in. Let my hands roam. Let my mouth worship. Let lust drown out the noise of fucking insecurity. But my heart won’t let me. That stupid fucking organ is demanding center stage this morning. It wants to know her heart. Wants to know every thought that is running through her mind. Wants to know if any of her thoughts include me in them.

Ugh. This love shit really has me by the balls.

Instead of asking Frankie what last night meant to her—if it even meant anything at all—I ask her the first question that pops into my head, “Last night, you said some of the kids at the orphanage ran away…” I pause, tracing a lazy circle along her spine. “Have you ever thought about it? Running away with Darius?”

She grows quiet. Then slowly shakes her head. “Never. The streets are no place for a child. And they’re no place for a woman either.” Her voice gets soft. Too soft. “Some of the girls who ran away… return more broken than when they had left. Why would I risk that?”

My chest tightens at the fear in her eyes.

“So… you’re happy at the orphanage?” I ask, the question tasting bitter on my tongue.

She shrugs. “As happy as someone like me can be.”

Fuck. That lands like a punch to the gut.

Someone like her? Doesn’t she know? Doesn’t she see?

She deserves everything. Joy. Safety. Love that doesn’t come with conditions or expiration dates. If I could… if she’d let me… I’d spend every goddamn day showing her exactly how happy she deserves to be.

Still, I don’t say any of it. All I do is hold her a little tighter and ask, “If you’re not truly happy at the orphanage, what makes you think you’ll be any happier in a convent?”

A long, heavy silence stretches between us. Then, finally, she says, “Maybe I won’t.” And for a split second, hope claws its way into my chest, only for her next words to stomp it out. “But I’ll be safe. And I’ll be close to Darius. That’s enough for me.”

I gently nudge her chin up, needing her to look at me. “Is it enough? Is that life really enough for you? Knowing everything you’d have to give up?”

Her eyes lock on mine, sadness swimming in their depths as she nods. “It has to be.”

And just like that, my heart fucking breaks. After everything we’ve been through—every touch, every kiss, every whispered secret in the dark—it still feels like I haven’t made a dent in the wall she’s built around herself.

I want to say something. Anything. Words that could maybe sway her, open her eyes to another possibility. One that includes me in it.

However, Frankie quiets every word in my chest by resting her head on it again, her voice small. “Don’t let me fall asleep. I need to sneak back to my room before the house wakes up.” She yawns and snuggles closer, pressing a chaste kiss to the spot where my broken heart beats her name, then settles back in, using it as her favorite pillow once more.

I don’t answer. Just keep running my fingers through her hair as I listen to her breathing slow, soft and shallow until she slips into her slumber.

The party downstairs went late last night, so the house will be dead quiet until noon. I could carry her back across the hall to her room, but I don’t. Instead, I watch her sleep, wondering if at least she’s making room for me in her dreams since it’s clear that soon, I won’t have any space in her life.

God, I wish that was enough. But it’s not.

I’m wide awake now, staring at the ceiling while her body rises and falls with each breath, my heart stuck on her words.

But I’ll be safe. And I’ll be close to Darius. That’s enough for me.

As I suspected, Frankie’s not entertaining taking her vows because she feels called to some holy purpose. She’s doing it to ensure she stays close to the one person she’s always protected. Joining the convent is her way of keeping the promise she made to a scared little boy. That and the need to feel safe. Frankie is not running toward faith but running away from fear. And that shit kills me. Because Icouldprotect her. Iwouldprotect her. I’d give her and Darius the whole damn world if she let me.

Unfortunately for me, Frankie wouldn’t believe me if I offered her something like that. She’s not the kind of girl who believes in fairytales, and I’ve made it clear I’m no white knight. She doesn’t see herself as some damsel in distress, either. She’s making decisions based on whatshecan do, on how she can save herself with her own hands. I don’t fit into that equation. And if I do, in her mind, I’m probably the villain who is cracking a chink in the armor of her carefully laid plans for the future.

My Frankie is not just stubborn. She’s proud. She’d see anything I could offer her as charity. She would probably mistake my love for that, too.

My sullen thoughts are momentarily put on pause when she shifts on the bed, turning her back to me, and on instinct, I wrap my arm around her, the curve of her body melting to mine. Then, my eyes fall to the gold bracelet on her wrist, one she never takes off—the only thing her parents left her when they dumped her like trash. She clutches the St. Peter medallion in her sleep as if it means something. As if it still hurts.

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