Royal Ruse - Emma Lea Page 0,32

looked up at me dreamily…or that could just be the wine glazing her eyes.

“You’re a cutie, Lukey Schmooky,” she said and then snorted at her own joke.

“And you need food,” I replied, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Frankie could hold her liquor, normally. In the entire time I’d known her, I’d never seen her this inebriated, and we’d done shots of raïda in college. I felt responsible. I should never have let my mother get her hooks into Frankie. I knew it would be a disaster, I just didn’t figure it would be such a public one. The only saving grace was that the club had strict policies regarding phone cameras and social media and the media in general. While Frankie might have created a bit of a scene within the club, thankfully nobody outside the club would find out about it.

“Why did you let her drink so much?” I asked Mother, who stared back at me with a calculating smile.

“Frankie is an adult and quite capable of making her own decisions,” Mother replied.

I didn’t know what Mother’s game was, but the sooner I got Frankie out of the club and sobered up, the better.

“Come on, Frankie,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Fran-shes-ca,” she said, butchering her own name. “Call me Franshesca.”

“No,” I replied, nudging her toward the exit and trying to ignore the stares from the patrons who watched our every move.

It took some maneuvering, but I managed to get Frankie in my car and her seatbelt on. I took a moment to drag in a breath and run a hand through my hair before rounding the car to slide behind the steering wheel.

“Pizza?” I asked as we drove down the sweeping driveway and out the gates.

“Yeah, pizza,” she agreed. “Ooh, and garlic bread, no! Those little garlic knot thingies. And fried dough for dessert. And wings. They do wings, right?”

“Yeah, they do wings,” I replied with a sigh.

I called in the order using the hands-free device and pointed the car toward the restaurant. She was cute when she was drunk…and hungry, but that was a good thing. I needed to get something in her to soak up all the alcohol. Maybe then she could tell me what happened, because something had to have happened for her to drink so much.

I shot her a quick look. Her eyes were closed, and she’d slid down the seat so she was practically lying down. It had the curious effect of hiking the skirt of her dress up and exposing the smooth skin of her thigh. I tugged my eyes away and swallowed thickly. The next time I looked at her, I made sure to focus on her face. Her makeup was slightly smudged and her hair was a bit wilder than it had been earlier, but she looked more like my Frankie than the woman Mother had brought into the office earlier.

“Frankie?”

“Mmm,” she hummed without opening her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“‘Course,” she said with a grin, but her eyes were still closed and I wasn’t convinced.

“I don’t believe you,” I replied.

She blinked her lashes open and looked at me. “I’m okay,” she said.

“You got drunk,” I stated.

Frankie rolled her eyes.

“On wine, of all things,” I said. “Tell me why.”

“You need to ask?” she replied, her voice losing the whimsical note from earlier. “Have you ever had ‘drinks with the girls,’ Lucas?”

I sighed. “I’m sure it was difficult.”

Frankie snorted. “It was horrifying. Those women worship your mother. I was convinced one of them would fall on her knees in supplication.”

I squeezed the steering wheel until my knuckles went white. I felt responsible. Frankie was in this position because of me, because of my inability to stand up to my parents. It wasn’t fair on her.

“The woman stole my phone and tampered with my social media apps,” Frankie went on, on a roll now. “She spouted all this crap about how I need to project a certain image and act a certain way, oh and by the way, everyone now has to refer to me as Francesca. And our celebrity couple name is going to be Lucesca, if you can believe it. Lucesca! I voted for Lunkie, but no one thought it was appropriate. So now I’ve not only lost my clothes and my hairstyle, but I’ve also lost my name and my identity. I am no longer an individual but part of a celebrity couple that has one of those stupid blended names like we are somehow now one person instead of two, intelligent people.”

“Frankie—”

“It was