Chapter 13
Cece
The elevator climbed toward Rafe's penthouse, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
His grandparents had been nothing like I'd expected—warm, boisterous, and genuinely loving in a way that made my chest ache.
The wine-induced warmth still buzzed through my veins, making the world seem softer around the edges.
I glanced at Rafe, surprised to find him watching me with a warm expression.
"What?" I asked, nervously smoothing my hands over my dress.
"You surprised me tonight." His voice was lower than usual. It had a rough edge to it that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "I didn't know you spoke Italian."
Shrugging, I feigned nonchalance. "Like I said, you never asked."
"What else don't I know about you, Cecelia?" The way he said my name made my skin prickle with awareness.
"Probably a lot." I leaned against the elevator wall, needing the cool metal to ground me. "I make a mean risotto, I can name all fifty states in alphabetical order, and I once had a pet turtle named Vladimir."
His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile threatening to break through. "Vladimir the turtle?"
"He had a very serious personality," I explained solemnly. "It seemed fitting."
The laugh that escaped him was genuine—rich and deep and startling in its rarity.
It transformed his face completely, softening the hard edges and making him look younger, almost boyish with those dimples cutting deep into his cheeks.
Something warm unfurled in my chest at the sound, a dangerous feeling I seriously couldn't afford.
"Your grandparents are incredible," I said, eager to change the subject before I did something stupid like step closer to him. "Enzo reminds me of my dad, before he got sick. That same... I don't know, zest for everything."
Rafe's expression softened further. "He's always been like that. Even when they had nothing, he found reasons to celebrate."
"And your grandmother's carbonara?" I closed my eyes briefly. "Pretty sure I had a religious experience with that pasta."
"Wait until you try her lasagna." His voice dropped even lower, taking on a teasing quality that felt new between us. "Orgasmic."
Heat rushed to my face at the word, at the way his eyes darkened when he said it. The air in the elevator suddenly felt too thick to breathe properly, charged with something I was too afraid to acknowledge.
"I'll, uh, look forward to that," I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
His gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second, then back to my eyes, the moment stretching between us like taffy about to snap.
"You should," he murmured. "She makes it with four cheeses and—"
The elevator doors slid open, cutting him off mid-sentence, and the tension between us shattered as we both turned toward the opening.
Two people stood in the hallway outside the penthouse door, their rigid postures a stark contrast to the warm, chaotic energy of the trattoria we'd just left.
The woman wore a tailored cream suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, her silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a sleek chignon that emphasized the sharp angles of her face.
The man beside her was tall with broad shoulders and a commanding presence.
Rafe's entire body transformed in an instant. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched tight enough that I could see a muscle jump beneath his skin, and his eyes—those eyes that had been warm with laughter seconds ago—went flat and cold.
"Mother, Father," he said, his voice clipped as we approached the penthouse. "What brings you here?"
The woman—his mother—ran her gaze over me with clinical detachment, taking in every detail from my hair to my shoes in a single sweep that somehow managed to make me feel completely inadequate. "Your new... wife, I presume."
The pause before wife spoke volumes.
"Cecelia," Rafe said, not moving to unlock the door. "My parents, Vittorio and Sophia de Luca."
I extended my hand on autopilot. "It's nice to meet you."
Sophia's hand was cold and her grip deliberately limp, as if touching me were distasteful. Vittorio didn't bother to shake my hand at all, turning his attention to his son instead.
"Are you going to invite us in?" he said, ignoring me completely as if I were a piece of furniture rather than his son's wife.
"No," Rafe said flatly. "Whatever you came to say, you can say it here."
Sophia's perfectly painted lips thinned into a disapproving line. "In the hallway? Really, Rafael. This childishness is precisely the problem."
"The problem," Rafe countered, his voice frighteningly controlled, "is that you show up unannounced at my home and expect to be welcomed."
Sophia's eyes flicked to me, a dismissive glance that somehow managed to assess and find wanting every inch of me. "We had hoped to discuss this privately, but since you insist on having your... acquisition... present, so be it."
Acquisition. Like I was a car or a watch or a fucking yacht. I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood as I forced myself to remain silent.
"This marriage," Vittorio began, his accent thickening, "is a disaster for our family name. The Hastings are furious. Brandon has threatened to pull his business entirely."
"A shame," Rafe replied, not sounding even remotely troubled.
"A shame?" Sophia's voice rose sharply. "This isn't one of your little rebellions, Rafael. This is the future of Orologio. Your father and I have spent decades building relationships, securing our position—"
"Your position," Rafe corrected. "Not mine."
"Of course yours." Vittorio stepped closer, his height matching Rafe's but his frame somehow more imposing with age and authority. "Everything we've done has been for you."
A short, bitter laugh escaped Rafe. "For me? That's rich, even for you."
I watched the exchange like a tennis match, each volley getting more vicious. The hallway felt charged with resentment, the kind that festers in families where love comes with conditions too heavy to bear.
"You know what I mean." Vittorio's voice dropped dangerously low. "Since Gabriel—"
"Don't." The single word sliced through the air like a blade. Rafe's entire body went rigid, a muscle in his jaw jumping with the force of his clenched teeth. "Don't say his name."
Gabriel. That name again. The one that had made Rafe react so strongly. I filed it away, another piece in the puzzle of the man I'd married.
