What Money Can't Buy Ch. 09

"Right? The owner really screwed up a good opportunity. He's barely been open a year," Frank sighs and leans back. "Anyway, how're things in your life? How's it been living with Francesca?" he asks me, but I barely hear him. Francesca has wandered out of her dressing room in a tight-fitting emerald dress with a v-neck and thin, delicate straps. It shows off her small waist and the swell of her breasts and behind perfectly, and there is a slit travelling up her luscious legs. She looks absolutely incredible.

"Sorry, excuse me," I tell Frank before I stand and stalk towards her. She sees me in the mirror and smiles. "Get this one," I mutter darkly when I reach her, then let my hands slide down her sides and settle on her hips.

She rolls her eyes, but they are twinkling, the green deepened from the complimenting dress, "Reggie, I'm just trying it on." I scoff at her, and she appraises herself in the mirror, smiling mischievously. "Hmmm... I don't know..." she grabs the straps and adjusts the top of the dress, making her breasts jiggle in the tight corset, teasing me.

My eyes darken, "Francesca," I murmur in her ear as I pull a stray tendril behind it, "I'm buying you this dress. You can wear it tonight if you'd like, or not. But either way, I promise, I'll be peeling it off you later," I say salaciously, then nip at her earlobe and she sucks in a breath.

"Christ!" Peggy interrupts us loudly as she wanders from her dressing room in a red dress, "I can't hang out with all of you couples again until I get laid! It's been waaaayyyy too long, which is hard to believable, considering I'd take a man or woman. Life is unfair," she whines, evaluating her reflection. Francesca and I both laugh. "Consequently, Francesca, he's right. I'd like to peel you out of that thing," she says, then flips her hair and returns to the dressing room.

Francesca looks shocked, but she's got a smile on her face when she turns her head up to look at me. I kiss her deeply. "I'll wear it, if you'll keep your promise," she says quietly against my lips, and I grin.

"BARF!" Peggy calls from the dressing room, and we're laughing again. I hug Francesca against me again, and we grin like idiots at each other in the mirror.

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"Thank you, Ben," I say as we pull up in front of the event center Malcolm ended up booking. According to Jamie, when he arrived to scope out Bowen's for the event, he was horrified. I wish I could have seen his face- I'm sure he was appalled at the idea of hosting anything at such a "drab" place. Fucking prick. Francesca is surveying the building through the window and wrapping her coat around her slight frame. "You sure that you want to do this?" I ask her for what feels like the 15^th time that night. She turns to me and nods, smiling meekly before opening the door and stepping onto the pavement. I start to follow, but I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of her. Her coat is open, exposing her gorgeous dress, and her hair is pulled up, but there are tendrils whipping around her face in the wind. There is a street-lamp just behind her head, and it makes her look like she is radiating light. My angel. Wow. She smiles at me and I shake my head to return to reality before climbing form the car and taking her hand.

We check our coats at the front and I survey the room. There are 25 large tables in the main area, and a stage up front. There is an entire shellfish table, waiters wandering with passed hors d'oeuvres, and two bars. I roll my eyes at the decadence of it all. "There's Rose and Cheryl," Francesca says, gesturing across the room to our table.

"Why don't you go meet them and I'll get us some drinks- what would you like?" I offer.

She swallows, her eyes flitting across the room. "Scotch," she says. Poor girl is so nervous. I nod and she makes her way to our table.

I place my order at the nearest bar just as my middle brother Charles joins me. "Reg, long time no see," he says, sipping what I assume is an old-fashioned. I don't turn to him- I haven't seen anyone in the family for 7 or 8 months, and I honestly am not sure I'm ready to deal with all of this.

"Charles," I reply coldly. "How're you?"

He shrugs, "You know. Dad's riding me constantly." He sucks down his drink and gestures for another as the bartender places two glasses of top shelf scotch in front of me. "Damn, taking it two at a time tonight? Is seeing your family that daunting?" he asks me sarcastically. When I don't respond, he continues jeering, "I thought saints didn't drink."

I turn and engage him, "Fuck off, Charles," I seethe.

He looks down, and if I'm not mistaken, I think he's ashamed. "Jesus, Reg, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm such a dick all the time. It's really great to see you," he mutters awkwardly, and I'm taken aback. Charles and I were close, once. I miss that.

