Chapter Twenty-Nine
I lie on the couch holding a giant gin and tonic with my head in Molly’s lap while she smooths back my hair. It’s been three days since I left Hawaii, and I’ve heard nothing from Rafe. Not a text. Not a phone call. Not an email.
“He’s still in Hawaii with Hannah,” I repeat for the millionth time. I told him not to contact me until he’d sorted out his mess, so what other reason could there be?
Molly makes a noncommittal sound. She isn’t sure what to say anymore, either.
After the first day, she told me not to worry. He needed time to finish with her and then make his way home. But after three days, it’s getting harder and harder to believe that he’s ever coming back to me.
“Or he saw the email, and he hates me.”
This, too, I’ve said a million times.
Molly snorts. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“I dive-bombed his dad and his cousin.”
“Both of whom he hates. And they deserved it.”
I hope she’s right. But where is he?
My phone buzzes, and I sit up so fast that my head spins. I’ve maybe had more than one or two of these drinks. I snatch it from the coffee table, hoping it’s Rafe, but it’s an email from my bank.
I open it to discover a significant sum has been deposited into my account from WMC. I show Molly, and she cackles.
“Blackmail looks good on you, Tris.”
I am getting rather good at it. I allow myself a small, triumphant smile.
“It’s all anyone can talk about,” she tells me again, because this is now my favorite story. She told me everyone lost their minds when they showed up to work and read my email. It’s the most reckless thing I’ve ever done, but I regret nothing. It had to be this way, and I hope it makes a difference.
“When’s your interview with EnviroTech?” Molly asks.
“Day after tomorrow,” I reply. “But what’s the point?”
For a brief moment, I wondered if I’d made myself completely unemployable yet again.
But after I staked my career through the heart for the second time, I responded to the email from EnviroTech explaining that I’d reconsidered the interview. I knew it was a long shot, but they replied immediately, saying they’d be delighted to include me in the selection process.
“Trishara Malik, you will not throw your life away over a man.”
I rub my eyes and then take a long sip of my gin.
“I know,” I moan. “But Molly, I—”
The words stick in my throat, so I drink more, draining the glass.
“I know,” she says softly, rubbing my back. I don’t know what I would have done without her this week. “Who would’ve guessed you’d come home with a broken heart over Rafe Gallagher?”
“You’re the one who was rooting for us.”
“I know—but I thought we’d be celebrating.”
A fresh wave of tears tracks down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the sleeve of the oversized sweatshirt that I’ve been wearing for the past three days. I grimace at the stained cuff. I’m disgusting.
“Maybe you should take a shower and change?” Molly gently suggests. “You can wallow again after. I’ll order sushi, and we can watch a movie.”
I lift my armpit to sniff myself. “As long as it’s something with a lot of blood and killing and people dying.”
“You hate movies like that.”
“I know, but today, I love them.”
She squeezes my hand, and I head for the bathroom.
Once I’m clean, I put on some comfy clothes and tie up my hair in a messy bun. I still look pale and wrung out, but at least I don’t smell anymore.
As I enter the living room, a knock sounds at the door.
I walk over, not even bothering to check through the peephole. I’d welcome a serial killer right now. Maybe he’ll do me a favor and cut out my heart. I have no use for it anymore.
But when I open the door, every drop of air is expelled from my lungs.
Rafe stands on the other side, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed and a large reusable grocery bag dangling from his elbow. He smiles and holds up his phone.
“As I mentioned, we’re doing something different today,” he says to the screen, stepping into my apartment. “This place belongs to someone who means a lot to me. I want to introduce you all to Tris.”
He flips the phone around, and I drop to the floor, covering my head with my arms.
“What the hell, Rafe? I look like a corpse right now,” I hiss. I’ve morphed into a mole person who’s emerged squinty and pale in the bright light of day.
