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“Frannie, love, can we play some music?” Michaela complained, “It feels terribly onerous to be baking in silence.”
“Huh?” Francesca looked up from the tray of cupcakes she had been icing, and it was clear from her focused expression that she had not noticed the absence of music in the kitchen.
There was powdered sugar on the tip of her nose. It was ridiculously adorable. Michaela swiped off the sugar with her thumb, and then proceeded to lick her thumb clean.
“You’re sweet,” she pointed out, giggling to herself.
Francesca huffed in annoyance, even as her cheeks had reddened from the act of Michaela licking sugar off her nose.
“Michaela, quit playing around. The party is in three hours and we still have two trays of cupcakes to go.”
Neither of them were particularly great bakers, but that apparently did not cross Michaela’s mind when she volunteered to bake cupcakes for John’s and Margot’s baby shower. So now, Francesca was left to plan and execute Michaela’s grand plans so that there would actually be something to eat at the party. It was a dynamic so typical of them that it was woven into the story of how they got together. They had met when Francesca was Margot’s maid-of-honour, and Michaela was John’s best woman, and through some likely divine interference they somehow managed to cobble together a spectacular wedding despite their clash in working styles.
But surely that did not mean Michaela could expect their roles in the relationship to remain this way! Although, with how Michaela was cheerfully munching away at one of the cupcakes Francesca was rushing to push out, it seemed like Michaela was intent on keeping things as is.
Somehow, Francesca could not find it in her to be mad. Anything to keep herself on her toes and keep things interesting. Life with Michaela Stirling was never dull.
Michaela swallowed the last of her cupcake and patted her hands clean, leisurely walking around the kitchen island to where Francesca’s phone was.
“May we use your phone?” Michaela asked, "Mine went flat so it’s charging at the moment.”
Unlike Michaela’s, Francesca’s phone never went flat. Michaela picked it up and brought it to Francesca’s face so that she could unlock it. Francesca ignored her, still working on icing the rest of the tray.
The phone was still successfully unlocked, and Michaela connected it to the Bluetooth speaker and opened Spotify. She shook her head at the library selection. For a professional pianist Francesca had terrible taste in music. Everything was either classical or the most mainstream pop you will ever hear.
Thankfully they shared a playlist, where Michaela could put in some proper tunes, and she scrolled down to F to find the “Franchaela” (coined by Hyacinth) playlist.
Something caught Michaela’s eye. In the F section, there was a playlist that Francesca had never mentioned to her before.
For when I’m with her
Who the fuck was her?! Michaela frowned. She was more curious than jealous, to be honest. Francesca was the jealous one between the two of them, after all, and while Michaela secretly liked that about Francesca, Michaela could not find it in herself to have similar feelings. She could not even fathom someone as innocent and pure-hearted as Francesca to be remotely capable of disloyalty.
She hit one of the songs by Chappell Roan in Franchaela to start the music, buying her some time to scroll through the songs on this mysterious playlist.
They were baffling.
Michaela could only assume that the “her” in the title of the playlist was herself. For why else would Francesca have an entire playlist dedicated to being with some other girl? However, the songs did not seem romantic at all, nor were they pieces that Francesca would know Michaela liked. Many Michaela did not recognise, as they were classical pieces denoted by the composer's name, various European words, a key and a number. She wanted to assume that some of those must be romantic, although she knew enough of Francesca’s favourite classical songs to have hoped to identify some of them. At least one was an etude that Michaela knew to be highly technical, and not emotive at all. Did Francesca consider Michaela a chore?
Some were EDM. Since when did Francesca listen to dance music? Michaela liked to party, so she figured Francesca must have added them because they reminded her of Michaela. She took some comfort in the fact that there was at least one song from Beyonce’s Renaissance in there.
Then there were the hip hop pieces. Rap music? Really? She had to bite back a laugh when she saw the Thong Song. Michaela conceded that that at least sort of made sense. The angsty angry rock songs, though, did not. Michaela did not even know that Francesca was a fan of The Smiths. In any case, they did not bode well to be found in a playlist that Francesca had curated with the intention of describing her feelings when she was with Michaela.
