CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
Rafe
A WAITER PASSES BY. The couple behind me are talking about some tour they went on that failed to meet their expectations. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a boat cruising down the Seine, its upper deck crowded with tourists.
The world marches on despite my wife asking me to take her virginity in exchange for delaying our divorce.
A virgin .
Knowing how closely Maeve Sullivan monitored her daughter, it shouldn’t be a surprise that my twenty-eight-year-old wife is a virgin. But sex is not something I’ve given much thought to where Tessa was concerned. It was something I deliberately didn’t think about. The difference in our ages, the sweetness of her personality that contrasted so sharply against the cold darkness of mine, made any type of physical attraction seem obscene. Having Tessa agree to the “in name only” clause of the contract had been a relief, even if the thought of her taking a lover after two years left me unusually ill-tempered.
It had been the right thing to do. I wasn’t going to consign her to a lifetime of no physical intimacy. Not when I had resolved to let her live her life and not dim it by subjugating her to my cold, barren existence.
My shock shifts, melds with a dangerous possessiveness. The same possessiveness I experienced when I saw her with Nathan rears its head once more. Heat fills my veins as blood rushes straight to my groin. I go hard in an instant at the thought of having Tessa in my arms, undressing her, being the first to ever see her, touch her, taste her. Need to take what’s being offered, to satisfy the hunger I had denied far longer than I had realized—
Paúō . This right here is a reason why such an insane proposal is out of the question. I’m not thinking with my brain.
I pick up my glass so I have something to hold on to, something tactile I can focus on.
“Is this a joke?”
“I think I would have remembered losing my virginity,” she replies wryly.
If I’d thought my irritability at the possibility of her taking a lover down the road bad before, it’s nothing compared to now. Thinking about another man daring to touch her, let alone look at her…
Thankfully our waiter interrupts my devolving thoughts with the third course: duck fillet, shallots with caillette sausages, and a mustard sauce. I stare at the food, at the artistic swirl of mustard on the edge of the plate, at the sprinkling of some dark purple powder over the duck that makes the colors of the food pop against the white plate.
The details swirl, blend together as her words echo in my mind.
…my first lover.
I pick up my fork, wielding it like a weapon against the insanity she has just proposed.
“What would be the terms of such an arrangement?” I finally ask.
She shrugs. Shrugs . I’m not prone to emotional reactions. But less than an hour ago I was tempted to commit murder. Now I’m tempted to reach across the table and shake Tessa by the shoulders.
I should have stayed in Greece.
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
Ah. I mentally pounce on the bit of logic she dangles in front of me. She threw something out, a wild idea she knew I would never pursue, so that I would agree to an immediate divorce.
“Once you come up with terms I can review,” I reply, calm now that I have a better understanding of the reason behind her request, “then I’ll consider it.”
Her eyes widen. “Do you ever just go with the flow?”
“No.”
Disappointment clouds her face. She looks back down at her plate. For the first time in a very long time, I regret my lack of spontaneity. My inability to let myself feel. That a childhood filled with pressure and anger and cruelty molded me into the man I am today. One who can’t forge stable, long-lasting emotional connections with anyone. Hard to do when I have almost no emotions to give.
Case in point: Drakos Development. The company everyone assumes is my end goal. My reason for existing. Except in the wake of Lucifer’s death three months ago, I’ve been left with a horrible realization.
It means nothing to me. The company I was groomed to take over, the one I have dedicated almost every moment of the last forty-one years of my life to, is nothing more than something to occupy my time. Without Lucifer dogging my footsteps, watching with bated breath for his firstborn to fail, I was motivated to work, to pursue, to lead.
But when I accompanied Gavriil to California after Lucifer’s passing and stood with him on a hotel ballroom stage, heard the passion in his voice as he spoke about upcoming projects up and down America’s West Coast, I knew. Knew the company could go under tomorrow and I wouldn’t care.
Yet another thing that widened the ever-growing chasm between my brother and me. Not that we had a good relationship to begin with. We had almost nothing, save what had been our mutual interest in Drakos Development.
Now we don’t even have that.
I swirl a bite of duck through the mustard sauce as I resist the weight trying to press on my chest. It’s only natural, I remind myself, to experience apathy toward something one cared about after loss. Even if the loss was not unexpected, and even if the person who died was a detestable human being who deserved a far worse fate than passing away surrounded by luxury, it’s still a loss.
In a few months, I’ll feel differently. As I settle into my new role, as I grow and expand the company under my own terms, it will get better. And even if I don’t feel anything at all, I’m capable of moving forward. Emotions have no place in business.
But if Tessa doesn’t agree to wait until after our anniversary to pursue the divorce, I’ll have my own substantial wealth, my investments and properties…and nothing else. My mother has been dead for years. Even when she was alive, she kept her distance from both her husband and her son, going so far as to move to Madrid to live out her final days. I have no relationship with the brother I kept at arm’s length for over twenty years. If I can’t make amends with Gavriil, a sibling I’ve lived and worked with, I see little point in trying to establish a relationship with Michail who clearly stated he wanted nothing to do with the Drakos name.
