“I assume so. Montclairs rarely make public spectacles, and I’ve been making a few lately.” His voice is dry. “If you had asked, I would have funded the charity you liked. No need for the drama.”
“You wouldn’t’ve. You’d say no to spite me.”
“Not if you threatened to dothat,” he mutters. His strong hands are a ring around my waist. He doesn’t hold me like it’s for show. He holds me like he’s done it many times before and will do it many times again. I usually hate pressure around my stomach or chest. Reminds me too much of anxiety.
But this feels steadying.
“Why did you bid on me?” I ask. “Scared of me sitting down with an industry professional without your supervision?”
“I knew the guests would see it as me being jealous,” he says, and his lips curve with sarcasm. “Proof of our love.”
“Arguing out here in full view isn’t exactly doing wonders for us.”
He glances over his shoulder and then back at me. His eyes narrow. “Will you be the perfect wife and let me kiss you?”
The balcony suddenly feels too high up. My hands grip his shoulders. “We might have to.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t want to.” His voice is smooth and just a bit sharp.
“I don’t want to either.” I slide my hands around his neck. “Kiss me, then, if you don’t want the audience out there to think your wife can’t stand you.”
Rafe doesn’t do anything by half measures.
I know that by now. And it still takes me by surprise whenhe takes his time. He smooths his hand up my cheek and down to my chin to tip my face up for a better angle.
He looks at me like he’s expecting me to run. Or to slap him. Instead I hold perfectly still and dare him with my eyes.Go on, then. Claim your prize.
Eventually he dips his head and presses his lips to mine. His mouth is warm and firm, and my eyes flutter closed. It’s been a long time since anyone kissed me. A long time since anyone held me.
But then he lifts his head again and looks at me with green, unreadable eyes.
“You’re almost the same height as me,” he says. It’s spoken almost like it’s a surprise.
“In heels, yes.”
“Mhm,” he says, and swallows. I wonder if what he meant to say wasthat was nice, and my lips still tingle from his.
His hands around my waist drop, and I slowly let my hands fall from his neck. That was short. Quick. Efficient. Entirely professional.
I shouldn’t be using words like nice to describe anything with him.
“Mes chéris!” Sylvie’s voice calls out. “You both look so tense. In there and out here.” She comes walking toward us with the grace of one of her models. She holds her hands out. “Don’t tell me you two were fighting. Fighting is never good. Not at a party forcharity.”
“Just a disagreement,” Rafe says smoothly.
“He doesn’t like it when I make a spectacle of myself,” I say.
“Bah, of course he doesn’t. Neither did his father. They prefer to stay in the shadows, the Montclairs, and you were made for the light.” Sylvie looks between us, tapping her nails against her champagne glass with audible sounds. “You two are too tense. That’s it. This entire thing, from the courthouse to the media to parties, it’s not good for you.”
Rafe holds up a hand. “It’ll pass. We’ll settle into this… new dynamic.”
New dynamic.Because that’s a convincing way to describe a loving marriage.
“No, no, I will help you. Consider it a little wedding present from both Leelyn and me.” She puts a hand on our shoulders, smelling faintly of floral perfume and cigarette smoke. “Écoutez. My masseuse is in Como for a few more days. She’s a master with her hands, a real therapist.She knows exactly what you need.”
“Sylvie,” Rafe says. “We’re pretty busy, I’m afraid.”
“Of course, yes, yes, you’re always busy.Toujours. We have the wedding planning and the dress fitting. But Colette is worth the time. Trust me.”
