Burning Down the Spouse (18 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Separated Women, #Greek Americans, #Humorous, #Contemporary, #Women Cooks, #General, #Romance, #Humorous Fiction, #Fiction, #Cultural Heritage, #Love Stories

BOOK: Burning Down the Spouse
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Simon stopped short in the corner of Little Anthony’s, throwing his arm with unbelievable accuracy and placement around his friend’s shoulder just as Jasmine laughed. “Did I tell you, or did I tell you Jasmine was here? I didn’t just hear her either. I smelled her perfume. Very distinct. Magically delicious.”
Hoping to thwart Simon’s intent to crash dinner, due to the pair of big, amber eyes looking at him with accusation like he’d just interrupted a discussion about feminine products, Nikos nodded with a cluck of his tongue. “You did. What you failed to hear with those big ears of yours was Jasmine’s
date
. She’s not alone.” There. Mission aborted due to unfriendly fire.
“Oh, Nik. You have crappy game. You couldn’t lie if someone gave you cold hard cash to do it. Jasmine’s date is a woman. I can smell her perfume. So either join me, or turn tail and roll. I’m goin’ in.”
Nikos sighed; there was no stopping Simon when he got it in his head he wanted something.
Yes, Simon’s balls were a thing of beauty due some primitive, cavemanlike admiration. Big and clanging, they fueled him toward the Jasmine goalpost, dragging a reluctant Nikos in with him.
And given that Frankie was scowling at him as though he were Hannibal Lecter rudely interrupting her dinner and demanding she hand over her thigh for him to snack on, this would be the time to display his very own set of balls.
In resignation, he acknowledged there was nothing to do but play along. So mission reevaluated. Proceed with caution due to unfriendly female.
Nikos smiled from behind Simon and cooed, injecting as much charm as he could into his greeting, “Heeeeey, ladies. Lonely?”
“Dude,” Simon whispered over his shoulder. “Very lounge-lizard leisure-pants-ish, maybe even a little stalker creepy. Cool it.”
“This from a man who
smells
his woman out?”
Using his cane to find his way to the edge of the ladies’ table, Simon murmured, “Follow my lead, brother. We’re goin’ in.”
Gun loaded, locked, and ready.
CHAPTER SEVEN
 
From the “no longer so much reluctant as just plain old, had it up to her eyeballs” journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: I’m never going out of my aunt’s house again. I don’t care if the apocalypse is slated to hit only Jersey and safety awaits me in like, Fiji. I’d rather skip the sunburn and end it all in a fiery ball of Garden State Parkway and tsunami-like waves from the Jersey Shore. I want to go back to my cave. Call me melodramatic, but I personally believe I excelled at cave dwelling and was best left alone to do just that. Dwell. Oh, and I thought I was warming to Maxine Barker and her hokey-schmokey, helpful, ex-trophy-wife tips. My asshattery. Let me show you.
 
Jasmine gazed in total silence at Nikos and his friend, her haughty glare a sight different than the warmth of the laughter in her eyes just moments ago.
The blond, very large man with Nikos leaned down, with great precision for someone who was blind, directly in front of Jasmine. “Miss me, pretty lady?”
“Like I’d miss a public flogging.”
He chuckled, low and with delighted relish. “Kinky.” His vacant but warm eyes strayed in Frankie’s general direction, a hand potentially capable of wrapping itself around her neck extended toward her. “I’m Simon. Nice to meet you, and you smell great.”
Frankie took his hand and almost giggled until Jasmine gave her the girlfriend frown. The one that meant she was to find this man neither amusing, good-looking, nor, God forbid, charming. Like it or not. Frankie cleared her throat and put on her most stern frown in defense of the woman she liked more and more and hoped to appease in order to cultivate their budding friendship.
“Frankie Bennett, and thank—” Jasmine gave her another girlfriend glare of fire and brimstone, thwarting further planned courtesies. She clamped her mouth shut with a wince of apology in Jasmine’s direction.
His jovial smile widened. “Really?
The
Frankie Bennett? I’m so jazzed to meet you.”