She needed more time to study this playlist.
“Can I steal one of your playlists?” Michaela casually asked.
She did that often enough for the question not to rouse any suspicion. Michaela was a curator of art at a museum, and had often found Francesca’s selection of classical music to be an excellent source of inspiration to acquire new pieces, or for playing in the background of various gallery shows.
Francesca nodded absentmindedly, still laser-focused on her task.
“Could you refill the piping bag over there, please?” Francesca said instead.
“On it,” Michaela replied, though she remained on Francesca’s phone, hitting the share button on For when I’m with her to add herself.
A text from Francesca’s best friend, and John’s wife, popped up on Francesca’s phone.
“Babygirl,” Michaela announced, “Margot is asking when we plan to arrive at their place. When do you reckon you’ll be done with the other two trays?”
Francesca lowered her own piping bag, dangerously slowly, as she looked up to stare at Michaela. Her hair was in disarray, fringe flying out of her topknot and there was now, bizarrely, flour on her cheeks too. Her eyes were alight with a rage that only Michaela ever seemed to be able to draw out.
So fucking hot.
“Michaela Stirling!” And she might as well have exclaimed that with a foot stomp with how petulantly that came out.
“Okay okay!” Michaela had the cheek to laugh, “I will help.”
“Did you hear all the compliments for my cupcakes at the party, Frannie?” Michaela said, when they returned home from the baby shower, “I told you they were a good idea.”
“Michaela.”
Michaela laughed.
“Fine, our cupcakes. Happy?”
Francesca pretended to pout, which earned her a tug into Michaela’s arms as Michaela showered her face and neck with kisses. Francesca was left giggly and slightly breathless when they finally broke apart.
“I must say the whole baby shower was a tad anticlimactic," Francesca continued, “I had thought it was also going to be a gender reveal party.”
Michaela snorted.
“No way John would have wanted any part of that.”
“Still. I cannot believe Margot and John aren’t going to find out the sex of the baby,” Francesca remarked, “They are two of my best friends, and also two of the most predictable people in the world. So where did this carefree attitude towards their child come from? You think you know someone, and then…”
Michaela shrugged, “Fran, it doesn’t matter. I told them as much. Your child is your child, either way.”
Francesca sighed, smiling.
“Of course it was Aunty Micki who convinced them that it would be more fun to find out on the day the child is born.”
Michaela grinned.
“Adds that extra bit of drama to the proceedings, doesn’t it?”
“I should think Margot would be having enough drama on the day already,” Francesca pointed out.
“So,” Michaela asked, “When it comes to our kid, you would want to know beforehand?”
Francesca blushed. Michaela had said it in such a matter-of-fact manner, as if it was already established that they were going to end up together forever, and with a family. They had talked about it, of course, but never had it been so casually dropped into conversation like this before. It was clear Michaela was ready for the next step, and Francesca made a mental note that she really needed to get on with the proposal.
“Of course I would want to know,” Francesca said, trying to match Michaela’s nonchalance, “It doesn’t matter. But it does matter.”
Michaela laughed, understanding Francesca perfectly, even if she did not make any sense objectively.
“You’re not going to make me wait in suspense are you?” Francesca asked, as a new thought struck her with horror, “What colour would we paint the nursery?”
Michaela laughed. Of course Francesca was already panicking about preparing for their imaginary baby.
“Our son could love pink. And then we’re going to look really stupid, raising him in a blue room.”
“Michaela, I am being serious here. I don’t think I could do nine months of being kept in the dark!”
“Alright! We can find out in advance,” Michaela rolled her eyes, “Like you said, I doubt I will be lacking any drama on the day I go into labour.”
A long pause followed Michaela’s accidental declaration.
Francesca stared at her, unblinking.
“You…,” she finally managed to say, “You will be carrying our child.”
