Page 100 of Gravity of Love
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Frankie could take a breath,finally. She was, at least momentarily, off duty. She’d survived the vows, the toasts, the pictures, and her mom was…good. Virginia Valentine and Karina Black’s duet had been a complete surprise, and it had gone off without a hitch. Her mom cried like a baby. She’d been in a constant state of hypervigilance since four o’clock, ever since she’d arrived at the mountaintop lodge. Once she put on her bridesmaid gown, she’d managed, somehow, to put Liam out of her head, or at least in the back of her mind, and concentrate fully on getting her mom through the day without any issues, breakdowns, or even mini-freak-outs, and she’d succeeded.
The reception was in full swing. The whole place buzzed with the collective energy of three hundred guests simultaneously dancing, drinking, eating, and, thanks to Mr. Sterling’s fraternity brothers and the Costases, reliving old rivalries and making new ones.
She scanned the room and spotted Yaya, the Great Matriarch, slow dancing with her beau Arthur Santino, who had been discharged from the hospital two days earlier. It was crazy to think the latest drama in the soap opera that was theDays ofFrankie’s Livesbegan with her bringing Yaya to see Mr. Santino in the ER. That visit served as the catalyst for why she currently felt like her stomach lining was flipped inside out. If Arthur hadn’t been shot, she wouldn’t have gone to the hospital, which would mean she might never have run into Liam. He might not have even been at this wedding. Talk about the butterfly effect. Or was it the invisible string theory? Whichever one it was, something was telling her she and Liam were connected cosmically.
During her walk down the aisle, he had looked at her like he was a starving cartoon wolf, and she was a steak. His ocular attention caused hope to temporarily bloom in her chest and other areas farther south. But ever since Mayor Walker said those magic words, “You may kiss the bride!” it was as if she became invisible to him, or worse, that he viewed her as hissister.
He’d gone back to treating her like he had when they were growing up. Protective, yes, but in a brotherly way. She almost dropped her glass, he caught it and gently handed it back to her. He bumped into her andpolitelysaid excuse me. When a drunk guest nearly took her out, he ran interference and protected her, then checked to make sure she was okay before turning back around to talk to herbrothers. When he was going to get a drink at the bar, he asked both her and Poppy if they needed anything. Poppy said yes, she said no. She wasnothis sister. They’d crossed that line when his tongue was in her mouth…and…other places farther south. She wasn’t sure if she was more angry or sad about this new development, which was actually an old reversion.
It was taking every ounce of self-control not to confront him about him ignoring her, his familial behavior,andthe hidden art studio/shrine he had in his home. If any other person on earth (with the exception of her mom, Yaya, or Zee) had that room intheir house and she walked in and saw it, she would have called the police.
Secret room + stalking = Penn Badgley’s character Joe Goldberg fromYou.
But it wasn’t a random person. It was Liam, which did make it the most romantic gesture in the world. So instead of being horrified, she wanted to know why. Why hadn’t he shown it to her? Why hadn’t he told her he’d bought her art? Had he used fake names when he did? She knew that she’d sold those pieces to people in Texas, Canada, Isreal, France…were they all him? Why had he dug pictures she’d drawn out of the trash and kept them from when she was a child?
The questions had been building inside of her like a balloon being filled with helium, and she was so close to bursting, but she knew this wasn’t the place or time. She wasn’t going to make a scene at her mom’s wedding. By this time tomorrow, she’d be able to interrogate him mercilessly, and she planned on doing exactly that.
Deciding she needed a drink to help her numb her senses, which were raw and frayed, Frankie took off across the reception with the purposeful stride of a woman with main-character energy determined to get alcohol that she hoped would dull her anxiety.
Before she made it to the bar that was surrounded by relatives, family friends, colleagues of Mr. Sterling, and Hope Falls residents, Zee intercepted her with two French 75s in hand, which were their cocktails of choice, rescuing her in the nick of time as per usual. He guided her to a small alcove beside a massive roaring fireplace. It was then that she realized she hadn’t seen him in over an hour.
“Where’ve you been hiding?” she asked.
He jerked his chin toward the bartender, who was currently mixing up something neon and dangerous looking. “Making newfriends. That’s Mateo. He has a tattoo of the Golden Girls and a tongue piercing. I’m in love.”
“You’re supposed to bemydate.” Frankie teased as she craned her neck for a better look at the newest apple of Zee’s eye. Her mom had been so preoccupied there was no way she’d been worried about what Zee was doing. “He’s cute! Good jawline.”
Zee lifted his champagne flute. “To cute men with good jawlines.”
Their glasses clinked, and they downed their drinks in one go, savoring the tart fizz and cold bite of gin. Zee took Frankie’s now empty flute and his own back to the bar and returned with two more identical drinks less than sixty seconds later. For a moment, the two of them just stood, soaking in the ambiance as they sipped their second champagne cocktail. People watching was one of their preferred pastimes, and this clash of culture and classes was prime Homo sapiens spectating. The music, the laughter, the blur of familial and medical world royalty clustered together under crystal chandeliers hanging from wooden rafters would be a sociologist’s playground.
Frankie felt Zee’s critical but loving gaze when he turned to her.
“What?” she asked.
“You look beautiful, but from the fake happy mask you’re wearing, I’m guessing you have not talked to him yet.”
Fake happy mask? Only Zee would call her on that. “No. I mean, yes. Sort of. During pictures we talked a little. He was…”
Zion’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“Polite.” The word tasted bad in her mouth.
Zee gasped and clutched his chest with appropriate mortification.
Frankie continued, “He was treating me like his sister.”
As if summoned by prophecy, Poppy, Liam’sactualsister, appeared in front of Frankie with a champagne flute in one handand a lipstick-stained napkin in the other. “There you are!” she squealed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“What’s up?” Frankie asked.
“Two things?” She held up her pointer and middle finger. “What is going on with you and my brother that is making him even more miserable and broody than normal?” She put her middle finger down. “And what’s up with yours?”
“Which brother?”
“I only have one,” Poppy replied.
