Page 226 of Rosetti Family New York
“Okay.”
“And we’ll help save the drowning whales too, or whatever it is you want to do.”
I pull out my phone and spend a few minutes on it.
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I hand her my phone, and she sees the screen. She stares, mouth dropping open.
“Rafe.”
“Picked a charity in Africa,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “Matched everything we spent, Sloane. Just for you.”
Her eyes are bright, like she can’t believe I did it. Can’t believe this is real. It’s a new look for her, and I want to keep seeing it.
“You’re something else,” she says, shaking her head, but there’s a warmth in her voice that is fucking addictive.
“Every penny you spend,” I say, “I’ll match the donation. So keep spending.”
“Rafe.”
“I mean it. Splurge on yourself, for once.”
She looks at me, long and deep, and I see the change in her. The way she sees the change in me. She can’t help a little grin.
“You’re going to regret this,” she says, a challenge.
I lean back, folding my arms across my chest.
“No, I won’t.”
She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s in this now. In it with me, no turning back. She’s taking it all in, letting herself have it, letting herself want it, even if it doesn’t come naturally. She’s strong enough to let me give her everything, and she’s smart enough to see I mean it.
“Come on, crazy man,” she says, reaching for the bags. “Let’s go.”
I watch her, happy and stubborn and mine, and I know this is just the start. I’m screwed, but I’m not sorry. I don’t care how deep I am.
I’ll match her penny for penny. The donation and the feelings.
Every damn cent.
23
Sloane
Iknow Rafe likes bad ideas. I’m counting on it. I pull on one of the dresses he bought me, the blue one with the fancy designer tag, and slip on the black heels that make my legs look impossibly long. He spots me in it and looks like he might rip it off. But instead, he grins like he’s holding all the cards and says, “You ready?” He doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but we’re in the city before I know it, and I’m more nervous than I want to admit. I’m betting he knows.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he says as he drives, the city lights flashing across his face.
“I’m afraid to move,” I say, shifting in the seat. “I might split a seam.”
“Worth it,” he says, glancing over at me.
The look in his eyes is pure fire, and it’s a wonder the dress doesn’t burst into flames.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but he just smirks, all mystery and mischief.
“You’ll see,” he says, the words low and teasing.
