Chapter 27 Rafael
Rafael
Aurora’s unusually quiet as I give her a tour of my house. I’m so used to her snarky backchat that her silence is making a niggle of dread squirm in my gut.
I’m used to people being speechless when they see the extent of my property. Six en suite bedrooms, all with walk-in wardrobes, home office with its own giant meeting room, private cinema, pool house with gym and boxing ring.
The place on The Bishops Avenue set me back a cool fifty-three million when I bought it.
Worth every penny, the agent assured me.
And she was right. The lack of neighbours only served as a bigger draw.
It’s not that there aren’t other houses, but half the time the owners aren’t here.
It’s a ghost street, partially made up of billionaires’ second homes, visited only by the staff on their payroll who maintain everything between visits. But something tells me this isn’t that.
What if she won’t agree to stay and insists I let her leave?
‘Your home is beautiful,’ she says finally as I lead her back into the kitchen.
‘Use the gym and pool whenever you like. It’s maintained daily, so you may meet Jeff coming into the pool house to check on it,’ I say.
‘Jeff?’ Aurora echoes, her face pale as her eyes ping-pong around my giant open-plan kitchen and dining room that overlooks the garden where the pool house sits.
If she didn’t look like a scared little bunny in headlights then I might feel jealous at the sound of another man’s name leaving her pouty lips.
‘Help yourself to food, drinks. Anything you like. I want you to feel at home.’ I walk over to her, studying the deep line that’s settled between her brows. ‘Aurora?’ I say, gently lifting her chin so she meets my eyes.
She swallows. ‘Yes?’
Her blond locks are trying to escape her ponytail. Her pink lips have been parted in surprise ever since I packed that suitcase and carried it out to my car. And her eyes. Bloody hell, her beautiful clear blue eyes are gazing at me with such uncertainty.
‘I have six bedrooms, but I’d very much like you to unpack your things in mine.’
‘Oh.’ She stares at me, her frown line deepening.
I want to kiss her right now. Pull her to me and lose myself in her taste. But one wrong move and I can sense she’ll pull away from me. Hard.
‘Why don’t I make you something to eat? While you go upstairs and unpack?’
It’ll take everything in me not to log on to my home security system and watch her whilst she’s upstairs without me. To see which room she chooses.
‘Um . . . sure. Thanks.’ She stares at me like she’s trying to figure something out.
‘Oh, this is for you,’ I say before she leaves the room.
I reach inside my jacket pocket and take out the piece of paper.
‘What’s this?’ she asks, unfolding it.
‘The alarm codes. And instructions for the front door. It works on biometrics, so we can set that up in the morning.’
She stares at the paper, before glancing at me. ‘So, it’s like the key for the front door?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You’re giving me a key to your house?’
‘Yes,’ I say slowly. ‘Is that a problem?’
She shakes her head, her eyes popping. ‘No problem, I guess. I just . . . Aren’t you worried I’ll steal something?’
I hold her eyes, noting the hint of challenge in hers.
But it’s only thinly veiling her real emotion – hurt.
That snide remark I made about her paying for her crisps, amongst other ‘digs’, have led to this – she doesn’t trust me.
She doesn’t know whether I was being sincere when I told her I believe her father is innocent.
‘Anything you want that’s under this roof is yours. You don’t need to ask. Now go and unpack.’
She clamps her mouth shut, giving me one more uncertain look before she walks out.
I rest my hands on the counter and exhale.
She’s here. That’s the main thing. She’s where I can see her. The rest I can work on, as long as she’s here. With me.
I set to work, cooking some fresh pasta while I fight the urge to go upstairs.
I need to tread carefully. She might need my help, but she sure as hell won’t find it easy to accept.
Everything I thought I knew about her situation has been tipped on its head since I sat down in that seat opposite George Thorne.
I saw the raw desperation in his eyes. I’ve seen it countless times in the eyes of people who’ve lost everything.
The people who then come to Fairfax Guardian to make sure that it never happens to them again.
We assure them that their assets are protected.
But Aurora isn’t an asset. She’s his daughter.
Which made his desperation all the more tangible.
It was a living, breathing mass that I could feel and taste across that table.
He’s an innocent man claiming he has the one thing I want, in order to get the single thing he needs.
Someone to protect his daughter.
