“The word bothers you, but making your daughter eat it doesn’t?” Anja gave Mama a hard look. “Mama, I know you love her as much as you do me and Birgit, but you treat her differently. Probably because she doesn’t want to be a model. She’s put up with being treated like a…a servant because, like Papà’s side of the family, she’s a lot nicer than your side.”

The air left Frankie’s lungs. That was way too much honesty for Mama. She opened her mouth to say…something.

“Shhh,” Bull cautioned under his breath.

Mama’s eyes filled with tears. “Francesca. Frankie. I…no. I don’t mean to…”

Cavolo, Mama was going to cry, and she never cried. Aghast, Frankie started to rise. “Mama—”

“My dear, I’m so glad you’re here,” Regina, the municipal building receptionist called as she and her husband walked into the restaurant. “Thank you so much for the other night. You made our anniversary incredibly special. One we’ll never forget.”

After giving Frankie a warm hug, Regina joined her beaming husband, and they headed into the bar.

“Frankie’s here?” From a nearby table, Tina, Chevy’s wife, half rose. “Girl, don’t forget we’re reading The Handmaid’s Tale this week.”

Small towns. Frankie stole a glance at her mother who was regaining her composure. Okay, then.

Rising, Frankie called back. “I’m halfway done, Tina. It’s a great book.” When she sat back down, she felt more centered. As Bull took her hand again, she smiled at her mother. “Mama. It’s all right.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Eyes now dry, Mama set her jaw. “I need to think about this, but you are not less. Different, yes. Not less. And never a servant. Not my daughter.” Her fingers were tapping on the table.

Her gaze came to Bull and where he held Frankie’s hand. A very blatant possessive hold, Frankie realized.

Before she could move, Lillian swooped down. “Love, I’d hoped to run into you tonight. Don’t forget poker night is next week. Also, for the Harry Potter reading, could you bring yourself to wear black robes?”

“Hey, wait, is this reading for the library? My library?” Audrey asked, frowning.

“But, certainly, my child. Frankie and I intend to add some stage props,” Lillian said. Dante stepped up behind her.

Frankie eyed the petite woman. It was very unlike the British actress to bust into a dinner party like this.

Lillian cast a gracious smile over the table. “Please excuse the interruption. Frankie and I have been reading to the elementary children and showing them how literature gets turned into theater.”

Dante laughed. “Lillian went and left the Broadway stage, but acting is in her blood.”

“Lillian Gainsborough?” Papà’s eyes widened. “I saw you in Macbeth. No one has played the Lady better, before or since.”