The weight presses down harder.
“I stay married to you through whatever date you set,” Tessa says suddenly, “between now and one month after our first anniversary. In that time, you agree to introduce me to sex.”
It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in. It wasn’t an empty challenge or a last-ditch attempt to make me leave.
Tessa is serious.
My imagination grabs the reins and takes a hard left into a vivid image of me sliding that blue dress down, revealing her bare breasts, her breathing erratic as I trail my lips from her mouth down to her jaw, then lower still over the elegant column of her neck.
“Is that it?” I reply, mentally applauding myself for keeping a steady voice as I try to dismiss the pictures filling my mind.
Try and fail, as I see myself kissing the swells of her breasts, then sucking one nipple into my mouth as she arches against me.
She frowns. “What else is there?”
God, I would laugh at her naivete if it wasn’t alluring in its own way. Her blatant confidence entwined with her innocence is intoxicating. The few women I’ve been with over the years—I hesitate to even call them relationships—were in it for the same reasons I was: mutual pleasure. Satisfying urges, spending some time with an interesting companion, and then parting ways. I liked them, enjoyed our interactions. But there was always that safety net of distance. Physical desire without the interference of unnecessary emotions. No risk of falling into the type of hell that had been my parents’ marriage.
Yet just a few minutes with my wife, seeing her and the woman she’s become in our months apart, has left me throbbing with lust. But her innocence is also the lifeline I need to grasp on to. A reminder that her inexperience is a severe detriment. She might have developed considerable grit since coming to Paris. But if I know one thing about Tessa, it’s that her heart is far too big for this world. I have no illusions that I’m her prince in shining armor. A woman like her, one who can’t hide the stars in her eyes or how brightly they shine when she thinks no one’s looking, deserves to have her first time be with someone who can at least give her the potential of a future.
Even if the thought of it being someone other than me is enough to make me set down my knife and pick up my bourbon.
Focus on the bourbon. The duck. The damned chandelier. Anything but her.
“How many times, for example,” I say as I raise my glass to my lips.
“Given I’ve never done this before, I’m not sure what’s reasonable.”
It is only through sheer willpower that I don’t snort the bourbon out my nose. She’s not trying to be manipulative or amusing. She’s simply stating facts.
The strength of my reaction is a telling sign that the control I exude in my life would be nonexistent. If there’s one thing I have left that is solely mine, it’s my control. I will not cede that, not for anyone.
Turning her first time into a business agreement is also an issue, one that leaves me with a vaguely nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. The same feeling when I proposed and I’d told myself I was doing the right thing, not just for the sake of the company but for Tessa. That anything was better than her sitting in that house day after day with no one but her controlling mother and a housekeeper for company since her sister had left for university in France. That the friendship we had established over the years would be enough.
I lied.
I had known, even then, that Tessa would want more. Deserve more. Even though I felt more for her than most, I would never be able to let myself feel enough. The last time I tried, it nearly ripped me apart.
“Tessa—”
“Garcon?”
I frown as Tessa interrupts me to signal our waiter.
“Tessa?”
“Oui, mademoiselle?”
She ignores me as she smiles up at him. “I’m leaving early.”
The heat spreading through my body has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with irritation. “I thought we’d finish our meal together.”
“I gave you a lot to think about. I think it’s best if we take some time apart to consider options.” She pulls out a silver clutch and hands the waiter a card before I can intervene.
“No, I’ll—”
“After I finish the house for Gavriil’s mother-in-law, I have another client lined up,” Tessa says with a sharp smile that warns me to stay quiet. “This is a business dinner. I’m paying.”
Like hell. “No.”
“It’s not up for negotiation, Rafe. And,” she adds with a ferociousness I never would have expected from her, “I’m taking a taxi home.”
I blink. I’m not used to people talking back to me. Ever. Especially not a woman who just a few months ago looked at me like I’d hung the moon as we recited vows to stay with each other in sickness and in health and all the other empty promises that fill up a wedding ceremony.
The waiter leaves. Tessa reaches behind her and grabs her crutches.
“It would be faster if I drove you.”
“I don’t care.”
She winces. Warning flares.
“Tessa, if you’re in pain—”
“I am, Rafe, but it’s normal.” She sighs as her shoulders droop. “Part of the additional physical therapy, part of this…” She waves a hand in my direction. “It’s a part of who I am.”
It hits me then how little I know about her injury, that I have no understanding of how it’s impacted her life. Remorse keeps me seated in my chair as she straightens. Regret for all the times I sought her out at events, talked with her yet never bothered to ask about the deeper parts of her life. Just because I have no interest in sharing pieces of myself doesn’t mean the same was true for her.
She slips her arms through the cuffs and grabs the handles, standing with a fluidity that speaks to how much she’s been using the crutches.