Frankie’s face fell in an instant. She shot a frost-filled dagger of a glance at Nikos, who feigned ignorance, before responding with intentional ice in her tone, “Yes. I’m
the
Frankie Bennett. The crazy, ex-media-proclaimed-trophy wife of celebrity chef Mitch in the Kitchen. And double yes to your next question. I’m also the woman that fully intended assault with a deadly wooden spoon upon Mitch Bennett’s lying, cheating person, during a live broadcast of his show.” She gave Nikos another narrow-eyed gaze, slamming her fork down on her plate of half-eaten spaghetti so he’d be really clear about her displeasure at turning her into a sideshow freak.
Simon guffawed, clearly thoroughly amused by her blunt statement. “You sound like my kind of girl, but that’s not what I meant. In case you missed my clumsy approach, I’m blind. I didn’t see the show, but it damned well makes me wish I could still use the old eyeballs. Must have been awesome retribution. I’m sure whatever happened, the punk deserved it.”
“Always with the blind card,” Jasmine huffed, slinking downward in her chair when Frankie gave her a look of admonishment. No matter the reason Jasmine didn’t like Simon—and she’d held nothing back in showing her displeasure—he’d taken Frankie’s side.
You had to like that in a guy.
Simon chose to ignore Jasmine’s jab; the dazzling smile he wore never left his face. “I meant you’re the Frankie Bennett Nikos is always talking about. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. That’s all he does. Frankie this and Frankie that.”
Oh. Well. That was a whole different ball of Frankie wax, now wasn’t it? The warmth Jasmine was so determined to stomp out in Frankie returned—tenfold. So Jasmine and her wadded knickers be damned. And Nikos with the murderous glance at his friend Simon be damned, too. Damn everything but the music of Simon’s words to Frankie’s crush-starved ears.
“What Simon means is,” Nikos interrupted, all smooth and unruffled, “I told him about how lucky we are to have found someone as good at peeling onions as you are.”
Frankie rolled her eyes at Nikos, then addressed Simon. “My apologies. I’m a little touchy about the subject. I tend to overreact, and please, forgive my insensitivity to you.” She made sure her tone of voice was extra shamefaced.
Simon gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting it go. “Totally understandable, Frankie. So why are you two pretty ladies having dinner alone when there are two perfectly willing men to eat it with you?”
“So I won’t choke on my meatballs?” was Jasmine’s catty response. Her harsh words were doing the same thing she’d accused Frankie of earlier—saying no, but her eyes on Simon, well, that was a different story. They virtually gleamed with the opportunity for a shot at some verbal sparring, and there was no hiding that.
“Well,” Simon purred. “We couldn’t have that, could we? But all’s well. I know the Heimlich. So move over and we’ll join you, just in case there’s a medical incident.” Simon somehow managed to locate the empty chair at the table next to them in the close quarters of the restaurant. He dragged it next to Jasmine’s, sitting in it with the scarred wooden back facing the table.
Frankie began to giggle, but it turned into a muffled snort when Jasmine flicked her forearm hard, and Nikos’s sigh of exasperation filled her ears.
Simon’s hand trailed with deft fingertips over the table until his hand found Jasmine’s. “So how’s Foofy’s?” he cooed.
“It’s Fluffy’s and it’s still running rampant with naked women in thongs you can’t see.” She shot a catty smile at Frankie and Nikos while batting at Simon’s hand.
Hoo boy.
Frankie’s eyes slid back to the table, avoiding Nikos’s altogether while she picked at her now cold noodles. “Your friend?” she muttered under her breath while Simon engaged Jasmine in rapid-fire conversation.
Nikos’s shoulder brushed against hers, making her fight a shiver. “If I said no, he’s just some guy I found outside who looked like he needed a meal, would you believe me?”
She chuckled. “I might, seeing as you feed the homeless guy who sleeps under the bench near the diner’s parking lot almost every day. However, Simon’s dressed too well. He’s also pretty intent on getting Jasmine’s attention, but then, who wouldn’t be?”
He caught her eyes with his, captivating her without even trying. “You have beautiful hair. I like it down.”
Preen, preen, preen
. She tugged self-consciously at a strand to avoid a messy coo of pleasure. “It needs a dye job and a trim. My ends are split.”