They had not discussed this before.
“Yes…?” Michaela agreed, as if it was the most natural conclusion to come to.
“You want to…,” Francesca was fiddling with her fingers now, “That is to say… This is what you want. To carry our child for us.”
There was a hunger blossoming behind Francesca’s expression at this revelation. And Michaela smiled, recognising the effect this was having on her girlfriend. She suspected Francesca had no idea what her feelings were about either. But Michaela knew all too well.
She smirked, before training her big brown eyes up at Francesca.
“I want nothing more in the world than to carry your baby, Francesca.”
Bingo.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Francesca swore under her breath, and Francesca rarely swore, as she lurched forwards and claimed Michaela’s mouth with hers.
The kiss was possessive, ravenous. Francesca was so demanding that Michaela could do nothing but let her take. It was exactly what Michaela wanted to happen with that statement. She smiled against Francesca’s lips.
“You should not be allowed to spring such declarations on me like that, Micki,” Francesca groaned, in between kissing down Michaela’s neck.
Michaela threw her head back to grant Francesca more access, grinning up at the ceiling.
“Then you should do something about it, Babygirl.”
That night, Michaela received some of the best dicking down she had ever received in her life. She went to work sore, but ridiculously happy, the next day.
Francesca always had an insane strap game. It would seem unlikely, given how outwardly gentle and demure she was. However, Michaela alone knew how all of that was simply a facade. The real Francesca, if she trusted you enough to let you in, was a freak in the sheets.
It was always the quiet ones.
It was not just Francesca’s enthusiasm that really did it for Michaela. Being a pianist, Francesca had an extraordinary sense of rhythm. There was something about the way Francesca fucked, that seemed to have a musicality to it. It was as if Francesca was taking her through a journey, it could start off slow, and then build dramatically and sensually to a most glorious climax. There was variety in Francesca’s repertoire too. Sometimes it would be fast, hard, almost angry. Other times she would be systematic, almost mechanical in the most thorough way, and while that may sound unappealing, Michaela appreciated the predictability and forcefulness of Francesca’s pounding, and they were perfect on those nights when Michaela was too tired for imagination and intrigue and was just bloody horny for her girlfriend.
All in all, it was almost like Francesca had a catalogue of choreography she relied upon to get Michaela to see stars.
Michaela wondered how Francesca managed something like that.
Later that week, when Michaela went for her regular gym session, she decided to give For when I’m with her a go. With every song she played through, her frown deepened.
What the hell was this playlist?
Many of the classical pieces were highly technical, more rhythm-based than melodic. What was romantic about them? Why would Francesca attribute these songs to Michaela? It was bizarre. But at least they made for good workout songs, with how fast-paced they were. Michaela never knew classical music could get the heart pumping like that.
“The Sound” by The 1975 came on when Michaela got on the spin bike.
You're so conceited, I said "I love you"
What does it matter if I lie to you?
I don't regret it, but I'm glad that we're through
So don't you tell me that you just don't get it
'Cause I know you do
Now this was a full-on petty, break-up song. What the hell, Francesca? Michaela found herself getting mildly annoyed now, and channeled that energy into her cycling. To be fair, the song was great for something high-energy like spinning, and the consistent beat that carried across the song was great for keeping time on the bike, so Michaela very grudgingly let it play to the end.
Perhaps this playlist was about someone else, Michaela tried to console herself. However, Francesca’s only ex was John, and he was most certainly a “him”, in that the playlist would have been For when I’m with him. Besides, that relationship was so bland and brief, that Michaela found it hard to believe he would have incited all of these feelings in Francesca before the two decided they were better off as friends, and that actually, it was Francesca’s best friend that John had fallen in love with.
All of that was very old news by now, and the four of them were closer than ever. Therefore, even if this playlist was about John and Francesca was hiding it with the change in the pronoun, surely, Francesca would have still called it “For when I was with her”? Francesca was a stickler for grammar.
