Chapter 5
5
VIVIENNE
A fter everything that happened with Chet—and my worry over how my parents would react to the news that I was no longer willing to marry him—I had been exhausted. Even with my fears rattling around my brain, it wasn’t long after I climbed into bed that I quickly drifted off. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean I stayed asleep.
It was dark outside when I sat upright in bed, a scream ringing out in my room. I didn’t realize the sound had come from me until Rafa barged through a door that I had assumed led to a closet.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, his furious gaze sweeping the room.
Pressing a trembling hand against my chest, I nodded. “Yes, it was just a bad dream. I—um—I was dreaming about running in the dark, and then he—” I gulped as a shiver snaked down my spine.
“You were running from him, and he caught you?” Rafa guessed. I nodded, and his lip pressed together in a flat line as his eyes drifted to my cheek. “After what that bastard did to you, it’s not surprising that you’re having nightmares about it.”
He padded over to the bed and softly ran his thumb under my split lip.
“I think it’s just starting to settle into my brain what a close call I had.”
“He will never lay another finger on you again,” Rafa vowed gruffly before crawling onto the mattress and pulling me into his arms. “And you won’t go through this alone.”
Having a man I barely knew climb into my bed should have been frightening, but I couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed so much concern for me. And there wasn’t a single part of me that was afraid of Rafa. So I stopped overthinking things and allowed myself to cuddle against him, savoring the feeling of safety that being close to him gave me. With Rafa holding me, I wasn’t worried about my nightmares coming back, and I drifted back to sleep with a smile on my face.
When I woke up again, the sun was peeking between the cracks of the thick curtains covering the windows, and there was no sign of Rafa. I might’ve thought that I dreamed it all, except for the note written in a masculine scrawl that I found on the bathroom counter.
I didn’t know him well, but the brevity of his message didn’t surprise me. Rafa didn’t seem like the chatty type. He gave off more of a tall, silent, and lethal vibe. Chuckling, I glanced at the note again, then my eyes practically bugged out when I noticed that my engagement ring was no longer on my finger.
“Crap.”
My first instinct was to frantically search for it because losing the darn thing would get me into a ton of trouble. Then I remembered that Chet and our parents were already going to be angry with me, so did it really matter if I had the ring or not? What was one more reason for them to be upset? I decided that it didn’t make much of a difference—at least not to me—and immediately felt lighter.
Setting the note back on the counter, I mentally thanked Rafa for giving me a safe place to land while I figured out my next steps. Then I peeked into the open doorway of the attached walk-in closet and gasped. “Holy heck.”
The huge space was fully stocked with gorgeous clothing, shoes, and accessories. As I looked closer, I noticed tags on the stuff hanging nearest to me. Upon closer inspection, I realized everything was my size…from the shoes lined up in rows to the lingerie in the drawers.
“What in the world?” I whispered to myself, taking a lavender cashmere sweater and a pair of Saint Laurent jeans from their hangers. They were items I would gravitate toward in the store, as was everything else I could see.
As impossible as it sounded, it seemed as though Rafa had somehow managed to stock this closet with a brand-new wardrobe while I slept in a room only feet away, without hearing a thing.
It seemed like more proof that I’d been right about Chet’s family’s wealth paling compared to Rafa’s, which could work in my favor. If there was one thing the Chanlers— and unfortunately also my parents—respected, it was money. Hopefully, they would be too afraid to go toe-to-toe with someone as rich and powerful as Raffaele DeLuca just to get me back for Chet. As for my parents…well, Rafa’s bank account would probably only help me out if I told them he’d make a better husband than Chet. It was a ridiculous thought, so I tried to ignore the little thrill it gave me.
My thoughts centered on Rafa as I took another shower, and they were the only reason I kept it together while I scrubbed all of the places where Chet had ever touched me. Thankfully, there weren’t many because I’d always done my best to avoid his roaming hands.
“Thank goodness his dad thought Chet’s bride being a virgin would play well in the press if it ever came out,” I muttered, cringing at the memory of that extremely awkward conversation.
Shuddering, I washed myself from head to toe again before stepping out of the shower. Then I dried myself, got dressed—taking a moment to properly appreciate the assortment of silky bras and panties—and headed for the door. My brows drew together when the knob didn’t turn, but before I could jiggle it again, something clicked and the door swung open.
An older woman stood on the other side, beaming a smile at me. “ Buongiorno . I’m so glad you’re up. I wanted to see if you were hungry. I’d be glad to take you down to the kitchen for breakfast.”
She laughed when my stomach let out a loud growl, making me blush. “That sounds great.”
She looked me over, and her smile widened. “My, you are beautiful, aren’t you?”
I cursed my pale skin when I felt my face heat even more, so I probably resembled a tomato.
“Follow me, bellissima . I’ll fill that belly up so we can put some meat on your bones. How does a cappuccino with a cornetto filled with crema pasticciera sound? Maybe some yogurt with fresh fruit and granola to go with it?”
I licked my lips, memories of the Italian pastries similar to croissants but sweeter and denser dancing on my tastebuds. “Delicious.”
“Perfect, follow me.”
As she led me downstairs, I asked, “Was my door locked?”
“Yes, it’s so easy to get lost in this house. Too big. Rafa was worried.”
It was difficult to argue with that logic when I never would’ve been able to find the kitchen by myself. Not when we walked down a flight of stairs and through several hallways on our way there.
The housekeeper whipped together my breakfast and set it in front of me, and I laughed when I saw that she added several other tasty items to my plate. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”
“Did you make enough for me, Carmen?” Rafa asked as he strolled into the kitchen. “Or am I stuck with whatever scraps Vivienne wants to share with me?”
Carmen let out a disappointed sigh. “Do you really think that I didn’t cook enough for whichever of you boys found their way to my kitchen for second breakfast?”
I giggled, and Rafa shook his head, dropping onto the chair next to me. “You find that funny, cara ?”
“More like adorable,” I corrected with a grin.
“First kind. Now adorable.” He sighed before stealing a blueberry from on top of my yogurt. “You keep using words nobody would ever use to describe me.”
Carmen set a cappuccino in front of him and patted his shoulder. “That is not true. You were an adorable child.”
I giggled again, earning me a smile from Rafa that made my breath catch in my chest. It was only the second one I’d seen since I met him, making me wonder how often he did it. I couldn’t help having a tiny little hope that I brought out something in him that no one else did.
Just as Carmen finished putting a plate together for him, another man strode into the kitchen, his attention focused on Rafa. “There’s a slight problem with my current…” He trailed off when his gaze slid to me. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Project.”
“Are you talking about the gallery project, Aston?” Rafa asked, stretching his arm out to rest on the back of my chair.
Aston’s gaze again darted toward me for a moment before returning to Rafa. “ Oui . But it can wait. However, I spoke with Charles a few minutes ago, and we should discuss it when you have a free moment.”
His French accent seemed out of place in a house full of Italians, but that didn’t make me nearly as curious as his vagueness, which seemed deliberate. And then there was the splatter of paint on his otherwise pristine and perfectly creased dress pants.