Chapter 18
Cece
Iwas nervous.
Blowing out a breath, I smoothed my hands over my silk dress for the hundredth time since we left the penthouse.
“You're fidgeting,” Rafe murmured as he navigated into a parking space.
I shot him a look. “Very astute, Mr. de Luca. Did they teach you those observation skills in PR school?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up, and that little dimple I'd become addicted to made a brief appearance.
“Actually, yes. Noticing body language is part of the job.” He killed the engine and turned to face me, those dark eyes sweeping over me in a way that made heat bloom across my skin. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“You already said that. Twice.” I glanced down at the emerald silk dress I'd chosen—a birthday gift from Evie last year. “But thanks.”
“It bears repeating.”
It’d been four days.
Four days of cautious circling, of dinners where we'd talked about everything except what had happened between us. Four days of him arriving home late from work, exhausted from handling some PR crisis for a client, but still making time to eat with me, to ask about my day, to tell me about his.
Four days of learning the little things—how he took his coffee (black, no sugar), his favorite composer (Chopin for sad days, Debussy for good ones), and noticing the way he always loosened his tie exactly three minutes after walking through the door.
Four days of wanting more but not knowing how to ask for it.
“Hey.” His hand covered mine where it lay on the seat between us. “It's just dinner with our friends. Nothing's changed.”
I laughed, the sound sharp and slightly manic. “Nothing except I came so hard on your lap I think I blacked out for a second.”
His pupils dilated, darkening his eyes to near black. “That's not nothing,” he agreed, voice dropping low enough it made my thighs clench. “But it doesn't change the fact that these are our friends. They don't need to know the details of our arrangement.”
“Our arrangement,” I repeated, pulling my hand away from his. “Right.”
I couldn't quite identify the feeling that tightened around my ribs—disappointment, maybe, or frustration. Whatever it was, I didn't like it.
With a sigh, Rafe ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” I reached for the door handle. “Because I'm not sure either of us knows what we're doing anymore.”
Before he could respond, I pushed the door open and stepped out into the crisp evening air. The click of my heels against the pavement echoed my irritation as I strode toward the building's entrance. I heard Rafe's door slam behind me, followed by his longer strides easily catching up.
“Cecelia.” Catching me by my elbow, he turned me to face him just outside the doors. “Wait.”
I looked up at him, suddenly aware of how much taller he was, especially with the way he seemed to loom over me with concern etched across those unfairly perfect features.
“What?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
His eyes searched mine for a long moment. “I...” He trailed off, then squared his shoulders. “I'm not good at this.”
“At what, exactly?”
“At whatever is happening between us.” He gestured vaguely between us and another one of those long, deep sighs blew over his lips. “I don't regret what happened,” he finally said. “But I've been giving you space to process it.”
“Space?” I repeated incredulously. “Is that what you think I want?”
He frowned. “Don't you?”
Ugh, men could be stupid sometimes. Even the smart ones. Especially the smart ones.
“If I wanted space, I wouldn't have gone to bed every single night hoping you’d touch me again.” Satisfaction flared when his eyes darkened again. “I wouldn't have hoped you’d kiss me again. And I definitely wouldn't have imagined you making me come again.”
His jaw tightened. “Cecelia—”
“But fine,” I continued, stepping closer until the heat of his body radiated against mine.
“If you want to pretend nothing's changed, we can do that.
Just know that tonight, when we go back to your penthouse, I'm going to be thinking about your hands on me.
And there won't be a pillow wall to save you.”
I turned and pushed through the doors without waiting for his response. A small, vindictive thrill ran through me at the choked sound that followed.
The doorman greeted us with a polite nod, and Rafe's hand found the small of my back as we crossed the lobby toward the private elevator that would take us to Liam and Everlee's penthouse. The warmth of his palm burned through the thin silk of my dress.
“You can't say things like that to me right before we see our friends,” he murmured as the elevator doors slid closed.
I glanced at him innocently. “Like what?”
His eyes narrowed. “You know exactly what.”
“Then maybe you shouldn't assume I want space.” I reached up and straightened his tie, my fingers lingering against his chest. “Maybe you should ask me what I want.”
The elevator dinged as we reached the top floor, and Rafe's hand caught mine, pressing it more firmly against his heart. I could feel it racing beneath my palm.
“Later,” he promised, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. “We will definitely discuss what you want. In detail.”
The doors slid open before I could respond, and we stepped into the foyer of Liam and Evie's penthouse. The sound of laughter and conversation drifted from further inside, along with the rich scent of something baking.
Yeah, my sister was definitely going for mother of the year before her baby even took his or her first breath.
Lucky kid.
As if summoned by thought alone, Evie appeared. She looked radiant, her dark hair twisted into an elegant knot, her green eyes—so similar to mine—bright with happiness. The slight curve of her belly was more pronounced than the last time I'd seen her.
“Cece.” She rushed forward, enveloping me in a hug. “I was starting to think you two weren't coming.”
“Traffic,” Rafe and I said simultaneously, then exchanged a look that made my sister’s eyebrows rise.
“Well, you're here now.” She pulled back, studying me with the intensity only an older sister could muster. “You look good.”
Before I could respond, Izzy appeared behind my sister, a glass of red wine already in hand. “There's the blushing bride,” she drawled, giving me a once-over that missed nothing. “And her extremely fuckable husband.”
