Best Laid Plans by Billy London Page B

you do. I know you’ll do well. Love, Dad. Frankie binned the card and offered the cheque to her mother in the hope that it would cancel out Joanne’s resentment that she’d had to pay for everything for Frankie and her father never paid a penny. On presenting the cheque to Joanne, Frankie only narrowly avoided a slap. “How dare you! I don’t want a thing from that terrible man.”
    Frankie saved it and when she was ready, used the money to buy her first home—with Leon, and hell had that been a mistake. It should have been obvious to her that anything to do with her father would be tainted by the fact that he didn’t want her. That he could only deal with her at a distance, once a year. Christ, what if Luca was like that? Her phone flashed. Speak of the devil.
    “Hi, Lucky,” she said, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice. Stupid, fucking hormones, she was going to cry.
    “What happened?”
    “Mum just found out that I’ve found a new place to live,” she lied. “I’m all right.”
    “I’ll be in London by tomorrow morning.”
    Frankie slapped a hand over her eyes. “No, don’t you dare! Stay where you are and sort your family out.”
    “Francesca...”
    “Please. Please. Just stay there.”
    He must have heard the desperation in her tone urging him to relent. “All right. You need to answer my calls because you are all that’s keeping me going here.”
    Thank God! “I’m all right, I promise. Do what you need to.”
    She sat down on her bed and willed him to just accept what she was saying. “Don’t start doubting me.”
    “I won’t,” she said, praying he couldn’t hear that she was blatantly lying. They disconnected and Frankie lay back on her bed, breathing out in long, slow breaths until she had a complete hold on herself. She sat up and continued packing. Several things she could leave where they were, and even though she really didn’t want to, she’d just have to stay at Luca’s for a few days. She’d bring him a house plant. That’d be a fair exchange.
     

Chapter Twelve
    Point blank determination delivered a carer to Luca in less than two weeks. His references checked out, the references that Tony ran on him worked out, and his father seemed accepting of another male in his home—one that wasn’t his own flesh and blood anyway. An Anna Taylor, copying in Rocco, had sent him a contract for the carer for Luca to add details and for him and the carer to sign. There was a version in English and Italian, for clarity’s sake. It should have surprised Luca how well connected he was now, but he just wanted this to be done so he could go.
    “What about a new kitchen?” Edrige asked, watching the carer move his case into the guest room, which had a perfectly fitted en suite bathroom.
    “You can supervise that yourself,” Luca replied as he set up the payments to the carer’s bank account for the first of every month. For incentive, Luca had given him a month’s salary in advance just so Luca could go home. Naples wasn’t home anymore. He realised that. Home was in the scent of Francesca’s neck, in her smile and her laughter.
    Edrige noticed he wasn’t paying attention. “But you’ll pay for it?”
    God, please grant me the patience. “Do you want a new kitchen?”
    She rolled her shoulders defensively. “Well, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want one.”
    “Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. Email me.”
    “We haven’t...”
    “You do have broadband, it’s all fitted here. You and I don’t need to talk. It’s fine, I’m fine with that.”
    Guilt finally pulled at her features. “You haven’t made this easy for any of us. If you’d just done what you were told, then it wouldn’t be like this.”
    “It would.” Luca sighed. “It was inevitable. Like I said, email me if you need anything more.”
    “Dafne called,” she announced. Irritation prickled at Luca’s shoulders.
    “Did you talk to her?”
    “Why wouldn’t I? I felt terrible