Giorgio eyed Bull. “It is difficult for a family who called a child by one name to change to another.”

“True enough,” Caz said with his white smile. “It does take thought. However, since Frankie has a generous heart, I’m certain she would overlook a few mistakes.”

Slight color rose in…damn, everyone’s faces. No one called her by the name she preferred? Anger roused inside Bull.

Did they think her wishes weren’t worth considering because she was the baby of the family? Or was it because she wasn’t blonde and classically beautiful?

But this skirmish had been won. Bull sat back. A battle, like a river, would surge strongly, then slow into eddies while combatants recovered. This was often when unwary opponents let their guard down.

So, with a sweet smile, JJ asked the two siblings about how they’d developed such unique catwalk styles. Birgit and Anja jumped into the discussion. Despite sounding good-natured, their bickering held the edge of performers in competition with each other.

No wonder Frankie had superb negotiation and peacemaking skills.

Living in a world of prima donnas must chafe at her soul. Bull ran his hand over Frankie’s shoulder in a caress that was as much for her as it was for him.

She was so much better a fit with his family…and she knew it.

The trick would be making her parents and siblings see it, too.

When she felt Bull’s hand on her shoulder, Frankie started to lean into him, as she did so naturally now. He enjoyed being her support and protector, almost as much as she liked giving him the open affection he needed…even if he didn’t admit it to her.

Just like he hadn’t mentioned that he’d be here tonight. Despite the unsettled feeling in her stomach, she had to admire his facility with verbal warfare. And from the light in his gaze, that was what he was conducting.

With an effort, she focused on the conversation at the table, then realized Papà was studying her.

“Despite the strain of freeing Kit, you’re particularly lovely today.” Her father rubbed a finger over his chin. “I should do a series of photographs, perhaps with a theme of—”

“No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t changed my mind about how I feel about photographs of me hanging on a wall. Sorry, Papà.”

“Her beauty isn’t skin deep; it goes right to her heart and soul,” Bull rumbled. “Even your photographs, Giorgio, can’t capture that essence.”

Cazzo, she loved him, and she knew she was probably blushing.

Then he added, “Undoubtedly, her happiness at being here in Alaska—and with me—adds a glow.”

She had to suppress a laugh. Such conceit.

Birgit sniffed. “Or maybe she’s glowing because she finally got laid.”

Ouch. Frankie winced, and Bull stiffened.