Page 62 of Made in Love and Blood

At those words, she froze. Her hand had just wrapped around the supple leather of the bag. “What do you mean?”

“Your dad promised one, right? I mean, this one is from me. It’s my gift to you for today, but the other one is not.”

“Oh.”

“I really wished he could have given you the bag I’m about to show you. It wasn’t my bag to keep, bad vibes to keep a dead woman’s purse and all, but he couldn’t bear to look at it. I had it cleaned and properly stored so time wouldn’t damage it. I put it away and didn’t think about it until he and I had a conversation shortly before I left for Milan about what you wanted for your birthday.”

“I don’t understand,” Frankie told her, not sure what to make of Carina’s rambling. That wasn’t like her. “Are you nervous?”

“I just really think he should be the one to give it to you, but I still don’t think he can even hold it.”

“Hold what?”

Suddenly, Carina tittered around the display of bags only to grab a high back chair that she placed beside Frankie. “Sit. You should sit.”

“Okay,” Frankie replied slowly, more unsure than ever as she watched her stepmother fidget with her fingers and painted nails. “You’re kind of freaking me out here.”

“I don’t mean to, I just—”

“It’s another bag, right? Why are you so nervous?”

Carina, exasperated, threw her hands wide. “Because it isn’t just another bag?”

“That was a question. I’m so confused.”

“It’s way more than just a bag, Francesca. Give me a second. I wanted to give you the other one last because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to outshine it.”

With that, Carina headed into the opened doorway of the safe room. Something rustled, and shortly after, she came back out with a Hermès dustbag, gray in color. Unlike the way Carina usually handled her bags, even if they were precious or rare ones in the collection, she held tight with both hands to the dustbag and whatever it kept hidden from sight. Coming over to Frankie’s seat, she kneeled and placed the grey suede on her lap.

“It’s not just a bag; it’s your mother’s bag. She had two that she used a lot, apparently. The one she had when the accident happened...it couldn’t be saved. This one, though, had been left at home because she only used it to carry her art supplies and things.”

“My mom?”

Carina only nodded.

“How long have you had it?”

“First, it was never mine. You don’t keep a dead woman’s bag when you’re screwing her husband, even if he is your new husband. That is bad juju, okay.”

Frankie gave her a look. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It was just there in a bunch of stuff that your father couldn’t bear to look at unless he was inebriated. I asked if I could store it for you, in case you might want it when you got older, and he said yes. Probably because he didn’t want it in the closet with the rest of the things there.”

Frankie peered down at the dustbag, letting her hands roam over the structure of the bag from what could be felt on the outside. “It’s definitely a Birkin. Size says it’s a... 25.”

Carina laughed. “That is really a skill you have there.”

“You said you had it cleaned?”

“The outside. It had a couple of scuffs, a bit of paint stains. There’s still a bit of that on the bottom. It’s a well-loved bag, and honestly, I couldn’t bear to let them do anything to the inside.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see,” Carina murmured. “Do you want to be alone to open it up, or...?”

Frankie shook her head. “No, stay.”

Apparently, Carina had waited a long time to see this moment through. Probably adding to her own pain and struggle in a marriage that had sometimes looked more like a warzone than a happy home.