Page 149 of The Worst Best Man
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re Aiden Kilbourn, permanent bachelor and womanizer. You’re married to your work. And I didn’t know how to say it. I wasn’t saving it up to tip the scales at the right moment. I just didn’t know how to tell you without breaking my own heart.”
“Franchesca, we can make this work. We love each other.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It has to be.”
She shook her head and pulled free from his grip and held up her hands when he stepped forward. “Look at me. Understand me. I don’t want to be here and I don’t want you to come with me.”
“Why can’t we talk this out? Why can’t you let me fix this?”
“Because a team fixes things together, Aiden. And we’re not a team, and we’re not together.”
He took a step back as if she’d landed a physical blow. This couldn’t be the end of it. But she was picking up her bag and moving to the door. She paused, her hand on the knob.
“Don’t talk to me. Don’t come see me. Don’t call me.”
God she meant it. He’d never seen her so serious, so hurt. And he’d done that.
“And one more thing. Elliot’s trying to ruin you, Aiden. Be careful there.”
She left, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. And all the light went out of his world.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Back in her apartment, in the bed they had shared, she finally let the tears come. Hot and salty, they scorched paths down her cheeks and soaked the pillow beneath her. His pillow. She’d known, hadn’t she, that this was how it would end? She’d taken precautions, but in the end, nothing could have guarded her heart from Aiden.
He’d looked so brokenly at her as she left. She felt his pain echo inside her. They were both to blame. She for falling for him and him for disappointing her. He would always be looking for a way to win. It was in his blood.
Frankie rolled over, clutching the pillow to her chest and cried until she slept.
The dull gray winter morning did little to coax her out of bed. She’d seen Pru in the depths of despair over Chip and had promised herself she’d never let a man wreck her like that. And here she was aching on the inside, eyes puffy from so many tears shed.
She couldn’t today. She couldn’t go out into the world, not with news of Aiden and Margeaux smugly splattered on every blog and news site in the city. Not with the truth of her loneliness.
She texted Brenda and sent her apologies saying she wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come in today.
Great. Not even the threat of loss of income could tempt her out of bed. She was officially a broken woman. She didn’t even want food. She just wanted to be left alone.
As if the universe heard that thought, there was a loud pounding on her door. Frankie’s heart raced at the thought that it might be Aiden who magically found the right words to stop her hurt. She pulled a pillow over her head and pretended the world didn’t exist.
Unfortunately, the world had a key to her apartment. Two big bodies hit her mattress, jostling her under the covers.
“Go away.”
Her pillow, the one that smelled like Aiden’s shampoo—oh God, his thousand-million-dollar shampoo was still in her shower—was ripped from her face.
Her brother Marco smiled down at her. “There she is,” he said cheerfully.
“Get. Out.”
“It’s either us or Ma, and she’s curled up in the fetal position crying about all those beautiful Kilbourn babies she’ll never get to hold,” Gio announced from the foot of her bed.
Frankie did the last thing her brothers expected her to do. She burst into tears. In all her adult years, she had never once cried in their presence. Not even that time when one of their buffoon cousins broke her arm playing flag football on Thanksgiving.
“Oh, shit,” Marco whispered.
