Page 26 of Wrangled By the Minotaur
“Thank you, Tom. Really. I know this isn’t… I know you have concerns, but I’m grateful you’re willing to help with the bees.”
He pauses at his truck door, looking back at me with something that might be pity. “Those bees are Rose’s legacy. Whatever else is going on in your life, they deserve to be cared for properly.”
The implication stings. He thinks I’m somehow neglecting my responsibilities, putting my grandmother’s life’s work at risk for a man I barely know. I want to defend myself, explain how this farm was going to be property of the bank in three month’s time without Raphael’s help. But instead, I say nothing, watching his truck disappear down the dirt road, leaving me standing alone among the hives that have been my sanctuary for so long.
When I walk through Raphael’sfront door, I hear the soft thud of his hooves against the hardwood floors in the kitchen. The sound stops abruptly when I appear in the doorway, and he takes one look at my face before setting down his coffee mug.
His nostrils flare slightly as he scents the air, and I realize he can probably smell my distress, all the anxiety and hurt that I’m trying to keep contained. His dark eyes scan my expression with predatory intensity, and his tail gives a sharp twitch behind him.
“What happened?” His voice is gentle, but I can hear the steel underneath, the protective instinct that’s already calculating potential threats.
“Tom knows I’m staying here,” I say, slumping against the doorframe. “He saw my truck in your driveway this morning on his way to the apiaries.”
A low rumble builds in Raphael’s chest, not quite a growl but close enough to make the hair on my arms stand up. “And?”
I relay the conversation, watching his expression grow darker with each detail. His massive hands gradually curl into fists at his sides, and by the time I finish, I can practically feel the anger radiating from his enormous frame. His tail lashes once behind him before he consciously stills it.
“That presumptuous—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath that makes his broad chest rise and fall. “How dare he make assumptions about us? About you?”
“He’s not wrong about the timeline,” I point out, though part of me appreciates Raphael’s immediate defense of me. “We barely know each other, and Iamliving in your house.”
“Because we have an arrangement. A mutual agreement that has nothing to do with whatever sordid scenario he’s imagining.”
But even as he says it, I can see the doubt creeping into his expression.
“The problem isn’t Tom specifically,” I say, starting to pace Raphael’s spacious kitchen. “If Tom—quiet, mind-his-own-business Tom—has such a strong negative reaction to you, then we’re in bigger trouble than I thought.”
Raphael’s ears twitch. “Meaning?”
“I knew people were wary of you, but I assumed it was just the usual small-town suspicion of outsiders. But this… Tom genuinely believes you’re some kind of predator who’s taking advantage of me.” I stop pacing and face him. “Which means that’s probably what most of the town thinks.”
“And that bothers you.” As much as he tries to hide it in his tone, I can see the hurt beneath the surface.
“It bothers me because it means we can’t just let news of our relationship spread organically and hope for the best. People are going to assume the worst about both of us.” I cross my arms, meeting his dark gaze steadily. “We need to get ahead of this story.”
“How do you suggest we do that?”
“You need to stop avoiding the town. You need to tell people who you really are and what you’re actually doing in Sunnybrook.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I simply prefer to keep to myself.”
“Raphael.” I move closer. “You watch the farmers market from your bedroom window because you want to be part of the community, but you won’t actually go down there and introduce yourself. That’s not keeping to yourself. That’s hiding.”
The word hits its mark. He stares hard at me, and for a moment I think he might argue. But then his shoulders sag slightly, and I see the truth of it settle over him.
“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “But it’s easier to let them think what they want. Because what if they reject me even once they learn my intentions?”
“But they’re rejecting you anyway. At least if you tell your story, you’ll know you tried.”
He’s quiet, his dark eyes studying my face. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“An interview. We go to someone neutral who can let you tell your side of the story.” I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. “And I know exactly who to call.” I pause. “If you trust me.”
He thinks for a moment, then nods firmly. With that, I press Sage’s name in my contacts.
She picks up on the third ring, sounding distracted. “Hey, Frankie. What’s up?”
“I need a favor. A professional favor.” I glance at Raphael, who’s listening intently. “I want you to interview Raphael Tauros for the Gazette.”