He grins and flips the phone back to himself. “Okay, she’s being shy right now, but we’ll work on that.” He looks around and whistles. “Nice apartment. I’m going to need your kitchen.”
His gaze sweeps over me as he kicks off his shoes and then drops the bag on my island.
Dumbfounded, I watch as he unpacks various plastic containers and kitchen instruments. He pulls out a black stand with an arm like a bendy snake and sets his phone in the holder. The smile he turns on the camera is so bright it’s like a thousand-watt bulb has exploded in my apartment.
Then he smiles at me, and my heart crumbles in my chest.
“Rafe, what are you—”
He holds up a finger and then pops open one of the plastic containers he’s pulled from his bag.
“I know this isn’t normally how I do it,” he tells the camera. “But I’ve prepared some stuff ahead of time.” He pulls out several rounds of golden pastry crust, each disc about an inch deep and a hand span across.
“The pastry is already made, but you all know the recipe for this one.”
I pull out my phone and navigate to the live feed, watching as hundreds of comments pop up, tripping over each other.
Dude, you’re hot.
What’s going on? Who is this?
Marry me.
Take off your shirt, Rafe.
Where do I find the recipe?
I cover my mouth in amusement as he continues to narrate his actions.
He holds up a second container and lifts the lid. “Here we have my signature lemon curd, swirled with a little rose water. It’s butter and sugar and eggs and flavoring. I’ll share the recipe when I post the photo.”
He flashes me another smile, and I’m too stunned to react.
Molly drifts over and plants her elbows on the counter as we exchange a bewildered look.
“Where are your pots?” Rafe asks, and I point to the drawer near the stove.
He retrieves a small saucepan and fills it with sugar from a bag he’s brought along. He turns on the stove and returns to the island, picking up a piping bag and holding it up.
“Won’t you say hi?” he asks me. “I’d love for everyone to meet you.”
He looks so hopeful that I find myself nodding.
With a grin, he flips over the camera so it’s pointed at me. His followers get a fleeting glimpse of me trying to pointlessly smooth down my hair before I wave to the camera.
“Say hi, Tris.”
“Hi, Tris,” I whisper, and Rafe grins before he turns the camera to himself. He peers at the screen for a moment.
“Read the comments,” he says, and I pick up my phone to see what his personal peanut gallery has decided.
Omg, she’s so pretty.
Rafe, who is that?
Do you looooove her?
Aw, this is so romantic.
Marry ME, not her.
I’m blown away by how connected they all are to this radiant version of Rafe.
Die BITCH.
Um, okay then.
I scroll through the barrage of comments while Molly reads over my shoulder.
Rafe is back at the stove, mixing sugar in the pot. He tests the temperature with a thermometer as he continues explaining his process to the camera.
Watching him like this, so confident, so in love with what he’s doing, standing in my kitchen , is a massive turn-on. I don’t know what’s going on, but everything in me softens.
“The sugar needs to be at 338 degrees Fahrenheit for this,” Rafe says as he continues to stir. He keeps up a stream of chatter until he’s satisfied. He sets up a baking sheet and covers it with a heat-resistant liner before pouring out the sugar in a series of complicated swirls and patterns.
“We’ll let these cool for a minute,” he says. Then he retrieves a piping bag of lemon curd and dollops some into each of the crusts. “Normally, I’d suggest also cooling these for a bit in the fridge, but we don’t have time for that today. You don’t mind slightly room-temperature tarts, do you, Tris?”
He looks up at me through thick, dark lashes, and I shake my head. “No,” I say, finding my voice. “Of course not.”
He returns to what he’s doing, swapping out the lemon for a piping bag full of meringue. He adds a swoosh to the top of each tart and then pulls out a tiny kitchen blowtorch.
Molly and I both ooh in amazement as he lights it and browns the meringue. He returns to the pan of cooling sugar decorations and then stops, placing both palms flat on the counter.
“Will you come over here?” he asks. “Please?”
