Page 114 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

I start to move, then falter. My legs feel weak. My thighs tremble.

Rafe threads his fingers through mine before raising his arms off the mattress, giving me something to brace on. Tears prick my eyes as I rise up, then slowly ease back down. He remembered. He remembers so much about me, so many details about who I am. He sees me like no one ever has.

I just wish he could let himself love me the way I love him.

I ride him with a frenzied passion. He answers, thrusting his hips upward, driving so deep into me I can feel him in every cell of my body.

My peak comes so fast I don’t have time to prepare, can’t hold back my half scream. He reaches his pinnacle a moment later, his fingers tightening on mine as he grinds out my name. I collapse on his chest and clench my eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling onto his skin.

His hand drifts up and down my back. His lips press a soft kiss into my hair. I could lie here like this forever.

But there is no forever.

I ease myself off him and lay next to him. He’s still for a moment. Then he rolls away and gets up.

I feel the severing of our connection like a physical snap.

He disappears into the shower. I wait until the lump in my throat dissipates, until I can open my eyes without letting a tear escape. I pull my wheelchair close and shift into it, grateful for the wider doors and hallways of this yacht that probably costs the same as five years of rent on my apartment.

I grew up in luxury. But not this level. Not where I could buy yachts on a whim and take lessons just to close a deal on millions, if not billions, of euros. Another way Rafe and I are different. Even if he finds no joy in it, his purpose is to make money. To achieve goals.

Not compatible.

I repeat the mantra to myself in the shower of the guest suite. Say it again as I pull on my dress from yesterday since I hadn’t anticipated us sleeping on board and move to the stairs where I left my crutches. I opt to scoot up and drag them behind me. Yesterday I would have had no problem waiting for Rafe and asking him to carry me to the top.

But now, I need to do this on my own. Need to put a stop to any kind of touching. Any kind of intimacy.

I finally make my way up to the lounge. I keep my eyes off the cushions on the floor where we made love to each other in the dark of the night, look out instead to the horizon where the sky meets the sea.

I’m still up there, watching as the sun climbs higher in the sky, when Rafe joins me. He hands me a cup of tea, taking care not to let our fingers graze. Warmth fills my hands, along with the soothing scent of lavender and honey. A sharp contrast to the coldness inside my chest.

“I told you when Gavriil came to live with us that Lucifer told me to keep his distance.”

I nod.

“What I didn’t tell you was that Lucifer told me if he ever caught me being kind to Gavriil, offering him any sort of friendship or comfort, he would kick Gavriil out of the house and back to the slums.”

I nearly spill my tea as my head whips around.

“What?”

Rafe’s face is hard, as hard as I’ve ever seen it. I finally see it for what it is; not a mask worn by a man incapable of emotion. But one who is holding back so much hurt because if he lets even a fraction of it loose, he might break.

“Having your eight-year-old brother look at you with hope and wanting, needing to respond to that, and knowing that if you do you’re consigning him to a horrible fate, does something to you.” He speaks coldly, clinically. “The only way to survive, to do what needs to be done even when you pass by his door and hear him crying in the night, is to not feel anything.”

He looks at me then. “You make me feel, Tessa. More than I ever thought possible.”

He holds my gaze. Let’s me see just how much he’s withdrawn, how far away he is as he locks everything up.

“But I will never be able to be a good husband or a good father.” His voice hardens, as if he’s trying to keep his demons at bay through sheer willpower. “My actions proved that a long time ago. I want you to have everything you want, Tessa. Everything,” he repeats. “I can’t give you everything.”

I hate it. I hate Lucifer, I hate what he did to his sons. My mind grasps for a reason, something that would explain why.

But for once, I understand what Rafe said. It doesn’t matter. There is no why that will explain this away. That will make things right.

I want to push. I want to ask him to fight. To talk to me. But he’s set his boundaries. He has, once again, been honest and up front with me since the beginning. He doesn’t believe himself capable of being a good husband. He doesn’t want children, not after the trauma he suffered with Gavriil.

I do. I want a husband who will be present, who will love me without reservation. I want children. I want Rafe, too. But I will not restructure my life around someone else. Suppress what I want until it all falls apart.

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