And then there was Everlee's face. The perfect mirror of her sister's horror, but tinged with something worse…concern. Where Cecelia had looked furious, Everlee had looked scared.
Liam had been furious too, his blue eyes chips of ice as they'd bored into mine across the table. I'd seen that look before,directed at others who'd crossed him, but never at me. Not until tonight.
Rolling onto my stomach, I buried my face in the pillow that smelled of nothing and no one. The mattress was too firm, the sheets too cold. Three doors away, Cecelia was sleeping in my bed. My wife was in my bed, and I was here, alone with the consequences of my actions.
Hours ticked by, marked only by the soft glow of my watch when I checked the time. Three a.m. Four. Five. Giving up on sleep, I got up and pulled on yesterday's clothes with a grimace. Nothing like wearing the same suit to really drive home what a fucking mess your life has become.
I paused at Cecelia's door—our door—on my way out. No sound came from inside now. She was either asleep or ignoring me entirely. Both were preferable to the sobs that had haunted the early hours of the night.
"I'll be back later," I said to the wood, knowing she couldn't hear me. "We'll talk then."
Another empty promise to add to the list. Fantastic.
Outside, New York was already buzzing with morning traffic and early commuters. I drove to the office on autopilot, grateful I kept spare clothes and toiletries there for the increasingly common nights I worked until dawn. At least I could look put together, even if my life was imploding.
In my private bathroom, I stripped out of yesterday's clothes and assessed the damage. I looked like hell, which seemed appropriate given where my actions had landed me.
I splashed cold water on my face, then showered quickly before changing into the fresh suit I kept hanging in my office closet. The routine was familiar, calming. Button by button, I reassembled the facade of Rafael de Luca, PR genius and heir to the Orologio legacy. By the time I knotted my tie, I almost looked like myself again.
Almost.
I was busy with my cufflinks when my office door burst open without so much as a knock. Richard’s panicked "Sir, they insisted—" was cut off as Liam stalked in with Tristan half a step behind him.
"Fucking hell," I muttered. "Ever heard of knocking?"
"Fuck you," Liam replied, his British accent clipping the words into weapons. "What the hell have you done, Rafe?"
Tristan closed the door behind them and leaned against it with a casual grace that belied the tension in his shoulders. "I tried to convince him to wait until you'd at least had coffee, but..." He gestured to Liam with a shrug. "He's been practicing that speech since you left dinner last night."
"I don't need a speech," Liam snapped, moving to stand directly in front of my desk. "I need an explanation. Now."
I finished with my cufflinks, buying myself precious seconds to think. "I got married. I believe that was clear from my announcement."
"To Cece." Liam's voice was dangerously low. "My wife's sister."
"Technically, your sister-in-law," Tristan corrected, earning him a glare that could have melted steel.
"Not helpful, Tristan," I said, running a hand through my still-damp hair. "Look, Liam—"
"Everlee didn't sleep," he cut me off, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. "She spent the entire night trying to reach her sister. The sister who, until yesterday, had never mentioned anything about dating you, let alone wanting to marry you."
Guilt sliced through me like a serrated blade. I hadn't considered how our impulsive announcement would affect Evie. Hadn't thought about anything beyond getting Cecelia out of there before she contradicted the story I was spinning.
"Cecelia was... emotional last night," I said carefully. "She needed space."
"Emotional?" Liam's laugh was sharp. "She looked like she wanted to murder you on the spot. That's the face of a woman who's been railroaded, not a blushing bride."
"He's not wrong," Tristan chimed in, examining his nails with exaggerated casualness. "I've seen hostages look happier."
"For fuck's sake," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Would you two sit down? You're giving me a headache."
"Good," Liam growled, but he dropped into one of the chairs opposite my desk. Tristan followed suit, crossing one leg over the other as he settled in.
Suddenly bone-weary, I sank into my own chair. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it," Liam demanded.
Raking a hand over my face, I felt the weight of too many secrets and not enough sleep pressing down on me. They were my closest friends. If I couldn't trust them, who could I trust?
