Page 233 of Rosetti Family New York
24
Rafaele
"Isn't there anywhere cozy in this house?" she asks, trailing a finger along a vast white wall in the entryway.
Long lines, smooth surfaces, and harsh edges. I can see her point.
"Cozy isn't the vibe we're going for," I answer, watching as her eyes sweep the stretch of the hallway.
The stark emptiness of the house echoes her question back, almost tauntingly. We've just returned from Il Lusso, and she's still in that killer blue dress that does things to me, but her mood is changing, getting serious.
"No, I suppose not," she says.
She gives a light laugh, but there's a touch of longing to it. The sound is small in the massive space, like it might get lost before it reaches me. I pause, unsure, one foot pointed toward the guest room. I linger, hesitant to face the emptiness of my spartan room. There's reluctance in the way I shift my weight, not wanting to be alone with so little comfort around me.
"You're still heading back to the east wing?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
She raises an eyebrow. "Where else would I go?"
I shrug, suddenly uncertain. "Dom called a family meeting this morning. About you."
"About me?" Her voice rises slightly, a hint of anxiety creeping in. "What did they say?"
"That you're no longer a security risk." I watch her face carefully. "You've proven yourself. No more locked doors. No more restricted access."
Her eyes widen slightly. "So I'm officially... what? A guest with privileges?"
"Something like that." I take a step closer to her. "You could stay in my room. If you want."
The offer hangs between us, weighted with everything unsaid. I watch a series of emotions cross her face, surprise, consideration, and finally, a small smile that sends my heart racing.
"Forward of you, Rosetti," she says, but there's no rejection in her tone.
"Just practical," I counter, though we both know it's more than that. "Better view. Bigger bathroom."
She laughs softly. "Is that all?"
I move closer, unable to stay away. "Also, I sleep better when you're there."
Her playful expression softens. "Me too."
We stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between us comfortable now, filled with possibility rather than emptiness.
"Wait here," I tell her, breaking the moment.
She cocks her head, curious, as I stride toward the kitchen. I leave her standing there, filling the cavernous space, and head to the kitchen. I make her a peppermint tea with two sugars, the way I've seen her drink it. I stir until the sweetness dissolves, the swirl of steam carrying the scent of mint.
"Just how I like it," she exclaims when I hand it to her, her eyes bright and grateful.
Her fingers wrap around the mug, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
"Follow me," I say, leading her away from the cold, sterile rooms and into the smallest library.
The floor creaks under our feet, marking our path. She strides ahead, and I hurry to keep up, the steam from her tea a warm trail between us. I don't look back, but I can hear her soft footsteps, quick with excitement, as she pushes the library door open. I glance around, taking in what's clearly the coziest room in the place. The glow of the fireplace casts flickering shadows, and the scent of old paper and polished wood fills the air. I watch as the warmth seeps into her, like she's a part of the room already. She's holding the mug like a treasure, the heat soaking into her hands.
"Sit," I tell her, gesturing to one of two leather armchairs placed around the fireplace.
She settles in with an almost comical eagerness, and I can't help but notice how right she looks there, like a splash of color in the soft glow of the room. I bend down and start laying a fire, feeling her eyes on me, waiting for her reaction.
