Hmm. I try a different approach and cut in. “What will my wish cost, Rafael?” Just because I offered one thing doesn’t mean he wants that, I just realize.
The question stops him mid-stride, and he turns to face me with an expression I can't read. The late afternoon light streaming through the windows catches the silver at his temples and the darkness in his eyes, and I'm struck again by how devastatingly handsome he is.
His masculine beauty is mesmerizing and I’m sure he’s destroyed the hearts and hopes of countless women who thought they could tame him. I can’t be the only wish he’s granted nor the woman he’s brought here.
He moves to a bar cart near the window and reaches for a crystal decanter, pouring two fingers of amber liquid into a heavy-bottomed glass. “Would you like one?”
“No.” I watch him take a slow sip of what I assume is bourbon, the muscles in his throat working as he swallows. “I want to know what I owe you.”
Rafael sets the glass down and crosses the distance between us with the predatory grace I'm beginning to recognize as uniquely his. He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical embrace—cedar and smoke and something darker that makes my pulse quicken despite my best efforts to remain unmoved.
“I missed you.” His voice is low, intimate, completely at odds with the conversation I'm trying to have. “This past week, while I was making arrangements, I couldn't stop thinking about the woman who tore apart her own dress to write wishes on silk.”
Arrangements to crash my miserable wedding and steal me away, he means.
The confession catches me off guard, and I find myself momentarily speechless. “You knew who I was and you allowed me to lie to you.” I watch every inch of his face for a tell but he keeps it neutral. "Why? Why didn’t you say something?”
He lifts a heavy shoulder and brings his drink to his lips before answering. “I wanted you to feel safe. Your lie was for you to feel comfortable, not for me to expose you when you didn’t want to be.”
He reaches up and traces a finger along the curve of my jaw, and my skin heats in the wake of his touch like kindling catching fire. “I knew who you were the moment you walked into my club, Persia Fiore. The Governor's daughter with tears on her face and desperation in her eyes. You’ll quickly learn no detail gets past me.”
I wave off his casual tone and don’t allow it to sway me from my line of questioning. It’s way too easy to fall into a relaxed state when a man like him uses such a calm, husky tone.
“So our encounter was planned?” The thought should make me angry, but all I feel is a strange kind of relief that at least one of us knew what they were doing that night.
“Not even a little.”
“Oh.”
His smile is almost rueful. "I didn't tell you to come to Scarlet Thorn. I didn’t plant the idea for your friends to tell you about the Red Letter Syndicate in their heads. I was sitting in my office, ready to call it a night, when you appeared on my security feed. You looked like a sweet, confused little dove who needed help.”
"My friends were helping me?—"
"Your friends wanted to be seen with the Governor's daughter and to show off to their boyfriends. They abandoned you as soon as you served your purpose otherwise they would have come looking for you. Better yet, they would have never let you walk off on your own.”
I cross my arms over my chest. There's that edge again, that cold anger that surfaces whenever Calla and Kiara are mentioned.
“They left you alone in a building full of men who would have paid fortunes for a single hour with you. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”
I press my lips together and jut my chin high. “I’m a big girl,” I snap, bristling at his tone despite the warmth spreading through my chest at his protectiveness. “I didn’t need a babysitter.”
His smile turns wolfish, and something in my stomach flips over. He considers me over the rim of his glass as he takes another swallow before answering.
Damn him for making that look sexy.
I hold my irritation close to my chest so I don’t lose my focus.
“Is that so? Because the first time you set foot in a sex club, you managed to find the most dangerous man in Chicago and beg him to save you. Tell me, little dove, what exactly were you doing there in the first place? And don’t lie to me. I’ll know.”
The question brings back the memory of that night in vivid detail—the beautiful people draped in body oils and glitter, the moans echoing from semi-covered booths I didn't dare peek into, the overwhelming sense that I had stumbled into a world where everyone knew the rules except me. I didn't belong there,surrounded by all that luxury and sin, and yet something about it had called to me in a way I still don't understand.
He moves to stand in front of me and I don’t dare inhale too deeply or I might fall under his spell and forget I need this man to see me as more than a pawn in his game against my father.
“I was desperate,” I admit, because there's no point in lying now. "I would have gone anywhere, done anything, to escape what my father had planned for me. The night I came to your club was the night I learned of my fate with Magnus.”
Sharing that little tidbit of betrayal is as embarrassing as it is cathartic.
Rafael’s expression softens almost imperceptibly, and he brushes a strand of violet hair away from my face with a gentleness that makes my heart stutter. It’s why I don’t expect his next question.