Sophia seemed to sense the raw nerve they'd touched and pressed harder. "Gabriel would have understood the importance of family legacy. He would never have thrown away an advantageous match for some... woman."
The way she said woman—like it was synonymous with prostitute—made my skin crawl.
"Gabriel would have married that Hastings girl without complaint," she continued. "He was always the responsible one, the one who understood duty."
Something in Rafe's demeanor fractured, a hairline crack in his perfect control. His hands fisted at his sides, and I could see the effort it took for him to keep his voice level. "We're done here."
"We are nowhere near done," Vittorio snapped. "You think this solves anything? Marrying some nobody from nowhere? A girl with no family connections, no money, nothing to contribute to the de Luca name except a pretty face that will fade soon enough?"
I'd grown up hearing similar sentiments—that dance was a frivolous pursuit, that I'd never amount to anything, that being pretty was my only real asset. But hearing it from this cold, calculated man who didn't even know me somehow cut deeper.
"You could at least have chosen someone with breeding," Sophia added, looking me up and down like I was a defective product. "Not some gold-digging opportunist who clearly latched onto you for your money."
That was enough. The wine from dinner, the warmth from Rafe's grandparents, and now the icy contempt from his parents collided in my chest, igniting something fierce and protective.
"Gold-digging?" I stepped forward, my voice far more steady than I felt. "Lady, if I were after money, I'd have picked someone with a better personality."
Sophia's eyes widened in shock, clearly unused to being addressed this way.
"You have no idea who I am," I continued, heat rising in my cheeks. "Or what I want. But I can tell you it's not your approval or your precious family legacy or—"
"Enough." Rafe's hand closed around my upper arm, not painfully but firmly enough to stop my tirade. His eyes, when they met mine, carried a warning I'd be smart to heed.
Turning back to his parents, his voice dropped to a dangerous register that sent shivers down my spine. "You need to leave. Now."
"Rafael—" Sophia began.
"Now." The word left no room for argument. "Or I'll call security and have you escorted out. Imagine how that would look for the de Luca name."
Vittorio's face darkened, but Sophia placed a restraining hand on his arm. "This isn't finished," she said coldly. "When you're done playing house with your little girl, when reality sets in and you realize what you've thrown away—"
"Like I said, we're done." my husband’s voice was pure ice.
With a huff, Vittorio straightened his already impeccable jacket. "I expect this ridiculous joke of a marriage to be annulled sooner rather than later."
"Yeah," Rafe replied, his tone flat. "Don't hold your breath."
His parents entered the elevator, Sophia's spine so straight it looked painful, Vittorio's face a mask of barely controlled fury. The doors closed on their rigid silhouettes, and for a moment, no one moved.
Then Rafe furiously unlocked the penthouse door. His movements were sharp and precise, controlled in a way that suggested he was seconds from losing that control entirely.
"Rafe," I started as he pushed the door open.
He didn't respond, just strode inside and headed straight for the liquor cabinet in the living room. I followed, closing the door behind me as my mind raced with questions. Who was Gabriel? Why did the mere mention of his name affect Rafe so deeply?
Rafe poured himself three fingers of amber liquid—scotch, probably, though I couldn't tell the difference between that and bourbon to save my life—and drank half of it in one swallow.
"Are you okay?" I asked, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.
"Fine." His voice was clipped and dismissive.
"You don't seem fine."
"Well, I am." He finished the rest of his drink and poured another.
I stepped further into the room, drawn by some desperate need to understand the man I'd tied myself to. "Your parents are... intense."
A harsh laugh escaped him. "That's one word for it."
"Who's Gabriel?"
Rafe froze. Glass halfway to his lips, his entire body went scarily still. When he turned to face me, his eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, like wells so deep you could drown in them.
"Leave it alone, Cecelia." His voice was too soft, too controlled.
"I'm just trying to understand—"
"I said leave it!" The words exploded from him, sharp enough to make me flinch. In all our confrontations, all our fights, I'd never heard him raise his voice like that—like something was breaking inside him. "Just... drop it."
He set the glass down with exaggerated care and walked past me, shoulder nearly brushing mine as he headed down the hallway toward his office.
"Rafe, wait." I hurried after him. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just—"
"What part of leave it alone wasn't clear?" He whirled to face me, his expression a mixture of rage and something that looked dangerously close to pain. "Not everything is your business just because we signed some fucking papers, okay?"
The words stung more than they should have. After all, he was right, this wasn't a real marriage. We weren't partners or lovers or even friends. We were two people bound by convenience and blackmail.
"Fine," I said, taking a step back, hating how small my voice sounded. "Sorry I asked."
Something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe—but it was gone before I could be sure. He turned away again, continuing down the hallway to his office. The door slammed behind him with a finality that echoed through my bones.
I stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the closed door, wishing I knew how to reach the man inside. The evening that had started so warmly, with laughter and wine and family, had ended in this—cold silence and doors slammed in faces.
The whiplash left me dizzy.
But despite that, I wanted to know him, really know him, beyond the walls and defenses, beyond the business arrangement, beyond the blackmail. I wanted to understand what made Rafael de Luca the man he was, with all his contradictions and complexities.
And that, I realized was far more dangerous than anything else that had happened between us.