I’m too confused to resist. I’m as pliable as a wet cotton ball. Molly gives me a nudge, and I make my way around the island.
Rafe watches me like I’m holding the moon in my hands.
He tops one of the tarts with a sugar-spun heart and then holds it up for me.
“For you,” he says. I study his face, searching for some explanation for all of this.
Sure, this is a nice gesture, but it’s been three days since I’ve heard from him.
“What is all this?” I ask, finally gathering my wits. “Why are you doing this?”
He puts the tart down and takes my hands. “I told you I wanted more than a vacation fling, and I meant it. I know you need a little convincing, so here I am, baring my soul and my heart before you and a few thousand witnesses. I want everyone to know how I feel about you, and I want you to know that I’d never betray your trust, no matter what happens.
“Tris, you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You challenge me. You understand me in a way no one else ever has. You make me laugh, and you make me feel things I’ve never felt before. And even if you send me away, it will be worth it because then, at least, I’ll have finally told you that I love you.”
The air around us crystallizes.
“You do?”
He smiles, stepping closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Yes, how can you not see that by now?”
I open my mouth to reply and then remember the camera as I glance at the screen.
“Oop,” Rafe says, turning to address his fans. “Thank you for coming along, everyone. I think it’s time to shut this down. I’ll let you know how it goes. Wish me luck.”
The last few comments scroll up the screen.
Good luck, Rafe!
We’re rooting for you!
Don’t forget the lemon recipe!
Who is that?
Take off your shirt!
When we’re alone, I still have no idea what to say.
“Why are you crying?” Rafe asks, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
“It’s been three days,” I say. “It’s been three days. I thought you’d stayed there with Hannah. I thought you hated me for that email I sent. Why didn’t you text or call?”
“You told me not to,” he says with a frown.
“I know,” I say with a sob. “But when have you ever listened to me?”
He grins, wiping another tear from my cheek. “I’m sorry. I wanted everything dealt with before I came to see you. The slate had to be clean. You deserved that. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. I should have been more honest with both Hannah and myself months ago. When I left Chicago, it didn’t occur to me that I’d hurt you instead by not doing so. Never in my wildest dreams did I think we’d end up where we did.
“Tris, it’s always been you. You said I never smiled, but that was because it was easier to keep you at a distance when it seemed like you wanted nothing to do with me. I moved on when it was clear you weren’t interested, but a few months ago, I wondered if maybe there was still a chance. I knew you had to have felt that spark the day we met.
“Then we ended up on the retreat together, and there was the thing with the room, and it felt like fate was telling me it was finally time.”
I’ve been rendered speechless as he continues.
“As for your email—Tris, I’m so fucking proud of you. That took so much courage. That place has never ever deserved you.”
I exhale a sharp breath. “I trashed your dad in front of the entire company.”
The corner of his mouth lifts with a smile. “He’ll get over it. He can be a dick, but he’s also surprisingly open to admitting when he’s been wrong. Honestly, I think he kind of respected the way you stood up to him.”
“And Rory? Won’t family gatherings be super awkward if I’m there?”
At that, Rafe’s expression hardens. “Rory has already been told that if he comes within a hundred feet of you ever again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
I sniff, my tears still falling. “You’re such a caveman.”
“You love it.”
I huff out a laugh, covering my mouth. “What about your mom? Isn’t she upset about Hannah?”
He takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “I told my mom I met someone who makes me happier than anyone has ever made me. Someone who’s become everything to me.”
“And?” I whisper.
“And she can’t wait to meet you.”
That right there is the moment I splinter. All of my fears and worries dissipate, turning into the past. Rafe has proven that I can trust him. He makes me feel safe, and… he is so worth it.
But Rafe isn’t done with his revelations yet.
He pauses and takes a deep breath as if the next part costs a piece of himself.
“And I quit WMC. I told my father I was done, and this was never what I wanted. At first, I’d planned to do it for you, but you beat me to it.”
