Page 74 of Craving Francesca

Up close, the differences since the last time I’d seen her were even more startling. Her cheekbones were sharper, her eyes deeper set with dark circles under them that she’d tried to hide with makeup. Her neck looked like a stiff wind would snap it. Everything about her looked breakable.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked, leaning into her space.

“What do you mean?” she asked with an uncomfortable laugh. “Hello to you, too, by the way.”

“Francesca,” I muttered, the rage I’d felt when she’d walked across the forecourt still simmering under the surface. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing?” she looked around the hallway. “I was just going to pee.”

“Are you sick?”

No, that wasn’t it.

“He’s still fuckin’ with you?” I asked, taking a step sideways as she tried to avoid my eyes.

“Who?”

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“Hey, you’re the one who cornered me,” she said lightly, lifting her palms in surrender. “It’s good to see you, by the way. It’s been a minute.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well, I might pee my pants,” she hedged, smiling. It didn’t meet her eyes. “But other than that, I’m good.”

Grinding my teeth, I took a step back and gestured to the bathroom door.

“Thanks,” she said, raising her brows. “I’ll catch up with you in a while, okay? Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

She hurried into the bathroom, and I took the time to get my anger under control. She’d thought she’d fooled me like apparentlyeveryoneelse. How in the hell she’d changed that much in a month was beyond me, but the fact that no one else seemed to notice made me want to find Cian, Brody, and Bas, and beat them within an inch of their lives. They’d been around her, and none of them had noticed something was off? I’d clocked it from a hundred yards away.

I waited impatiently, leaning against the opposite wall. When she finally reappeared, she froze in the open doorway.

And what the fuck was that all about? How the hell had I startled her twice already? It wasn’t as if I was quiet. My motorcycle boots made tons of noise on the concrete floor unless I was being careful—which I hadn’t been.

“You waited for me?” she asked breezily. “I can’t tell if that’s creepy or sweet.”

I wanted to wipe the fake smile off her face with my fingers. It looked obscene. Like some artist had drawn it on as an afterthought.

“Baby,” I said quietly, my chest tight. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she replied in exasperation. “Why do you keep asking that?”

I was concerned for her. I wanted to handle her with care because clearly no one else had. But I was quickly losing patience with the lying. She knew what she looked like. She saw her own face in the mirror every day. There was no way that she’d somehow missed how haggard she’d become.

“Come on,” I said, putting my hand out. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?” She shook her head. “I just got here.”

“They can party without us. I’ll take you out on the bike.”

Her eyes grew weary, and my gut sank.

“I told everyone I’d be here.”

“You made an appearance,” I argued, my hand still hanging there. “Come on, baby. Let’s go for a ride.”

She glanced in between my hand and my face. “Why do you keep calling me baby?”

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