“Izzy.” Kate's scandalized voice came from behind her, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter as she joined our growing circle. “Filter, please.”
“What? It's not like I'm wrong.” Izzy shrugged, taking another sip of her wine. “I have eyes.”
I felt heat crawl up my neck as Rafe cleared his throat beside me. “I think I'll go find Liam,” he said, briefly squeezing my waist before he stepped away. “Ladies.”
Izzy watched him go with undisguised appreciation. “I still can't believe you married him in Vegas. Of all the impulsive things...”
“Speaking of,” Kate interjected smoothly, linking her arm through mine, “we need details. All of them. Right now.”
Before I could protest, I was being steered away from the foyer and into the adjacent sitting room, a glass of white wine pressed into my hand as we went. I glanced back to see Rafe watching our retreat, his expression unreadable as Liam clapped him on the shoulder in greeting.
The sitting room was cozy despite its size, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline. Kate and Izzy maneuvered me onto one of the plush sofas, positioning themselves on either side of me like beautiful, well-dressed interrogators.
“Spill,” Izzy demanded, tucking one leg underneath her.
I took a healthy sip of my wine. “It's complicated.”
“Isn't it always?” Kate's voice was gentler, her hazel eyes kind but no less curious. “One minute you're telling us he's an arrogant dinosaur with daddy issues, the next you're his wife. You can see why we're intrigued.”
With a heavy sigh, I proceeded to tell them about our arrangement, carefully leaving out the parts where Rafe found me dancing at Vice and Virtue and our little encounter in the music room.
After I was done speaking, Izzy leaned forward and the mischief shining in her eyes scared me a little.
“So all three of you got married for reasons other than love. Everlee and Kate both ended up finding it anyway...” She gave me a meaningful stare and raised her eyebrows suggestively. “I'm sensing a pattern.”
I choked on my wine. “What? No. That's not—we're not—”
“Not what?” Izzy pressed, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Not in love? Not fucking like rabbits? Because the way you two look at each other says otherwise.”
At her words, my gaze instinctively sought out Rafe across the room where he stood with Liam and Tristan.
The three of them were engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation.
As if sensing my attention, he looked up and our eyes locked.
Something passed between us, and I wondered if anyone else could see the parts of him I'd discovered this past week.
The man who played piano in the middle of the night, who carried the weight of his brother's death, who looked at me sometimes like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
“Holy fucking shit,” Izzy groaned. “The eye-fucking is even worse than I thought.”
“Izzy,” Kate admonished, though her lips curved upward.
“What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking.” Izzy drained the last of her wine in one dramatic gulp.
“And apparently everyone is having sex except me.” She stood, smoothing her hands over her fitted dress.
“I'm getting more wine. Kate, come help me guilt-trip your husband into introducing me to one of his hot lawyer friends.”
Kate sighed but rose to follow her sister. “Sorry about her,” she said to Evie. “You know how she gets.”
As they departed toward the kitchen, my sister slipped into the space they'd vacated. “You okay?” she asked, voice soft with concern.
I nodded, though my fingers twisted nervously in my lap. “Yeah. Just... a lot at once, you know?”
Evie took my hand and squeezed gently. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Her eyes searched my face for the longest time. “I mean it, Cece. Anything.”
My throat tightened with emotion and guilt about the secrets I still kept from her. How could I tell her the truth about my marriage when it was tangled up in so many other lies? How could I explain the debts, the desperation, the choices I'd made?
“I know,” I managed, squeezing her hand in return. “And I'm okay, really. It's just... an adjustment.”
She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. “As long as he's treating you well.” Her expression turned fierce. “Because if he's not, pregnant or not, I will end him.”
I laughed, a real laugh that released some of the tension inside my chest. “He is. Treating me well, I mean.” More than well, if the memory of his mouth on mine was any indication.
“Good.” She leaned her head against my shoulder briefly. “Because you deserve that, Cece. You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are.”
The lump in my throat grew larger. If only she knew the truth. But before I could respond, a familiar deep voice cut through our moment.
“Mind if I steal my wife?”
I looked up to find Rafe standing before us, his presence commanding even in this intimate setting. The word wife on his lips sent a shiver straight down my spine.
Smirking, Evie looked between us. “Well, it's not a real marriage, so technically she's not your wife.” She emphasized the word with air quotes, clearly teasing but the words hit me with unexpected force.
Rafe merely shrugged, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand to me. “She has my name. She shares my bed. She's my wife.”
There was something possessive, almost primal, in the way he said it that made heat pool low in my belly. Without hesitation, I placed my hand in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
“We'll be right back,” I assured Everlee, whose eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“Take your time,” she called after us as Rafe led me away from the sitting room and down the hallway. “Dinner's not for another thirty minutes.”
His hand was warm around mine, his grip firm but not tight as we moved deeper into the penthouse and farther away from the chatter and laughter of our friends. I knew this place well enough to recognize we were heading toward Liam's home gym, a room rarely used by anyone during these gatherings.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as we turned the corner.
Rafe didn't answer, simply continued to lead me down the hall until we reached the gym door. He pushed it open, checked that it was empty, then pulled me inside and closed the door behind us with a soft click that somehow sounded like a promise.