Epilogue
Rafe
Itraced the silhouette of Cecelia's body in the darkness, memorizing every curve and hollow as if my life depended on it.
Maybe it did. Two weeks since I'd almost lost her, and still I couldn't close my eyes for more than an hour without jerking awake in a cold sweat, hand reaching desperately across the sheets to make sure she was still there.
Sleep had become my enemy. Every moment unconscious was a moment I couldn't protect her.
A moment when I might wake to find her gone, taken from me again by that bastard who'd somehow managed to slip through every layer of security we'd built.
It didn't matter that he was locked away, awaiting trial.
It didn't matter that Mac had personally guaranteed the fucker wouldn't see daylight again for decades.
The fear remained, coiled tight in my chest like a viper waiting to strike.
Cecelia sighed in her sleep, turning slightly toward me, and I held my breath.
The bruises around her throat had faded to a sickly yellow-green, no longer the violent purple that had made me sick to my stomach every time I looked at her.
Her split lip had healed to a faint line.
All signs she was recovering. All physical evidence that time was passing, that we were moving forward.
But I remained frozen in that moment. In that elevator ride up to the penthouse. In that gut-wrenching second when the doors opened, and I saw her gasping for air.
I'd never been a man prone to nightmares.
I'd seen my share of darkness, carried my own weight of guilt and grief, but those demons had always stayed firmly in my waking hours.
Now, they visited me in sleep. Visions of Cecelia broken and bloodied.
Visions of arriving too late. Visions of life without her, gray and meaningless as a world without light.
"You're doing it again," Cecelia's sleep-rough voice cut through the silence, startling me from my thoughts.
I hadn't realized she'd opened her eyes. They were luminous in the dim light, those green irises watching me with a mixture of concern and tenderness that made my chest ache.
"Doing what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant.
"Watching me like I'm going to evaporate if you blink." Her hand emerged from beneath the covers to find mine. "I'm right here."
I brought her hand to my mouth and pressed my lips to her palm. "I know."
"Do you?" She shifted closer, wincing slightly as she adjusted her position. The bruised ribs were still tender, another reminder of how close I'd come to losing her. "Because you haven't slept more than a few hours at a time since it happened. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I'm fine," I lied, smoothing a strand of hair away from her face, careful to avoid the spot near her temple where a fading bruise still marked her skin.
Pushing herself up on one elbow, Cecelia’s eyes never left mine. "Cut the bullshit, de Luca. You're not fine. You're exhausted. I can see it all over your face."
"Such a sweet talker," I murmured, attempting to deflect with humor as I always did when emotions threatened to overwhelm me.
She wasn't having it. "Talk to me." Her fingers found my jaw, turning my face toward hers with a gentle insistence. "Please."
The plea in her voice undid me. I exhaled slowly, struggling to find words for the terror that had taken up residence in my chest.
"I can't sleep," I finally admitted, the words barely audible even in the quiet of our bedroom. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you on that floor with his hands around your throat. I see myself not getting here in time. I see—"
My voice broke, and I had to take a moment to compose myself.
"I'm afraid that if I fall asleep, I'll wake up and discover this was all a dream. That you didn't survive. That I lost you." The confession tumbled out. "And I can't... I can't lose you, Cecelia."
Vulnerability had never come easily to me. I'd spent a lifetime constructing walls, keeping people at a safe distance. But Cecelia had dismantled those defenses brick by brick until there was nothing left but the terrified man beneath.
"Oh, Rafe," she whispered, eyes bright with unshed tears. Her fingers brushed against my cheek, and I realized with a start that I'd let a tear escape. She caught this physical evidence of my weakness with her thumb, and didn't look away.
"You didn't lose me," she said fiercely. "You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere."
Needing the solid warmth of her against me, I—careful of her still-healing ribs—pulled her closer. My hand slid beneath her tank top to rest against the bare skin of her lower back.
"You don't know that," I argued, my voice muffled against her skin. "None of us knows what might happen. I thought I could protect you, and I failed."
"You didn't fail." Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging gently until I lifted my head to meet her gaze. "You came for me. You always come for me. And I'm still here, still breathing, still driving you fucking crazy."
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "You certainly are."
She kissed me then, a soft press of lips that quickly deepened into something more urgent.
Her tongue slipped into my mouth, and I groaned at the familiar taste of her, at the way her body instinctively arched into mine.
Even after everything, even with the shadow of trauma still hanging over us, desire sparked instantly between us—hot and demanding.
I pulled back before we could get carried away. Her ribs were still tender, and the doctor had warned against strenuous activity for at least another week. Though Cecelia had rolled her eyes at the recommendation, I wasn't taking any chances with her recovery.
"You really need to sleep," she said, tracing the dark circles I knew shadowed my eyes.
"I will." Another lie. We both knew it.
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "What can I do? To help you feel safe enough to rest?"