Still, I know better than to just give in- he likely needs something from me. But I don't have the heart to be so cold. "It's fine. This is for my girlfriend, Francesca. I should get back to her," I say, picking up the glasses and turning to wander into the crowd.

"You brought a girl? She must be tough to face all of us at once. Where is she?" He asks, seeming genuinely interested, which surprises me.

I soften even more and lift one of the glasses and point her out, "The one in green," I tell him.

He spots her and inhales sharply, "Damn, Reg. She's a fine bird. And she likes scotch? I've got to meet this woman," he says, grabbing his new drink and wandering through the crowd. Shit. I follow him and catch up just as he reaches Francesca and the rest of a crew who must have arrived while I was at the bar. "Good evening, Francesca," Charles holds out his hand and she cautiously takes it, looking confused. "I'm Charles, Reginald's brother. It is a pleasure to meet you," he kisses her knuckles and smiles at her.

She looks over at me with wide eyes, then back at Charles. "Hello," is all she manages. I hand Francesca her drink, then slink my arm around her waist, squeezing her against me.

"Are these your friends?" Charles asks me, gesturing to the crew around our table. I nod and introduce him to everyone. "And this is Jamie. She and her husband Trevon run Bowen's, one of the youth centers that I volunteer for," I explain to him, and they shake hands. "Where is Trevon?" I ask Jamie.

"He's feeling ill, unfortunately, but he sends his love," she smiles brightly at me.

"That's too bad, it's been a while," I say, "Tell him I say hello."
"It's a shame he couldn't join," Charles interjects, "But, now that you have an empty seat at the table, perhaps I could join? I'd love to get to know you all and catch up with my baby bro, here," he asks me.

Before I can respond, Francesca jumps in, "Of course," she says, and Charles flashes her a bright smile. What the hell is happening? Charles sits next to Peggy, who is eyeing him lustfully. Good lord. Francesca takes the seat next to him and I join them at the table. We all chat for a moment, then the room settles down as my parents take the stage.

Here we go. "Thank you all for coming tonight. We are so glad to see such a good turnout for a worthy cause." The crowd applauds. "The disadvantaged youth of London are very important to our family, but our son Reginald will talk more about that in a bit. For now, I'll turn it over to my wife to explain what you can expect from this evening's festivities."

My mother takes the microphone and continues, "To start the night off right, we've arranged for a cocktail hour that that you all can mingle and catch up about your holidays! We've set up a silent auction in the back, so please peruse it and be generous in your offers! All donations will go directly into youth centers around the city, as well as the 125,000 pounds we've already raised from table sales!" The crowd claps, hoots and hollers. "In about an hour, our son will share with you his experiences with these deserving children. Then, you'll hear all about where your donations will be going from the manager of a local youth community center, Jamie Bowen. Following the speeches, we'll enjoy a delicious four-course meal. After dinner, we invite you to stay, enjoy the live band, and ring in the new year with us!" The audience claps again, and my parents wander off the stage. I roll my eyes at the disingenuous nature of it all.

"Wow, 125,000 pounds," Francesca swallows, but sounds very impressed. I don't have the heart to tell her that my family likely spent 100,000 pounds or more on this party, which they could have simply donated. "Are you nervous for your speech?" she asks me.

"I'll be alright, thanks to you," I reply, leaning in and kissing her. I think back to how she calmed me down two nights ago.

She's leaning over me as I sit at her desk staring at the horribly out-of-touch speech Malcolm sent me with a note from my mother about wanting me to speak at the event. "Francesca, I can't do this. I hate public speaking and this speech is trash," I whine, putting my head in my hands.

"You hate public speaking? How do you perform with the band?" she asks, confused, but continues when I don't reply right away, "You can re-write the speech, babe. Just speak from the heart, you love the center. It will be easy," she tells me, rubbing my back.

I shake my head in my hands, "The band is different. It's not my words, plus, when I'm singing, I can get lost in the music, forget about the crowd in a way..." I try to explain my situation so that she can understand.

I look up at her, and she's pursing her lips, contemplating. Then, she takes the laptop from in front of me and puts it on her lap. "Tell me why you love working at the centers," she says. I look back at her, confused. "I'll take notes and write you a new speech," she says calmly, "but we'll have to brainstorm about the stage-fright."

