Lauren looked at him thunderstruck and speechless. That wasn't something that happened a lot to her, she had a come-back for most any situation.<br/><br/>She swallowed hard and finally said "Gee Frankie, honey, I won't hold you to the last part. You can't possibly know that. Why not give it a few weeks and then ...." She had so many men declare their love for her and she felt it meant little to them. Granted of course these men were invariably drunk but still, love was a big word and people slung it around like they pleased. And yet, he was willing to destroy his livelihood for her, take on some very powerful people for her and even risk his own life. Wasn't that love? No one had ever done anything of that sort for her before. Of course no one ever had to before either. Everyone she had ever said 'I love you' to wanted to control her in the end. Wanted her to be their prized possession, their trophy. She wanted to be her own person, not exists as someone's wife.  Years ago she strolled through a picturesque cemetery and noticed on many grave markers  lines like 'devoted wife of' or 'loving wife of', even 'dutiful wife of' on a very old marker,  but nowhere were men identified merely as their affiliation to their partner. Would Frank be the kind of man to accept her singing, her independence? Or eventually expect her in the kitchen pregnant with his seed?<br/><br/>"Frankie, I can't say it, I can't say it back, not yet." She confessed, tears welling in her eyes. She wished he hadn't said it, wished he didn't think it. "Saying it has never led to anything good or permanent." she looked at him,  "Please forgive me."<br/><br/>She felt a tear roll down her cheek and brushed it away and looked down at the faded bedcovers, not wanting to meet his eyes.