The question pierced straight through me. No one had ever asked me what would make me feel safe. I'd always been the protector, the one others turned to for security. Never the one in need.
"I don't know," I admitted.
My hand continued its restless path across her skin, needing the constant reassurance of touch. The silk of her tank top bunched beneath my fingers as I traced the dip of her waist, the subtle curve of her hip.
The thought came to me then, fully formed as if it had been there all along just waiting for me to notice it.
"Let's leave," I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could reconsider. "Not just the penthouse. New York. All of it."
Cecelia blinked. "What?"
"Let's travel. See the world. Anywhere you want to go." The idea gained momentum as I spoke, a desperate energy fueling my words. "We could spend a year, maybe longer, just experiencing everything together. Paris, Tokyo, Rome, Santorini—anywhere that calls to you."
I could picture it so clearly: Cecelia standing before the Eiffel Tower, her face tilted up in wonder.
Cecelia on a beach in Bali, sun-kissed and laughing.
Cecelia exploring ancient ruins, sampling exotic foods, dancing under foreign stars.
Away from this city that had become a prison of fear.
Away from the ghosts that haunted every corner of our home.
"Rafe." She propped herself up higher, her expression now openly skeptical. "What about your job? Your father would—"
"Fuck my father," I interrupted. "Fuck the company. Fuck all of it."
Her eyebrows shot up, and I took a deep breath as I tried to modulate my tone.
"I've made smart investments over the years," I explained more calmly. "We have more than enough to live comfortably without me working for a while. Maybe indefinitely."
"But the company—"
"My parents' expectations, their manipulation, their fucking games.
All of it led us here." Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.
"I've spent my entire life trying to be what they wanted.
Following the path they laid out because it seemed easier than fighting. And where did it get me?"
Cecelia reached for me, her touch light on my arm. "Rafe."
I covered her hand with mine and squeezed gently. "I need to make changes, Cecelia. Real changes. Focus on what truly matters."
"And what’s that?" Her question came out soft.
"You," I said. "Us. This life we're building together."
She was silent for a long moment, her eyes searching mine in the dim light. I could practically see the wheels turning in that brilliant mind of hers, weighing and measuring, considering all angles.
"And what would we do?" she finally asked. "Just... wander the globe indefinitely?"
"For a while, yes." I leaned forward to brush my lips against hers, a feather-light touch that still managed to send heat curling through my veins. "See everything we've ever wanted to see. Do everything we've ever wanted to do. No deadlines, no obligations. Just us."
Her fingers traced lazy patterns on my chest, following the lines of my tattoos. "And when we've seen everything? When we've traveled to every corner of the earth and experienced all it has to offer? What then?"
I caught her hand and pressed it flat against my heart, letting her feel the steady beat that existed only for her now.
"Then we come home," I told her, voice dropping to a whisper as I leaned in to touch my forehead to hers. "And we build a family."
Her breath caught, body going still against mine.
"A family?" she repeated, the words barely audible.
"If that's what you want," I clarified quickly. "Kids, dogs, white picket fence—the whole fucking fantasy. Or just us, if that's all you want. I don't care, as long as it's with you."
"You'd want that? Children?"
"With you?" I didn't have to think about it. "Yes."
The truth of it settled into my bones. I had never seen myself as a father before—had never wanted that responsibility, that vulnerability. But with Cecelia, the thought of creating something permanent, something that would outlast us both, filled me with a longing so intense it bordered on pain.
"I want everything with you," I continued.
"I want to see the wonder on your face when you experience something new.
I want to hold your hand as we walk through ancient cities and dense jungles and quiet villages.
And then I want to see you become a mother, to build the kind of family I never really had. "
Tears tracked down her cheeks. I caught one with my thumb, marveling at how this woman's emotions could undo me so completely.
"You really mean it."
"I really mean it." I kissed her again, softly, reverently. "I've never meant anything more in my life."
She studied me for another long moment, her eyes tracing over my face as if memorizing every line, every shadow. Then she smiled—that radiant, fearless smile that had first captivated me years ago.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Okay?" I repeated.
"Let's do it. Let's see the world." She threaded her fingers through mine. "And then let's come home and make beautiful babies with your smoldering eyes and my perfect ass."
A laugh burst from my lungs. "Sounds like a solid plan."
She smiled against my lips as I kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring all the love and fear and hope I felt into that single point of contact. When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, she rested her forehead against mine.
"You should sleep now," she whispered. "I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."
For the first time in two weeks, I felt the iron grip of fear loosen slightly around my heart. I lay back down, pulling Cecelia with me until her head rested on my chest and her body curled perfectly against mine. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent that had become home to me.
"I love you," I murmured, the words inadequate for the depth of what I felt but all I had to offer.
"I love you too," she replied, pressing a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "Now close your eyes, de Luca."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I did.