Page 87 of Gravity of Love
Frankie inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, then reached for her mother’s arm, preparing herself to try and explain what she’d heard—but at that exact moment, a pair of hands landed on Frankie’s shoulders from behind. She tensed thinking it was Tristan, then looked up to see Zee grinning down at her, his smile dazzling as always.
“Sorry I missed the first act, but I’m here for the rest of the show,” he whispered against her ear, then placed a kiss on her cheek before straightening back up.
He turned his full attention to her mom with a warmth that could melt glaciers. “Good morning, Miss Costas. You lookincredible, as always. Sorry, I didn’t come in with Frankie, I was on a call with my manager. Do noteverlet me agree to do a PR shoot for any of theReal Housewivesagain. I thought it would be free mimosas and some good tea, but it ended up being bad wine and psychological warfare.”
“Zion.” Her mom blinked up at him, her obvious concern wobbling. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were coming.”
He shrugged, easy and charming. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Frankie glanced at her mom, who was now blinking rapidly, as if trying to physically shake off the recent double whammy, the revelation that her daughter had been faking a relationship and that she’d possibly just heard her daughter having sex with a man whose identity was, at this point, a Schrödinger’s Cat situation. Frankie could almost see her mom’s brain processing the variables, cataloging probabilities.
Then, in a snap, her entire posture decompressed as she drew her own conclusion, relief flooding her features so thoroughly it wiped a decade from her face. She pressed a hand to her heart, then gave a choked little laugh—half hysteria, half exhausted mother.
“Oh, thank God.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wallpapered hallway like someone who’d just narrowly avoided death by falling piano.
Frankie blinked. That was… not the reaction she’d expected. She cut her gaze sideways at Zion, who—miraculously—did not immediately crack a joke, which was how she knew the situation had escalated into truly uncharted territory. He just watched her mom, lips quirking with something that resembled concern.
Her mom lifted her head, and she looked at Frankie, a little sheepish, a little wild-eyed, as she took both her daughter’s hands and pulled them under her chin. “I know this is going to sound horrible and insane, and IpromiseI wasn’t judging you. But I did not sleep a wink last night, I lost afull night’s sleepworrying—” She sucked in a breath, voice trembling with the horror of the hypotheticals. “—more than that, I wasterrifiedthat you’d… that you and Liam had…” She trailed off, dropping Frankie’s hands as she waved hers as if to waft away the curse of the thought itself. She placed both hands over her chest as she shook her head back and forth. “I mean…can you imagine?!”
Yes, I absolutely can imagine.
“Thedamage,” her mom continued, “the irreparablepainthat would cause.”
Frankie had no idea what to do with the knowledge that her mother, after a series of very unfortunate events, had come to the conclusion that her daughter was having sexnotwith her ex-fiancé’s older brother, but with her bisexual best friend, Zion. Which would have been hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that she definitelyhadbeen having sex with her ex-fiancé’s olderbrother, and her mother’s reaction—her visible, physical recoil—proved that no one could ever find out that they had.
Just then, a shrill whistle cut through the air, so piercing it could shatter glass. Down the hallway, Yaya—dressed in full Greek battle regalia, complete with a crocheted shawl emblazoned with the blue-and-white flag—stood on tiptoe, waving both arms as if in the throes of an air-traffic emergency.
“Cora! Come! Come! Come! Uncle Leo says there is no such thing as a dry martini. I tell him, you, my favorite daughter-in-law, make the driest. He says he’s never had it, you’re lying, I say, you lie, he says—” Yaya’s accent always amplified whenever she was around her brothers, and her voice lifted another octave, the drama escalating, “—prove now! You settle this family slander, Cora! For honor!”
It was the kind of summons that had launched entire Mediterranean wars. Her mom instinctively straightened, forty years of muscle memory compelling her to obey.
She reached out, touching both Zion and Frankie’s cheeks. “I don’t know why you felt like you had to keep this from me. We’ll talk about it later, but I’msohappy you two finally found your way to each other,” she declared in a voice so cheerful it sounded like wind chimes in a hurricane. “You’ll make the mostbeautifulbabies.”
And then she was gone, her heels clicking away.
Frankie and Zee stood frozen for a full five seconds, the lingering scent of her mom’s Chanel perfume tickling the air.
“That was…next-level,” Zion summed up.
“Did that just happen?” Frankie asked, mortified to her marrow. “I think I just had an out-of-body experience. No, wait, I died. That’s what happened, right? I died of embarrassment in this hallway, and everything after my mom said she heard me having sex is just my personal Greek afterlife.”
Zee, ever the showman and self-proclaimed sketch comedy king, went directly into yes-and mode. “Should we scatter something? Olive pits? Bread crumbs? Do you want to haunt the baklava or the ouzo?”
She wanted to laugh, but the humiliation was so consuming it came out as a strangled croak. “This is all your fault,” she said, only half kidding. “If you weren’t so obnoxiously hot, maybe my mom wouldn’t fantasize about us procreating.”
Zion peacocked, then draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “What can I say? It’s a burden, having Mediterranean mothers everywhere holding out hope for procreation. But I bear it bravely.” He waggled his eyebrows, then ruffled her hair with a gentleness that made her want to cry and laugh at the same time.
The emotional whiplash was real. Frankie leaned into him, grateful for the grounding force of his presence, and let herself breathe. “What am I supposed to do now?” she asked. “Go in there and pretend we’re together? Lie to my mom’s face for the rest of brunch? For the rest of the weekend? Or, tell her the truth and risk, how did she put it, the damage and irreparable pain that it would cause?”
Zee smiled the confident smile of a man who’d spent his entire life improvising his way out of disaster. “You know my favorite movie isMy Best Friend’s Wedding. I was born to play this role.”
Frankie chuckled, then sobered instantly. “But what about…” She trailed off, unwilling to say Liam’s name out loud, as if it might conjure him like a poltergeist in the middle of the hallway. She’d been looking forward to seeing him today, but now…
Zion gave her a look—a loaded, searching, best-friend look—and for a second all the jokes dropped away. “Do you want to tell her? The truth?” he asked, voice quiet. “About Liam? Whateveryou want to do, I’ve got your back. I’ll burn this place down. I don’t care.”
Frankie hesitated. The idea of coming clean, of just laying all her secrets bare, felt as terrifying as it did liberating. She imagined the look on her mother’s face, the crestfallen horror, and the drama that would follow.
“I can’t,” she said, biting the inside of her mouth. “Not yet.”
