Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
RAFAEL SANTOS
I pull up to the house and find Valentina sitting on the porch, her hair rustling as a breeze sweeps around her. Her cheeks are rosy, and there are glittering droplets shimmering on her impossibly long eyelashes, like she’s been crying.
Jumping out, I jog toward her. “What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, she extends a card toward me.
I stare at the pearlescent white card, rereading the words to identify what could be so upsetting. At the bottom, scribbled in a sparking purple pen, is a handwritten note.
It would mean so much if you joined us. Bring Rafael too.
I look up at Valentina.
“They’re getting married.”
I nod, looking back at the card, feeling out of my element but wanting to help.
“They’re getting married, and I haven’t even had a chance to fix things. They’re moving on with their lives, and I’m just—” She motions to the space around her like it’s no great feat, the trauma she’s already worked to overcome.
Sighing, I hand her back the card and walk up the steps to wrap my arms around her waist. She folds against me instantly, her face burrowing into my chest. “What’s really wrong?”
“My brother didn’t call to tell me he was getting married. We’ve fallen so far apart, I wasn’t even on his short list.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, understanding the ache. “I’m sorry.” I don’t offer to fix it; I simply hold her and let her grieve the hurt.
After a few minutes, the sun setting into a blanket of twilight, Valentina pulls away, wiping the dried tears from her cheeks. She blinks up at me, and I smile softly down at her.
“Where’d you go?”
I chuckle. “Are we already to that point of the relationship?”
“And if we are?” She scoffs, her eyes glittering with irritation.
I teasingly press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Then I’ll tell you every time I leave until you trust I’m not leaving for good. But you’ll ruin the surprise.”
Her irritation instantly dissipates. “What surprise?”
Dropping my arms, I grab her hand, and lead her to the front door. “Come on.” I can tell she wants to fight me, but she follows anyway. When we’re inside and feeling returns to my toes, I pull her into my lap on the couch.
It feels familiar, perhaps a little too informal for us having only recently crossed the threshold of honesty, but I ignore the small prick of discomfort.
I’ll not deny myself anything with V, not anymore.
The only time I’ll tone down the cheese is when she asks me to.
But even then, I’ll put up a good fight.
“What is it?” She squirms in my lap, leaning her back into my chest as she gets comfortable. My heart aches at the silent surrender, the trust she’s secretly giving me.
I pull the bag over from the cushion next to us and set it on her lap. “I don’t have much, but growing up, I always wanted to be the kind of person who did spontaneous things for my family to show how much I love them.”
Her hands hover over the bag. Was it too much? Did I finally say something to scare her off?
Slowly, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Are we family?”
I swear, there’s hope in her voice. “Yes.” I stare into her eyes, hoping she can hear my sincerity. I’ve never wanted anything more.
Licking her lips again, she returns her focus to the bag, carefully pulling out the tissue as if she’s afraid to break what’s inside.
“You won’t break it.” I nudge her arm.
“It’s been years since anyone’s gotten me a gift. I’m just savoring it.” Her tone is sassy, and my dick hardens against her ass. She squirms again, clearly noticing.
“You’re torturing me,” I breathe into her ear, and she shivers in response.
As she pulls out the last paper, she stares into the bag. “I’m not wearing that.”
I bark a laugh, my entire body shaking. What was supposed to be a tender, sweet gesture has become something else, and I love it. It’s so V.
“It’s not for you.” I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. Valentina faces me, her eyebrows touching her hairline. “No.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Not me either. He’s in the car.”
“He?”
“Come on.” I gently push her up, and she follows behind me, interlacing our fingers. We walk back into the chilled evening air, and I pull open the car door.
There, on the front seat, nestled in a pile of blankets… “A puppy?” There’s a note of awe in her voice, and my damn heart stutters.
“His name is Fred.”
I feel her glare through the dark. “Fred? No.”
“Why?” I chuckle, reaching in to pick up the still sleeping dog.
Valentina beats me to it, bringing the mutt out of the car into the night. “He looks funny.”
I shake my head, “I picked the ugliest one I could. I felt he deserved a fresh start.”
“Are you calling us the ugly ducklings?”
I chew my lip. I hadn’t considered that, and now ,I’m terrified to say the wrong thing. “I, uh—”
She snickers. “Honestly, it’s fitting. But I refuse to name him Fred. He deserves something cool, like Flea Willy.”
I glare at her through the darkness, not missing the flash of her teeth as she hides a smile. “Flea…Willy? You’re fucking kidding.”
“Nope, that’s his name. Don’t wear it out.” She slams the car door, stomping away before I can protest further.
“Let’s talk about this. I don’t want to call him—”
“I don’t care,” she sasses, not bothering to hold the door as she storms inside. It’s quickly becoming a game of chase, and the puppy yelps in delight in her arms.
“Come here,” I growl.
She whirls on me, already halfway down the hall, the puppy still clutched in her arms. Now alert, the one-eared dog, hair the color of mud, licks at her face. She giggles in excitement, and I shake my head as my heart swells impossibly farther.
“Call him Flea Willy.”
“No.”
She turns her nose up at me in challenge. “Do it, or—”
“Come here, or you won’t be my good girl. You’ll be a very bad girl. One night a whore, one night a good girl. Tonight, will you be a brat?”
She smirks, her eyes lighting with challenge. “Call him Flea Willy, or I’m screaming.”
I race down the hall after her, and she shrieks. “Scream, my little brat. Scream all you want, but soon, you’ll be screaming my fucking name.”