I smile sheepishly, "You don't need to do that, Francesca," I reassure, "I just wanted to vent."

She glares at me, one eyebrow raised. "What? You don't think I can write a good speech? I'm an excellent writer! Thought about going to school for it, actually. So there!" She replies snarkily.

I hold my hands up in defeat, "Alright, Killer, have at it," I laugh, and I start telling her about the centers.

She pulls me from my daydream, "I thought you could wear an earbud in one ear and listen to some music while you speak, might calm you down?" she offers, holding out a pair of wireless earbuds. I take the case from her and open it, and I see two small earbuds. "What do you think?" she asks me.

This is so thoughtful. "Thank you so much!" I grin at her, "This is such a great idea. God, you take such good care of me," I murmur, honestly taken aback. She cares so much, supports me unconditionally, like my family never did. I lean forward and kiss her again.

"I told you I would brainstorm," she reminds me, and I grin at her. "Now, shall we go check out the auction?" she asks me. I nod and we stand and start to leave, but Charles stops us.

"You're leaving me here? I was hoping to get to know you, Francesca," he whines, "Maybe we could chat over dinner?" What is his deal?

"That would be lovely," she replies, and smiles at him before turning back and wandering to the auction table.

I catch up to her, "Hey, I'm sorry he's being so pushy. I know you were hoping to barely interact with my family. I hope you're doing alright," I tell her, my hand finding her lower back.

"It's alright. He doesn't upset me or intimidate me like I thought he would. Actually, he reminds me of you," she reassures me, smiling up at me.

"Really?" I say, not sure how to take that. Charles and I have really grown apart the last 5 or 6 years... I'm not exactly happy to be compared to him.

She nods, "I mean, I don't really know him. But, it's just a feeling, I guess," she clarifies.

I shrug, "At least you're feeling comfortable," I mutter, attempting to find the positive in her reaction. Maybe I should open my mind towards Charlie a bit. "Let's check out what donations Malcolm managed to gather," I say, and we wander around the table, surveying the goods up for auction. I'm actually impressed- there are a ton of great items, and they should get large bids. This event might actually be worth something. "Come on, we need to choose something to bid on," I tell Francesca, "What do you want?" I ask her. She rolls her eyes at me. "Fine, I'll just bid on this shopping spree..." I murmur and am rewarded with her protests.

"NO!" she cries at me, and I laugh. Shopping does not excite this woman.

"Fine, then, what should I bid on?" I ask her.

Francesca brings hand up to her chin and runs a finger over her lips, pondering the options. "I like the antique rocking chair. But where would we put it?" she questions me.

"There is space in your office," I say, kissing her gently. She smiles at me and I turn to bid. I'm writing an outrageous bid down to make sure we win when I smell my mother's cloyingly sweet perfume fills my nostrils. Here we go. I finish writing quickly and wrap my arm around Francesca, who is stiff as a board and wide-eyed, looking right at my parents as they come toward us. I squeeze her gently as they stop in front of us.

"Reginald, darling, are you prepared to speak tonight?" my mother asks me.

"It's nice to see you too, Mother, Father. How was your holiday?" I ask sarcastically, pointing out her lack of decorum.

"Always nice to see you, son," my father says, then sips his drink as his eyes wander lustfully over Francesca. Fucking disgusting prick. "And who is this?" he raises an eyebrow.

Before I can answer, Francesca jumps in, her inner Killer coming out to play. "I'm Reggie's girlfriend, Francesca," she says confidently, holding her hand out to my father, then my mother.

"It's lovely to meet you, Francesca. I'm Aldus Jr., and this is my wife Diana," my father says. He finishes what I would guess is his third or fourth drink of the night.

"Hello, darling. Reginald, your speech? Did you get it from Malcolm?" my mother persists.

"Mother, I'm prepared," I say coldly.

"Good," she accepts.

"Reggie has a real passion for this work- you may learn something from his speech," Francesca quips, and I turn to her, absolutely stunned by her tone, then look back at my mother.

She glares at Francesca and her lips form a thin, hard line. She looks back at me, "So, this is why you've been galivanting around Spain," she sneers.

I'm taken aback. "How do you know I was in Spain?" I ask accusatorily.

"I check up on you at the bank here and there, darling. You're my son," she says, like she has some kind of inherent right to grease the palms of bank employees.

