After Arlington

Chapter 8: Francis

Maddy Danton was a liar. Francis had never believed anything to be more true. Everything, from the pull of his gut to the pain soaring across his chest, told him so. She hated him more than anything, and this was her sick little way of clawing into his life, tearing it apart from the inside outwards with what used to be well-manicured talons.

He couldn't – wouldn't – linger on a lie. He wasn't going to let the morning go to waste.

Francis had one more person left to apologize to before he could make it back to Lola. One more girl he'd stepped on to keep Lola's heart behind bars.

Sophie Rutherford.

She lived on the edge of town in a small apartment. Her parents had sold up the Rutherford family home after her and her brother had left the nest, leaving their kids behind to travel the world. Unlike the others, Sophie hadn't gone to college, Francis knew that much. Something was keeping her in town.

He didn't bother warning her. He knew her well enough to know that telling her he'd be around would make her flee. Avoiding each other was a quick trend they'd developed with being the only ones left while their friends went to college. Without Lola, there was no tether keeping them together.

Once, he'd thought of Sophie as a sister. Maybe it was because she was always around, or maybe because she was as irritating as one. Always jealous, and always obsessive. Luckily, she was harmless. The only damage she could inflict was with her words, and Francis was far past caring about those.

He ran a hand through his golden locks before getting out of the car. Though he was pushing it far from his mind, Maddy's so-called confession was keeping his jaw locked and building up tension in his shoulders. She had plenty of motive to lie. There was no reason to think it true.

But, if that was the case, then why was his whole body betraying him by replaying her words over and over in his mind?

I was pregnant, Francis. And you were the only one I'd slept with in months.

Francis pressed the buzzer to Sophie's apartment. She'd done a good job at concealing her contact details, but luckily a few hours of searching from his office computer the day before had proven successful in locating her.

After five or so minutes of him tapping his feet impatiently in the lobby – with a skeptical looking doorman eyeing him off with disapproval – she let him up. Obviously, she didn't know it was him, or she might have thought twice about inviting him inside.

Once he'd ridden the lift to her floor, he started feeling a flush spread over his body, like he'd just ran a marathon. Suddenly it was as if the collar of his shirt was choking him, his heart rate accelerating to the point that he had to find support, his hands clenching the cool metal of the elevator walls.

It dinged, telling him he'd arrived at the Ice Queen's home. He took a breath, then another, and then reminded himself who he was.

Francis Greene couldn't show vulnerabilities to Sophie, no matter how apologetic he was supposed to be.

Only, it clearly wasn't Francis Greene she was expecting.

After waiting behind a closed door for a handful of seconds, it opened slowly. He'd expected a half-pissed looking grown-up Sophie, but what he got was much different.

Before him was a lingerie model straight from the glossy covers of a dirty magazine. Her elbow was propped against the wall, her long tendrils of white-blonde hair hanging in soft waves across her snow-soft skin. Over her thin frame was delicate lace, accentuating subtle curves and overflowing breasts.