I step into the kitchen to make the call. Rafe answers after one ring. “Ava, angel,” he says, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“I’ve talked it through with my parents,” I say. “And we’re willing to let you see Theo, but they have to be there.”
“I can be over in an hour.”
A smile breaks across my face, lighting me up. I didn’t expect him to agree so quickly.
I try to keep the giddiness out of my voice, try to play it cool. “You need to know something else. I lied to my parents about you, Rafe. I’m not happy about it, but I told them you’re an art collector. As for the fake-death thing, I said you got conned by a private investigator.”
“Clever,” he says, sounding proud.
“It’s not a good thing,” I remind him. “But until I figure out what to do with… this mess, I think it’s better to keep them out of it.”
“Again – clever.”
“Are you seriously willing to come over tonight?”
“More than willing,” he says vehemently. “I want to see my son.”
“Okay, then. I’ll text you the address. But be warned, my parents are protective. Over Theo and me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. To know you haven’t been on your own all this time.”
“Rafe,” I say, before he hangs up.
“Yeah?”
“Was it all true? What you told me yesterday?”
“All of it. But be careful what you say on the phone.”
“You only left me because… you had to?”
“If it hadn’t been a question of keeping you safe,” he says carefully, “I would’ve stayed with you until you were sick of me, angel.”
The wordangelwarms me all over, reminding me of that night. I remember how he smoothed his hand over the small of my back, sending hungry signals through me, leaning in and whisperingangellike it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’ll text you,” I tell him, hanging up.
I send the address, then walk toward the porch. Halfway, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Hair messy, makeup smeared from a long day, clothes rumpled. I lift my hand toward my hair, then stop.
No.
If he wants me, he can have me how I am.
When the doorbell rings, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. It’s suddenly very real when Mom leaps to her feet, tugging on my hand. Dad sits in a chair with Theo in his arms, smiling down at his grandson. Mom is a mixture of excited and combative as we head to the front door together.
Rafe stands in a sleek black suit, dark hair catching the porch light, his amber-gold eyes glimmering as he takes me in with a smirk that has my body responding in ways it shouldn’t. “Ava,” he says, then turns to my mother. “And you must be Mrs. Ward.”
He offers his hand… the one not wrapped around a wrapped gift box.
“Hello,” Mom says. “Rafael Bellini, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Despite mom’s desire to hold the line, I can see she enjoys his manners.
“Please, come in,” Mom says, waving him inside.
