But then again, they all treated Mary like the center of their universe. Isabelle, Albert, and the boys worshipped the ground she walked on.
“Oh.” Francesca’s fingers spasmed in his hand, as if the news actually shocked her. Looking everywhere but at him, she whispered, “Is she all right?”
He used one hand to cup the side of her head. Luis pressed a kiss to her temple, hoping it could somehow convey just how much that soft question meant to him.
“She’s the happiest person I know,” he assured her. “Mama is spoiled rotten by all of us. She likes to play tennis, thinks action films have gotten too violent lately, and once tried to get my father onto a paddle board. She’s great.”
A real smile, close-lipped and shy, curled that soft mouth. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for her.”
Luis tried and mostly failed to catch her eye when he said, “I’m sure she’d love to meet you. It’d mean a lot to her to talk to someone who could relate to her.”
He could almost see her pulling back the moment the words left his lips. She’d retreated into that protective shell he’d been butting up against for so long. Only now he couldn’t bring himself to be frustrated by it.
Why would she trust him when he’d been pretending to be someone else the entire time they’d known each other? And why would she take the risk of caring about him when the world had been so cruel to her?
“Thanks, but we’ll just have to see. Um, you should probably get back,” she muttered. Francesca slipped her hand out of his and stood. “They’ll be looking for you, and Max?—”
He stood as well. Refusing to let her scurry away again, he hooked his claws around the back of her elegant neck. Luis swooped down on her with a soft growl.
Francesca’s lips parted on a gasp when they met. The delicate muscles of her nape tensed for only a heartbeat before they relaxed again. She swayed toward him, one hand coming up to rest above his heart like it was drawn there.
She was soft and sweet against him, all sugar and warmth and that indefinable thing that made him want to chain her to him, body and soul.
“I’m going to win,” he promised her between wet, sucking kisses. “A stab wound won’t stop me. You running away won’t stop me. You’re mine, Frankie.”
She sucked in a breath, almost like she needed to brace herself. “For thirty days.”
He smiled. “We’ll see.”
FIFTEEN
“Are you Milo?”
Francesca wasn’t entirely sure why she asked. Of course he was Milo. She’d never seen a stronger family resemblance between two people who weren’t twins in her life.
The massive vampire stood by the corner of the ridiculous VIP box, one hand leaning on a comically over-sized slugger spiked with nails. His glower — and the bat — seemed to do wonders for keeping the crush of the massively increased crowd from pressing too close, which she appreciated.
What she appreciated even more was the way he offered her his hand to help her up the tricky step.
“Careful,” he muttered, steadying her when her ankle nearly failed in the too-tall heels she’d put back on. “Luis will kill me if you get hurt on my watch.”
She looked up sharply. “Not really, right?”
It seemed like a damn fair question to her considering what she’d seen that night, but apparently Milo didn’t share that opinion. A thin smile crossed his face. “No,” he assured her, “not really. He likes me too much.”
Francesca paused there on the step, her hand in his. Peering closely at him, she accused, “Youmustbe Milo.”
He nodded. “I am.”
Wiggling her finger at the white streak in his hair, she asked, “Is that a brother thing?”
Gently but firmly guiding her into the box, he answered, “It’s an Amauri thing. You’ll see.”
I’ll see?
Francesca’s head whipped around to look at him, but he was already turned toward the crowd, his brawny arms crossed in front of his chest. She wasn’t sure how she felt about any of the implications of that statement. But there wasn’t any time to ask him for clarification or to let him know that whatever he thought might be between her and his brother…
Well, she’d really like to know, because she was at a loss.