Very flirtatious, Frankie. It’s a good thing you want to shrivel up and turn into a recycled virgin.
When she’d been married to Mitch, she’d hit the salon religiously every six weeks. She was almost ashamed that she hadn’t given her hair more scrutiny tonight before she’d left. Yet, that was all part of living life for herself and no one else. She didn’t have to have her roots done. Such a rebel.
“I didn’t know you and Jasmine were friends,” he said, low and husky.
“We met at Maxine’s support group meeting a couple of weeks ago. This is our first date.”
“Ah, the ex-trophy wife club, right?” Nikos sipped his wine, his luscious lips wrapping around the rim of the glass, making her stomach jolt with a rush of heart-shattering desire.
The feeling was new and something totally foreign to her. So foreign, she had to grip her hands together in a clenched fist to keep her breathing even.
“Yep. It’s where we go to bemoan the loss of our limitless platinum cards and learn how to clip coupons and survive on minimum wage. Fun, fun, fun.” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her tone, but it wasn’t easy when she looked back on her old lifestyle and how pathetic and shallow it must seem to someone as hardworking as Nikos. Tonight, she’d been busy appreciating a delicious meal she could pay for herself, not crying about the fact that she wasn’t eating the meal in authentic Italy. Which was a really nice place to visit, but somehow, not as nice as it had once seemed.
“Do you miss those luxuries, Frankie?”
Her head instantly moved in the negative, words spilling from her mouth she didn’t realize she meant until the question was posed. “No. Not the way I guess most who’ve lived the lifestyle I have would. To be honest, I spent the better part of six months in bed since my divorce. So I was comatose during the socially acceptable mourning period over the loss of my Ferragamos,” she joked. “Now those, I really do kinda miss, but not much else. I was never much into clothes or any of that until Mitch decided I had to be.” Or demanded she had to be so she’d always be perfect when they made happy-couple public appearances.
His next question was one asked in solemn tones, and Frankie couldn’t decide why he was asking it, or whether she should even wonder if there was a point to it at all—maybe he was just making conversation to pass the time until Simon ran out of Jasmine fuel. “Do you miss Mitch?”
Her breath hitched at such an intimate inquiry. It made her fight the ridiculous notion that Jasmine was right, and Nikos really was interested in her. “N . . . wait, I want to say this the right way. No. I don’t miss Mitch. I miss the idea he represented. I miss the hours in my day his needs filled to keep me occupied. I miss what’s familiar, and I’m scared witless of the unknown. I miss the feeling that I was part of something important—even if I was just a background player. But by the end of our marriage, anything intimate or warm and fuzzy was long gone. We had more of a working relationship than anything else. Now I know why.” Those words were like shedding a skin, one that had become too tight and so constrictive, she could barely breathe.
Yet, Nikos didn’t appear daunted by her admission. He leaned in, his cologne, tangy and woodsy, filled her nostrils, his stunningly handsome face showed apparent interest. “You mean because of Bamby?”
Her cheeks flushed, but in some bizarre way, saying it out loud, letting her personal introspection become not so private, somehow felt right. “Our marriage was over long before Bamby, I think. I don’t know why I didn’t see it then as clearly as I do now. I guess we got into one of those ruts everyone talks about. Everything became about Mitch and his career, doing whatever it took to keep him on the celebrity chef winning streak he was on. I was just his cheerleaderslash-gofer. Looking back, Bamby shouldn’t have been the sucker punch she was. I should have seen the signs.”
Nikos’s beautifully chiseled face flashed an expression she didn’t understand regarding her words, but would definitely pinpoint as relief. “It was a shitty thing to do. Shittier still that he left you with nothing. It isn’t like he couldn’t spare a dime.”
Frankie heard his scorn, and she wanted to buy into it. So wanted. Instead, she nodded with a vague smile. “Established. But the nothing portion of this mess is entirely my fault. Mitch asked me to sign a prenup in the beginning of our marriage, and I did so willingly to prove my love wasn’t about his wealth. I guess I just never thought our marriage would be reduced to numbers. But who does, right? In fact, I didn’t think about the prenup at all until it was too late, making me not so bright and shiny.”
“No, Frankie. It just makes you trusting. You were young when you married, right?”

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