And hopefully sooner than later, the mother of my child.
Carina
“Here you are, signorina.”
I’m still in a daze from the intensity of the way Rafael fucked me in the bathroom, so I barely pay attention to the waiter. He sets my dinner plate before me and then hands me a fresh napkin. I take it without thought.
However, the slip of paper, coarse and jagged, is a strict contrast to the soft material surrounding it.
I swing my gaze to the waiter’s, mine full of confusion, and he gives me a single look. It’s stark and speaks of warning. Then he zips his gaze to Rafael and back.This message is meant for me.
Onlyme.
Dread fills my stomach as I slightly nod my head, letting the waiter know I understand his instruction. He takes my wine glass and fills it up as though he didn’t just set my heart racing. I thank him and grip the linen in my lap with trembling fingers, causing the paper to brush my fingertips again. Drinking a little bit of alcohol might help calm me, but I’m not sure I can do it without snapping the stem of the glass.
Rafael comments on the food that I have no appetite for, and to appear normal, I pick up my fork to skewer a piece of prime beef. I put it in my mouth, but only because he’s watching me, and then swallow it down with wine. It does nothing to relax me.
Time slows, yet my sense of urgency is pressing. This note isn’t a mistake. Someone wants my attention, and most likely, for me to do something. Not knowing isn’t helping my anxiety, but I have a dark premonition that when I read it I’m going to be even more upset.
At best, this is a love note from Rafael saying that he wants to do a second round in the bathroom. My cheeks flare with heat at the idea though. He brings out a side of me I didn’t realize existed.
At worst, the note is a threat. But to whom and why?
Waiting is a special kind of torture and as soon as Rafael turns his head, I glance down at the piece of paper.
Silvestri or Sister?
Choose one or lose both.
Fountain at 1a.m.
I quickly shove the note in my cleavage to keep Rafael from seeing it.
In that moment I swear I die inside, becoming a shell of flesh and bone. My brain and heart stop working and my breaths are so shallow that I can’t even hear them. A maelstrom of fear and helplessness slams into me, replacing the shock. And then, like defibrillators paddles have been pressed to my chest, a current of electricity runs through me, thrusting me back into the land of the living.
My heart kickstarts and hammers each beat so quickly I consider the idea it may explode. And my mind screams at the injustice of my situation, as well as conjures a number of potential scenarios. But none of them have a good outcome. The only way this will work is if I can have both Rafael and Violetta, alive and well. Asking me to choose is like telling me to decide which chamber of my heart I love more.
Without half of it, I can’t survive.
“Viziata.”
I start at the feel of Rafael’s touch on my arm. My smile is already in place when I turn to face him. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
His gaze scans my face and I stop breathing during the milliseconds he scrutinizes me. Obviously he senses something is off about me, but I’ll continue to blame it on my interaction, or lack thereof, with my sister. Considering how much that hurt, it won’t be hard to pretend it’s the only thing bothering me right now.
“Do you know how much longer your family expects us to stay?” he asks. “I’d say we’ve more than made an appearance.” He leans closer and skims the side of my face with his knuckles. “And if you looking freshly fucked didn’t let everyone know of my intention to marry you, I can’t imagine what would.”
I arch a brow. “I think they get it.”
“I could always fuck you on this table.” He shrugs. “You know, just as a backup plan.”
A laugh climbs its way from the bottom of my soul, past the despair clinging to me, and makes a path to my mouth, breezing past my lips. It feels good. This is but one of the reasons Rafael means so much to me. He can make me feel desirable, cherished, and protected.
It’s something no one has ever done.
“Unless you want a fork in your ass cheek,” I say, “I think it’s safer to keep—”
“Keep it in the bathroom. I know, I know.”
