“You would risk Lucas’ future in the Kabiero royal court because of your pride? You would put your own concerns ahead of those of the man you have agreed to marry?”
I hated that Maya made a valid point. The last thing I wanted was to change who I was, but none of this was real. By not playing nicely with Maya, I could in fact ruin Lucas’ chances to go to Kalopsia and for what? I was already pretending to be engaged to Lucas, what was a little more pretending? I could play ladies with Lucas’ mom if it meant getting him the title he deserved and getting him the hell away from his parents. If my stubbornness somehow jeopardized Lucas’ opportunity, I couldn’t live with myself. I loved my independence, but I loved Lucas more.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, keeping as much dignity as I could.
Maya Andino lit up like a Christmas tree. “I have made an appointment for you at my salon.” She checked her watch. “And we had better leave right now if we’re to make it on time.”
I looked down at myself. “I need to change—”
“No time for that, dear,” Maya said, standing to her feet. “I’ll have a change of clothes waiting for you at the salon and we’ll burn those.”
I didn’t know if she was joking or not…I thought maybe not.
I sighed and got to my feet. It was only for a couple of weeks and then Lucas would be free. I could do that. I could pretend to be a posh lady for a couple of weeks. Once we were on Kalopsia, I could once more be Frankie.
“Come along, Francesca. We do not want to keep Antonio waiting.”
Chapter 8
Lucas
“Lucas.”
With a sigh, I looked up from my computer screen at the sound of my mother’s voice. Could the woman never knock? Or allow Annabel to announce her presence?
The thoughts died as I took in the woman with my mother. Gone was the blonde ombré—yes, I now knew what to call that style thanks to Google—but thankfully, her hair was still short and choppy. It was a rich brown with toffee-colored highlights and the short hair under the longer top layers was a darker brown.
“Frankie,” I said, standing to my feet.
She was wearing makeup and a dress. I was sure Frankie had worn makeup and a dress before, but never like…that. My mother had given her a makeover, and I…hated it. I hated what my mother had done to her. Sure, she might look like a socialite now, and many people might think it was an improvement on her natural style, but not me. Mother had dressed Frankie in a floral sleeveless dress—floral—that skimmed her figure and finished with a flounce just below her knees. And she was wearing heels. It was something one of the English royals—or Clarissa—would wear. No scuffed boots or ripped jeans in sight, and I was sadder for it.
“Lucas,” Frankie replied through a smile which was more of a grimace.
She hated it too, and it was a relief. Not that I should have an opinion one way or the other, but things were already different between us and I didn’t know how I would cope if a sycophant to my mother replaced the Frankie I knew and loved.
“Doesn’t she look wonderful?” Mother preened as she looked at Frankie. “I had my doubts, but Antonio and his team are miracle workers.”
“I’m…speechless,” I answered, my eyes on Frankie. I didn’t know what was going on and my gut curdled. Why would Frankie agree to this? Why would she let my mother do this to her? It was so out of character for Frankie that it tempted me to check that she really was my Frankie and not a doppelgänger.
“I knew you would love it. Didn’t I tell you he would love it?”
Mother looked at Frankie expectantly and Frankie gave her a fake smile. Mother didn’t notice the smile didn’t reach Frankie’s eyes, but I did.
“And the press are going mad for her,” Mother went on.
“The press?” I asked, finally tearing my eyes away from Frankie to look at my mother. “What press?”
Mother shrugged and gave me a coy smile. “Someone tipped them off that we were at the salon. Fortunately, I had Anastasia waiting for us there with a new wardrobe for Francesca.”
“Frankie,” both Frankie and I said at the same time.
“Anastasia?” I asked, my eyes finding their way back to Frankie. I was trying to gauge her mood and just how much this would cost me. Not money. Frankie didn’t need my money. But I knew that I would have to pay for my mother’s meddling in some way. Frankie returned my gaze with nothing but a fake smile and I knew I was in deep.
“Anastasia, my stylist?” Mother replied, completely missing the tension in the room. “Don’t you remember, darling? She organized your suits last time.”
“Right,” I said. “Mother, would you mind terribly if Frankie and I have a moment alone together?”
Mother clapped her hands delightedly. “I knew you would love Francesca’s new look. I’ll leave you lovebirds alone and see if Effie is available. Don’t be too long, dear. We have drinks with the girls in half an hour.”
Neither Frankie nor I spoke until Mother left the office. As soon as the door closed, Frankie’s shoulders dropped, and she slumped into a chair.
“What is going on?” I asked, coming around my desk to lean against it in front of her. “Why did you let her do this to you?”
“Let her? Do you think I would willingly let her coerce me into this? I have flowers on my dress, Lucas. Flowers!”
“I can’t see any other way for it to have happened,” I answered truthfully. “You never do anything you don’t want to do. I thought for sure you could stand up to my mother and if you didn’t want a dress with flowers then why are you wearing it?”
Frankie sighed and tilted her head back, exposing the long, smooth length of her throat. I wondered if the skin was as soft as it looked. I wondered what it would feel like under my fingers…under my lips.
Frankie groaned and my attention snapped back to the conversation. I stood up and paced, moving behind her so she couldn’t see the effect she had on me.
“Your mother made it sound so reasonable. She made a valid argument about presenting an image fitting your new title and position.”
I paused in my pacing. “Frankie,” I said as I walked around to crouch in front of her. I took her hands in mine. “You didn’t need to do this. I don’t care what the media thinks and I don’t want you to be anyone other than yourself.”
Frankie patted my hand and smiled sadly. “Thanks, but we both know this is the best way. Besides, none of it is real, right? And I can pretend for a few weeks. Once you have the title and we are in Kalopsia, things can go back to normal.”
“Ha,” I laughed despite the pain in my chest. I didn’t like thinking about how temporary this situation was, or that before too long, Frankie would come back here and I would be living in another country permanently. “I hardly think living in a palace and dining with the king and queen can ever be construed as normal.”
“Oh…I didn’t think about it like that,” Frankie said. “I will have to dress like this the whole time, won’t I?” Frankie whined and I couldn’t help but be relieved to see the real Frankie beneath the fake one my mother had created.