“I didn’t want you to quit for me,” I say.
“I know. In the end, I did it for me. Your courage gave me the guts to do so.”
My nose is running from crying, and I wipe it with the sleeve of my sweater.
If he still loves me like this, then I don’t think he’s going anywhere.
“I’m so proud of you, too,” I whisper.
He pulls me in closer, a finger trailing my jaw. “Tris, I love you. I want to be with you if you’ll have me.”
He looks so hopeful and beautiful. His eyes are pools of melted amber reflecting in sunlight. He is everything I wanted and didn’t know was right in front of me all along.
“I love you too,” I say. “Of course I’ll have you.”
He wraps me in his arms and kisses me hard. Then, he touches his forehead to mine. “I promise never to let you down again.”
It’s then I remember. “Uh, Molly.” She’s watching us with an enormous smile, her elbows on the counter and face cradled in her hands. “I think you can go now.”
“Right,” she says, blinking. “Of course.”
She gathers up her purse and scurries over, wrapping us both in a hug. “Welcome to the family, Rafe. It was a long time coming.”
“I look forward to getting to know you better, Molly.”
They exchange a grin, and my heart explodes in a hailstorm of candy hearts.
When we’re alone, Rafe steps back and carefully rolls up the cuffs of his black dress shirt. “I’m sorry I can’t take you to my lair right now. The drive is way too long, and I need you right this very minute. Unless you want to eat the tarts first?”
He gives me that evil smirk I fell in love with, and it turns my knees to jelly.
“What about your followers? Won’t they wonder how I responded?”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“Take a picture and tell them,” I say.
I’m warming to the idea of mild social media fame. He draws me next to him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. With his lips pressed to my temple, he snaps a photo of us while I grin at the screen. This smile is a permanent fixture now, like the address above the front door.
He taps on the screen and posts the picture, showing it to me.
The caption reads: She loves me too.
His notifications are already blowing up with like after like as the comments roll in.
Congrats!
I knew she would!
Does this mean we’re over?
Why doesn’t he ever take off his shirt?
“It’s time for me to ravish you,” he says, bending down and slinging me over his shoulder. I scream in delight as he heads down the hall.
“Where’s your bed?” he asks, opening doors before finding my room. He drops me onto the field of my fluffy duvet and then crawls over me.
“Naked. Now,” he says, pulling at my leggings and shirt.
“You’re so verbose as a villain,” I tease. He snarls as he catches the waistband of my underwear in his teeth.
“Don’t make me tie you up,” he replies, tugging the fabric down my thighs.
“I might be okay with that.”
He scans the room with a distraught expression as if wishing he had brought some rope.
“Next time,” he promises as he drops his weight on me. “When I take you to my actual lair.”
Then we’re kissing as we continue undressing until we’re both bare.
“I’ve missed this so much. I was so scared I’d never get to do this again,” he says, his mouth trailing over every inch of my skin.
“I was too,” I say. “I thought—”
He cuts me off with a bruising kiss. “Never. I told you I’d come for you. I’m sorry it took so long, but it was all so messy. I promise I’ll always come for you. Believe me when I say that.”
“I do,” I say, gasping as we become teeth and nails and searching mouths and frantic fingers digging into muscle and flesh until our breath is ragged and our bodies are flushed.
When we’re finished, Rafe retrieves the lemon tarts from the kitchen, and we share all three in bed. (By share, I mean I eat two and a half.)
“This might be better than sex,” I say, licking my fork and then the entire plate with the flat of my tongue.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that.”
I laugh and then crawl over and straddle his hips. He cups the back of my neck, and we kiss again.
“Either way, I’m keeping you both forever,” I say softly when I pull away.
Then he smiles, and this one is cumulative.
It’s smile upon smile, exponentially growing and expanding with every single one he ever held back.
It’s years of smiles that we both owe one another.
And it’s then I know that this one—this smile is only and forever just for me.