“I hope you realize how insane this is,” I said as we merged into late-night traffic. “Normal people don't get engaged and move in together in the span of an hour.”
“We're not normal people.” His profile was sharp against the passing streetlights. “And this isn't a normal engagement.”
“No kidding.” I turned to stare out the window, watching the city blur past as we headed uptown. “Where exactly are we going?”
“My place.”
“Which is where, exactly?”
“Upper East Side.” He navigated through traffic with confident precision. “You'll see.”
The rest of the drive passed in strained silence. I watched as the neighborhoods changed, buildings growing taller and more polished, doormen appearing outside gleaming entrances. When Rafe finally pulled into a private garage beneath one of the most imposing buildings I'd ever seen, my stomach clenched with anxiety.
“Home sweet home,” he said, killing the engine.
The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless. Rafe stood beside me, my suitcase at his feet, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. I kept my eyes fixed on the climbing numbers, each one bringing me closer to a reality I couldn't quite comprehend.
When the doors finally opened, they revealed a short hallway ending in a single door. Rafe stepped out first, pulling my suitcase behind him. Before he could reach for his keys, the door swung open to reveal an older man in an impeccably tailored suit.
“Good evening, Mr. de Luca,” he said, his British accent crisp and proper. His eyes flicked briefly to me before returning to Rafe. “I wasn't expecting you to have company this evening.”
“Change of plans, Edward.” Rafe's hand found the small of my back, guiding me forward with gentle pressure. “This is Cecelia. My fiancée.”
I almost stumbled at the casual way he dropped the word. Edward's eyebrows rose slightly before his professional demeanor reasserted itself.
“Indeed, sir. Very good.” He stepped aside, allowing us to enter. “Welcome, Miss...”
“Sutton,” Rafe supplied before I could speak. “Cecelia Sutton.”
Edward inclined his head. “Welcome, Miss Sutton.”
“Cecelia will be staying with us from now on,” Rafe continued, his hand still resting possessively on my lower back. The touch sent a traitorous warmth through me despite my anger. “Has Lucia left for the evening?”
“Chef Lucia is still here, sir. She was just finishing preparations for your late supper.”
“Perfect. Let her know we'll need an extra place set.”
“Very good, sir.” Edward disappeared down a hallway with my suitcase, leaving me alone with Rafe in the entryway.
For the first time, I took in my surroundings and my breath caught. The penthouse was staggering—all clean lines and minimalist luxury, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Manhattan's glittering skyline. The living room alone was bigger than my entire apartment, furnished with sleek, undoubtedly custom pieces that probably cost more than I'd make in a decade. Original artwork hung on the walls, subtle lighting highlighting each piece.
“This is...” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“Home,” Rafe supplied, watching my reaction with something like amusement. “For both of us now.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how out of place I was in my leggings and oversized sweater. “This isn't real, you know. Playing house in your fancy penthouse doesn't make this a real engagement.”
“It's real enough for the purposes we discussed.” He moved toward an archway that presumably led to the dining area. “Hungry?”
Before I could answer, a small, round woman with silver-streaked dark hair appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.
“Mr. Rafe. You bring a guest?” Her Italian accent was thick and her surprise evident. “I not know you bring a guest.”
“Sorry for the short notice, Lucia.” Rafe's voice softened slightly when addressing her. “This is Cecelia. My fiancée.”
Lucia's mouth fell open as her gaze darted between us. “Fiancée? When this happen?”
“Very recently,” he replied smoothly. “Can you set another place?”
