"Watching me like I'm going to evaporate if you blink." Her hand emerged from beneath the covers to find mine. "I'm right here."
I brought her hand to my mouth and pressed my lips to her palm. "I know."
"Do you?" She shifted closer, wincing slightly as she adjusted her position. The bruised ribs were still tender, another reminder of how close I'd come to losing her. "Because you haven't slept more than a few hours at a time since it happened. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I'm fine," I lied, smoothing a strand of hair away from her face, careful to avoid the spot near her temple where a fading bruise still marked her skin.
Pushing herself up on one elbow, Cecelia’s eyes never left mine. "Cut the bullshit, de Luca. You're not fine. You're exhausted. I can see it all over your face."
"Such a sweet talker," I murmured, attempting to deflect with humor as I always did when emotions threatened to overwhelm me.
She wasn't having it. "Talk to me." Her fingers found my jaw, turning my face toward hers with a gentle insistence. "Please."
The plea in her voice undid me. I exhaled slowly, struggling to find words for the terror that had taken up residence in my chest.
"I can't sleep," I finally admitted, the words barely audible even in the quiet of our bedroom. "Every time I close my eyes, I see you on that floor with his hands around your throat. I see myself not getting here in time. I see—"
My voice broke, and I had to take a moment to compose myself.
"I'm afraid that if I fall asleep, I'll wake up and discover this was all a dream. That you didn't survive. That I lost you." The confession tumbled out. "And I can't... I can't lose you, Cecelia."
Vulnerability had never come easily to me. I'd spent a lifetime constructing walls, keeping people at a safe distance. But Cecelia had dismantled those defenses brick by brick until there was nothing left but the terrified man beneath.
"Oh, Rafe," she whispered, eyes bright with unshed tears. Her fingers brushed against my cheek, and I realized with a start that I'd let a tear escape. She caught this physical evidence of my weakness with her thumb, and didn't look away.
"You didn't lose me," she said fiercely. "You won't lose me. I'm not going anywhere."
Needing the solid warmth of her against me, I—careful of her still-healing ribs—pulled her closer. My hand slid beneath her tank top to rest against the bare skin of her lower back.
"You don't know that," I argued, my voice muffled against her skin. "None of us knows what might happen. I thought I could protect you, and I failed."
"You didn't fail." Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of my neck, tugging gently until I lifted my head to meet her gaze. "You came for me. You always come for me. And I'm still here, still breathing, still driving you fucking crazy."
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. "You certainly are."
She kissed me then, a soft press of lips that quickly deepened into something more urgent. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, and I groaned at the familiar taste of her, at the way her body instinctively arched into mine. Even after everything, even with the shadow of trauma still hanging over us, desire sparked instantly between us—hot and demanding.
I pulled back before we could get carried away. Her ribs were still tender, and the doctor had warned against strenuous activity for at least another week. Though Cecelia had rolled her eyes at the recommendation, I wasn't taking any chances with her recovery.
"You really need to sleep," she said, tracing the dark circles I knew shadowed my eyes.
"I will." Another lie. We both knew it.
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "What can I do? To help you feel safe enough to rest?"
The question pierced straight through me. No one had ever asked me what would make me feel safe. I'd always been the protector, the one others turned to for security. Never the one in need.
"I don't know," I admitted.
My hand continued its restless path across her skin, needing the constant reassurance of touch. The silk of her tank top bunched beneath my fingers as I traced the dip of her waist, the subtle curve of her hip.
The thought came to me then, fully formed as if it had been there all along just waiting for me to notice it.
"Let's leave," I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could reconsider. "Not just the penthouse. New York. All of it."
Cecelia blinked. "What?"
"Let's travel. See the world. Anywhere you want to go." The idea gained momentum as I spoke, a desperate energy fueling my words. "We could spend a year, maybe longer, just experiencing everything together. Paris, Tokyo, Rome, Santorini—anywhere that calls to you."