"You have no right to check my accounts, mother," I snap at her.

"I have to make sure you're being careful- there are people out there who want to take advantage of your money," she has the nerve to reply indignantly.

I'm about to set her straight, but Francesca beats me to it, "What are you implying?" she questions, the anger obvious in her voice.

Diana looks back at Francesca, shock flooding her plastic, wrinkle-free face. The shock is quickly replaced with disgust, "I think you know. You seem perfectly happy leeching off my youngest son!" she declares, and I can see Francesca fuming. Damn, this girl has chops. I stand back and let her handle it, knowing if I try to intervene that death stare will turn to me.

I think she's about to scream at my mother, but suddenly a wave of calm comes over Francesca's face. "My apologies, Mrs. Hagadone. I should never have assumed you would know what it looks like to love Reggie," she says, her voice composed but deadly. I gape at her, as does my mother. Mother, speechless. That's a first.

"Blimey. Quick wit, this one," my father laughs and praises Francesca. He's positively grinning.

My mother glares at him, then turns back to Francesca, finding her voice again, "Gold-digging whore," she spits maliciously. I try to step in, but Francesca stares me down until I back off again.

She returns her attention to my mother. "You're absolutely right- I am a gold-digging whore. I love Reggie's money, specifically, what he chooses to use it for- his generosity TURNS. ME. ON," she emphasizes the last words, and my jaw drops. But she's not done. "I'll do plenty of dirty things to him if it means he keeps doing good for his community." Damn, this girl is amazing. I am LOVING this!

"HA!" my father lets out a tipsy chuckle and my mother's jaw drops.

"You filthy, petulant girl! You may not speak to me that way!" she shrieks quietly, her composure fading. Uh oh, you've done it now, Mother. I've fought with Francesca enough times to know you do not tell her what to do when she's angry.

"You're right again, Diana. I shouldn't speak to you like that. After all, you are responsible for so much good for the youth of London," she says, her voice sharp and cutting. Where is she going with this? "You helped raise one incredible man who devotes himself to their well-being, and one asinine, pathetic sex-addict whose public failures force you to sacrifice some of your husband's wealth for them, so that people won't realize what a spoiled hag you are!" Francesca holds Diana's stare, and she looks horrified.

HOLY SHIT. I can't believe Francesca just said all of that to my mother. She's my fucking hero. Francesca huffs and turns abruptly to leave, but then spins back around. "And, Aldus, you may want to consider pacing yourself- you're here until midnight, at least," she quips. My father flushes and Francesca smiles. "If you'll excuse me," she pivots on her heel and heads back to the table.

My parents face me, "Reginald, how could you let her speak to us like that?" my mother asks, horrified.

I can't help the chuckle that escapes my lips, "How could I stop her?" I reply, then turn and chase after Francesca, leaving my parents gaping at me. I catch up to her just as she reaches the table. "Blimey, Francesca," I mutter, grabbing her arm and spinning her toward me.

She looks distraught, "I know, Reggie, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I just did that- I couldn't help myself! I... I'll apologize, then I'll go," she says frantically.

I shake my head, smile and kiss her deeply. I pull away for a second, "Don't be insane- that was the best thing I've ever seen!" I say, then kiss her again. This time my arms wrap around her and I press her into me, my hands exploring her sides. I love this woman so fucking much. I never thought I'd find someone who could take on my mother.

"Franny, you know you're in public, right?" Rose teases her, and Francesca pulls away from me, her eyes glazed. "What are you two talking about?" she asks.

Francesca ignores her. "You're not mad at me?" she implores.

I smile and shake my head, "Of course not! That was bloody brilliant, and ever so bold. You're getting a head-start on those resolutions," I breathe, and release her as she smiles at me.

"HELLO! What are you two talking about?!" Rose persists.

I turn to the table to address her. "Francesca just told off my parents," I can't help my face splitting grin as I sit next to her.

"You did WHAT?!" Rose asks her, the shock apparent in her face. Francesca blushes and sits down next to me.

"I just- I got caught up in the moment. I couldn't help it. It was so stupid," she says, then puts her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

"It was not stupid, it was inspired. I wish I had the balls," I praise her, still grinning, "Thank you for saying what I never could," I put my hand on her thigh and she looks up at me and smiles meekly.