He can’t tell me what I want to know about my money. I’ll have to re-assess how I deal with that. But he can give me something I want much, much more.
Aurora.
He’s a man willing to do anything. The glow of pride in his eyes as he spoke about her could have made it easy to hate the pair of them for how wholesomely they love one another – without condition, without expectation.
And for how fiercely they’re prepared to sacrifice for one another.
Her father isn’t concerned for himself, only for her wellbeing.
He doesn’t have a secret stash of money hidden away to provide for her should she need help.
Her bank statements showed that. And the wildness in his eyes confirmed it.
He doesn’t have my money. And he never has.
The man is pushing her right to where I want her. Because the past week has taught me one thing: what started as an obsession for revenge has turned into something very different. Something that feels like my heart is in danger of beating out of my chest whenever I see her.
This isn’t pure lust. God knows how much easier that would be. But it hit me the moment she opened the door to that grotty bedsit with a fire in her eyes, ready to fight me.
I care about her.
She’s mine.
In my head she always has been. And now my heart’s catching up. I’m in danger of falling in love with Aurora Thorne. And that’s fine, as long as she doesn’t fall in love with me back.
Because if she did, then that would be a huge risk against everything I’ve spent years keeping at arm’s length.
But for the first time, something deep inside me is telling me to do it.
To take the risk.
‘There’s more if you want it?’ I offer, looking up from my laptop, where I’m sitting on the floor beside Aurora as she finishes her giant bowl of pasta.
Her attention flicks from the reality TV show she’s watching.
‘Thanks, but I’m good.’ She gives me a tentative smile.
She’s warmed up slowly in my presence since she returned from upstairs.
She asked if we could eat in front of the TV, and initially I thought it was to ease the awkwardness she might be feeling being here with me.
But the way she’s relaxed more with each mouthful and her eyes have lit up as she’s listened to the people on her show talk non-stop shit, made me realise – this is how she relaxes at the end of the day.
And to not only be privy to that, but to be invited to sit beside her while I work, was an invitation I was not going to pass up.
Even if my back might kill me tomorrow from sitting on the floor.
‘Thanks for dinner,’ she says.
‘You’re welcome.’ I carry on typing, fully expecting her to go back to watching her programme in silence.
‘You know I’m not staying more than one night, right?’
‘We can talk about tomorrow night tomorrow,’ I reply.
She shifts against the sofa, turning so her body’s angled towards me.
‘You mean, you can try to talk me into it again? What are you going to do? Convince me each day to stay?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’ I frown as I spot a typo in the email I’m composing.
She huffs. ‘You know this is crazy, right? I can’t stay here forever.’
‘I disagree.’
‘Rafael,’ she scoffs, like I’ve said something absurd.
My name from her lips has heat running through my veins.
‘Stay tonight. Then see how you feel.’
She sighs. ‘Fine. I’ll stay tonight, seeing as I’m here now.
But that’s it. And we don’t tell Dove about it.
At least, not yet. I don’t want her knowing that the reason you insisted I stay here is because I’m poor.
Because I’m not. It’s fine. I’m managing just fine.
But if she knew where I lived and . . .’ Her nose wrinkles.
‘If she knew, then she’d insist I stay with her for free.
And I won’t abuse her generosity like that.
I’m not a freeloader. But you? You’ll let me pay you back for anything I use while I’m here. Electricity, water, food.’
It’s a statement – albeit a misguided one, so I don’t dignify it with an answer.
Her shoulders relax, taking my lack of reaction as confirmation of agreement.
Of course I won’t take her bloody money. What’s she going to do? Give me her last thirty-seven pounds and fifty-one pence, then write me an IOU for the rest?
‘You admit it, then? That you’re financially disadvantaged right now?’
‘It sounds really weird saying it like that.’ She sighs. ‘I’m fine. I’m coping. But I’m not booking holidays and opening savings accounts, if that’s what you mean.’ The tops of her ears tinge pink and she darts her eyes away from mine.
‘There’s no judgement here, Aurora.’
‘Sure there isn’t,’ she mutters, folding her arms.
‘I am an arsehole at times,’ I admit, ‘but I’ll never be one when you’re being honest with me. I want to know you better. I want to know everything.’
She looks at me warily. ‘No, you don’t.’
‘Try me.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Tell me,’ I urge.