Anyway. There was absolutely no way "WAP" was about her time with John, Michaela thought with a laugh, shaking her head.
Michaela got off the spin bike, sighing. She thought she knew everything about her girlfriend at this stage of their relationship. It was impressive that Francesca could still surprise and intrigue her. She figured it was because they were so different in every way imaginable
At her next gym session, Michaela found herself returning to For when I’m with her. It was surprisingly a very effective exercise playlist. Perhaps the “her” refers to Francesca’s reformer bed? Francesca loved Pilates. It would not actually be that much of a stretch to imagine Francesca treating a piece of exercise equipment like a lover, and dedicating a whole playlist to it. Michaela laughed at the thought, falling more in love with her girlfriend and her eccentricities.
She scrolled through the songs to find one to start on. She spotted one that she swore was not there the last time.
So.
This was an active playlist. Francesca was still adding songs on the regular.
And this new song was one of Michaela’s favourites from Beyonce.
Then this playlist had to be about her, right?
If that was the case, what was the song Michaela considered one of the greatest love songs of all time, doing next to a will-we-wont-we like Love Me Not by Ravyn Lenae?
Francesca was a crazy one.
Later that night, Francesca declared that she wanted to top, again. They frequently switched roles, especially at the start of their relationship, when a lot of this was new to Francesca. However, ever since their little vacation to Scandivania, where Francesca received some instruction from the most unlikely of mentors, she had really been growing into her own in the bedroom department. And that person Francesca was turning into, really, really, liked to top.
Not that Michaela was complaining.
Because Francesca was just so freaking good at it. As Michaela had already established, that uncanny sense of rhythm drove Michaela wild with desire.
Tonight’s routine was new, as Francesca pulled moves that Michaela did not anticipate. Yet, strangely, there was something… familiar? about the way Francesca was moving…
It was curious. She knew for a fact that Francesca had never moved in this sequence before, but there was something predictable about the rhythm in their dance.
Michaela could not quite put a finger on it.
“Gods, Micki,” Francesca murmured against her, as she pushed her thigh up between Michaela’s legs, “You’re the love of my life.”
Something clicked into place for Michaela at that.
It was as if some imaginary glass had shattered, and everything burst into clarity for her.
Of course.
This was such a Francesca thing to do.
Francesca slipped a finger into Michaela and thrust up into her.
And right about now, Michaela knew, Francesca would thrust again.
There it was.
Oh gosh, Michaela had figured it out.
After all, she would recognise Virgo’s Groove anywhere. In any way it was presented. And right now it was presented to her in the form of choreographed sex.
So that was why the song had found its way into that playlist earlier today.
Michaela could not stop herself, she burst out laughing.
Francesca pulled back, alarmed at Michaela’s unexpected reaction.
“Did you not like that?” she asked.
Her expression was so adorably concerned. Her eyes so wide and painfully earnest.
“I thought I would try something a bit new today…,” Francesca said in a very soft, tentative voice.
Damn it. Francesca was biting her lower lip now, looking down at Michaela. Michaela always folded when Francesca was this vulnerable.
Michaela gave Francesca her gentlest smile.
“And it was going great,” Michaela reassured, “I’m sorry I laughed. I just suddenly realised how much I love you.”
Francesca quirked her brow.
“And that’s something to laugh about?”
“I realised I love you, like, a crazy amount. It’s ridiculous, Francesca. Laughable. You have no idea how gone I am, Babygirl.”
And Michaela was telling the truth. This revelation had only made her more obsessed with Francesca Bridgerton. This beautiful, perfect, light of a woman who would compile a playlist as unhinged as For when I’m with her had a devastating hold on her heart.
Francesca blushed, convinced by Michaela’s admission.
“Shall I continue, then?”
Michaela grinned, nodding back at Francesca.
Tomorrow, Michaela will remove herself from the playlist. And she would take this discovery to her grave if she had to, just so she could see that smile on Francesca’s face for the rest of her life.