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Yasmi n
I took a deep breath, savoring the warm aroma of the freshly baked bread and the subtle hints of garlic wafting from the open kitchen. Rafael had picked this little Italian bistro on the edge of town for our lunch date, and it was perfect. Quaint and cozy, it makes you feel at home the moment you walk in. As I looked across the table at Rafael, his dark eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, I felt a flutter of excitement as I stared at him.
"So, what's good here?" I asked, scanning the menu though my mind was only half-focused on the food.
"The lasagna," Rafael replied without hesitation. "Trust me, it's the best you'll ever have."
"Is that so?" I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide my smile. His eyes seemed lighter and his smile brighter in the few hours we were out of the city.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "I've been coming here for years. Mario, the chef, makes it just like his Nonna used to. It's the real deal."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, when you put it that way, I need it."
We placed our orders, and as we waited, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Rafael had a way of making me feel at ease like I could tell him anything. We talked about our favorite books, and movies, and even debated the merits of pineapple on pizza. I could be persuaded to try it, but he was strongly against it. It felt good to laugh, to forget about the chaos outside these walls, if only for a little while.
When the food arrived, it was every bit as delicious as Rafael had promised. The lasagna was rich and savory, with layers of creamy ricotta and tangy marinara that melted in my mouth. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, savoring each bite.
"So," Rafael began after taking a sip of his wine. "I've been thinking."
"Uh-oh," I teased. "You've been thinking, should I be worried?"
"Depends," he said, a playful glint in his eye. "How do you feel about trying something new today?"
"New?" I echoed; curiosity piqued. "Like what?"
He leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face. "There's a shooting range not too far from here. I thought it might be a good way to blow off some steam."
I blinked, taken aback. "A shooting range? Really?"
"Yeah," he said, his expression serious now. "We've both had a lot on our minds lately. I thought it could be... therapeutic."
I considered it for a moment. It was certainly unexpected, but maybe that was the point. I probably should tell him that I was an excellent shot, and my dad and brother taught me and Amirah how to shoot but I wanted this experience with him. "Alright," I agreed, setting down my fork. "Let's do it."
The drive to the shooting range was quick. I've held a gun before, but it’s been a while since I've had to use one. As we pulled into the gravel parking lot, he glanced over at me.
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I replied, trying not to give anything away.
Inside, the range was a stark contrast to the cozy bistro. The walls were lined with targets, and the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder. Rafael led the way to the counter, where he rented a couple of handguns and purchased some ammunition. The staff gave us a brief rundown on safety procedures, and then we were shown our lane.
Rafael handed me a pair of ear protectors and safety glasses. "First things first," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Safety is the most important thing here. Always keep the gun pointed downrange, and never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot."
I nodded, slipping on the gear. The weight of the firearm in my hand was familiar, and Rafael's steady presence was comforting. He positioned himself behind me, guiding my hands as I adjusted my grip. I was better at playing a novice than I thought.
"Like this," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Relax your shoulders and take a deep breath."
I did as he instructed, feeling a strange mix of tension and calm. As I squeezed the trigger, the loud bang echoed through the range, followed by the sight of the bullet hitting the target, albeit not exactly where I had aimed. I turned to Rafael, who was watching me with an approving smile.
"Not bad for your first shot," he said. "Try again."
I nodded, adjusting my stance, and aiming once more. This time I let the years of training kick in and I fired hitting the bullseye with ease.
I turned around just in time to see the suspicious look on his face. "You're quite good for a beginner."
I laughed. "It must have something to do with the years of training."
"I knew it," he laughed, not at all angry by my earlier omission of the truth.
After a while, Rafael took his turn, demonstrating his skill with impressive ease. I watched as he hit the target with precision, each shot making me feel like he'd held a gun at least twenty times. When he was done, he set the gun down and turned to me, a grin on his face. " You're not the only one with training."
I smiled, but before I could respond, he cleared his throat, his expression turning serious. "Yasmin, there's something I need to tell you."
I felt a knot form in my stomach. "What is it?"
He took a deep breath. "I think we should move out of the penthouse."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and unexpected. I tried to mask my shock, focusing on adjusting the firearm in my hand, but my mind was racing.
"Why?" I managed to ask, keeping my voice as even as possible.
"Ethan's becoming more of a problem," Rafael explained. "It's not safe for us to stay there anymore. He was lingering in the lobby, who knows what would have happened if he saw you instead of me?"
The words hit me like a shockwave, but I forced myself to stay composed. Adjusting my grip on the gun, I asked. "Do you already have a place in mind?"
Rafael nodded. "Yes, I have a house. The only reason I stayed in the penthouse was because you seemed comfortable there, and I didn't want to take that away from you."
A pang of sadness washed over me. I wondered why a billionaire was living in a penthouse, but I never would have thought I was the reason for it. He hasn't mentioned me at all in his plan to move. Did this mean he wanted me to live elsewhere? Before I could voice my concern, he continued.
"I was hoping you'd move in with me," he said, his voice softening. "In my house."
My heart leaped in my chest. "You... you want me to move in with you?"
"Yes," he replied, his eyes locking onto mine. "I want you with me all the time."
Overwhelmed I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "My father... he bought a mansion near here. He wanted to be closer to me and Amirah."
"That's wonderful news," Rafael said, his expression warm and encouraging even though I could tell he was confused about where I was going with this.
"Yes, it is," I agreed, taking a deep breath. "But it also made me think a lot about my feelings and what I want. And... I need to know something."
Rafael tilted his head slightly, waiting for me to continue.
"Our engagement," I began, my voice trembling. "Can I consider it a real one? I mean, are we really engaged, or is it still just a ruse to...?"
His stunned silence made my heart race. I hadn't considered that he wouldn't be on the same page as me and now I felt like such a fool. Before he could say anything, I backtracked, trying to cover my ass and spare my feelings.
"I mean, it's okay if you don't see it that way. I understand if you’re not ready or if you were trying to make me feel secure. I don't want to pressure you or make you feel like you have to—"
"Yasmin," Rafael interrupted gently, taking both of my hands in his. "Stop."
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure as I looked into his eyes.
I almost lost it when he dropped to one knee before me. "Yasmin, I want nothing more than to be your husband in every possible way. Even though we're still getting to know each other, I would be over the moon if you agree to make our engagement real and if you agree to move in with me."
I blinked back tears, barely able to believe what I was hearing. "You mean that?"
"With all my heart," he said, his voice unwavering.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I nodded. "Yes, Rafael. Yes, I'll move in with you and be your real fiancée."
A wide smile broke across his face as he stood up, pulling me into a tight embrace. I buried my face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely. It felt surreal, like a dream I didn't want to wake up from. As his arms wrapped around me, a thought pierced through my euphoria—he hadn’t said he was in love with me. He wanted to marry me, yes, but was he in love with me? I didn't have the answer, but I knew I desperately wanted him to be.