“We’ve talked through some serious subjects. Before you impulsively say no—”
“I never do anything impulsively,” I grind out. “I just don’t think this is the right thing for you.”
Her shoulders are thrown back, her movements confident as she turns away.
“You’re running away again.”
She freezes. Then, slowly, turns her head to look down at me.
“If you want to call it that. I, however, see it as removing myself from an embarrassing situation and from the company of someone who’s taking away my choice.”
I frown. “What?”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, Rafe. Yes,” she says, raising her arm slightly to show me the crutch, “I’m partially paralyzed. I’m a virgin. But that doesn’t make me helpless or stupid.”
“I never said you were.”
“‘I don’t think this is the right thing for you,’” she repeats. “You don’t have a say in what is or what is not best for me. If you don’t want to agree to my terms because of your own reasons, that’s one thing. I may not like it, but I’ll respect it.” She leans down, color high in her cheeks, eyes sparkling with anger. “But don’t you dare take away my choice. Ever.”
She moves toward the elevator. A few people glance at her. One outright stares until I catch his eyes and glare at him. He pales, looking back down at his table so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t have whiplash.
She walks into the elevator and presses a button. The doors start to close. Her head comes up and for one moment, our eyes meet. Pink still stains her cheeks. Her chin is still raised up in the air like she’s about to do battle.
But it’s the hurt in her eyes, the embarrassment, that guts me.
Then the doors close, leaving me with lingering discomfort and a sense of loss. Like once again I just let something vital slip through my fingers.
I force myself to drink the rest of my bourbon slowly. Take a bite of the triple chocolate torte with hand-whipped mousse the waiter brings out. Tell myself over and over again that I’m doing the right thing.
Only to have the possibility that she’s right and I’m letting my own concerns and guilt override her wishes circle back and slap me in the face.
I never saw Tessa use the crutches back in Greece. I had just always assumed she preferred to move around with the support of her wheelchair. I only knew about her accident because Gavriil told me shortly after he met her on one of the few occasions we talked while Lucifer was away. About how she’d been playing along a wall, slipped and fell, sustaining an injury to her spinal cord that left her partially paralyzed.
But when I saw her at Gavriil’s wedding, so happy, so assured, it had been yet another indicator that I hadn’t bothered to look past the surface. That I had taken so many things about Tessa at face value.
Like this proposal. I should have asked why. Why does she want me to be her first lover? Does she understand I can’t offer her more than what I already have? I was thinking with an entirely different part of my body, one that is still painfully hard even after her departure.
I should feel guilty. She’s young. Innocent, both figuratively and literally. Yet as she reminded me, she’s no longer a teenager. She’s a grown woman who’s accomplished a great deal.
…don’t you dare take away my choice.
The longer I sit, the more I contemplate the possibility that I dismissed her idea too quickly. I’ll fulfill the terms of Lucifer’s will. Tessa will get her divorce. And she’ll get whatever she wants out of this newly proposed arrangement. As she pointed out, she’s a grown woman more than capable of making her own decisions. She uprooted her life, moved to another country and is cultivating her own business.
If we talk, if she can explain her reasons to my satisfaction and we can agree to mutual terms, then perhaps there is a way for this to work.
The alternative if I say no is she pushes through with the divorce, I lose my share of Drakos Development and everything Lucifer willed to me.
And Tessa finds someone else to be her first.
Like hell .
The strength of my reaction surprises me. But it’s understandable. Right now, Tessa is my wife. One day, I will accept that she will move on. Find someone who can tell her all the sweet things she wants to hear, cuddle on the couch, take her out to restaurants like this. Give her a family.
A noise rises above the din of the restaurant. One no one else can hear. But I can, clear as if it were happening now instead of twenty-three years ago. Soft, muffled cries. A child crying into a pillow as he mourns his mother with no one to comfort him.
No one except a spineless brother standing just outside his door, his hand on the doorknob even though he knows he can’t open it. Can’t risk what will happen.
A cold wall slams down. I will never be a father. Unlike Lucifer, I’m fully aware of my own weaknesses, including that any children of mine would deserve far more than I am able to give them.
I need to take the rest of the evening to think. Even though I’m not having Tessa sign an actual contract for me to take her virginity, I need to write out terms, see everything in black and white. Complete a final review on my concerns about her emotional vulnerability and any other potential conflicts.
As much as I don’t care to admit it, I also need to review my own ability to stay detached. I’m not at risk of falling in love. It’s not something I would ever allow to happen. But I have concerns about this craving Tessa has ignited. I need to be sure that when the time comes for us to part ways, I won’t let petty jealousy or possessiveness interfere.
I glance over my shoulder. The bell towers of Notre Dame stand tall and proud against the darkening French night sky. They’ve survived generations of war, fire and humanity creating its usual havoc.
I can survive this challenge. Survive, conquer, control.
Tessa’s scent lingers in the elevator as I leave, a light blend that makes me think of strawberries and violets. It stirs my blood as anticipation courses through me.
I’ve never lost a negotiation. I’m not about to start now.