Page 223 of Rosetti Family New York
That makes me choke out a laugh, right when I’m trying to be serious. Rafe gives me a look, halfway between desperate and amused.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I’m getting dressed, dragging him with me as we bolt for the door. He’s doing his best to look unaffected, like it doesn’t matter if we get caught, but I know he’s worried about me. Worried I can’t handle the heat, can’t handle the family, can’t handle him. He doesn’t say it, but I see it. I see everything, even the part of him that thinks I might back out.
But I’m not running away. I’m not afraid. I’m just getting started.
22
Rafaele
Istand with her in the empty hallway, and the big house echoes around us like it knows a secret. Her eyes are bright with plans, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this, how damn happy she makes me. I’m still not sure how I let it happen. How she got under my skin so fast. But she did, and now there’s no going back. Not for me. She stretches up on her toes, gives me a quick kiss, and looks at me with that wicked smile.
“I want to grab a few things from my place.”
She thinks I’ll just say okay. She’s nuts.
I narrow my eyes at her, and her smile widens.
“No fucking way,” I say.
“Rafe, it’ll only take a minute.”
“You’re not listening,” I tell her. “The Red Hooks know where you live. You’re not setting foot in that apartment until I say so.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll survive,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Not worth the risk.”
Her lips twist, and I see a challenge there, a stubbornness I know too well.
“I need more than one change of clothes.”
“Then you’re in luck.”
I take her wrist, lead her to the room where she slept before she decided she’d rather keep me awake all night.
“Pretty sure this is empty.”
“There’s a closet,” I say.
Her eyes go wide, then narrow as she remembers the state of the place. The untouched feel of it all.
“Yes, I noticed. All designer and formal. I’m not exactly comfortable wearing a cocktail dress to bed.”
I cross my arms.
“Not budging.”
She lets out an exasperated breath, the kind that says she’s mad as hell but in no hurry to leave. I like the sound of it.
“Fine,” she says, looking at me sideways. “Take me shopping then.”
Damn it if I’m not already in too deep.
We’re on Fifth Avenue, and I have her in a high-end store with so much designer stuff, it could sink a ship. The place is quiet, tasteful. The kind of spot where you can’t ask how much something costs because they won’t tell you. It’s why I know she’s testing me when she holds up a pair of torn jeans like they’re the last pair on earth.
“Think they’ll go with a cocktail dress?” she asks, grinning, wide and smug.
