Rafe’s mouth twists. “That’s what happens when they realize liability is real.”
My stomach turns. “So what… what does that mean?”
“It means we’re getting security when we’re out,” he says. “Especially when the band is together. Especially when we’re doing anything public.”
My mouth goes dry. “And for me?” I ask.
Rafe’s eyes flicker with understanding. “This is the part I wanted to talk to you about.”
I brace.
“They suggested…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “They suggested I have someone on personal detail, not just band security. Someone assigned to me.”
My skin prickles. That’s… closer. More constant. More invasive. I force myself to stay calm. “Okay.”
“And,” he continues gently, “because we live together so much, because we’re here a lot, because the building staff already knows our patterns?—”
I hold my breath.
“—they’re going to ask about coverage here,” he finishes.
There it is. The thing I didn’t want to name.
I stare at him. “Here?”
Rafe nods once. “Not inside. They can’t just… plant someone in our apartment. But they’ll want a plan for entrances and exits. They’ll want to coordinate with the building. They’ll want to know who comes and goes.”
My breath catches.
More eyes.
More records.
More risk.
I feel like I’m back in the hotel suite, my parents’ gaze pinning me down, only this time it’s not about shame. It’s about logistics, and those are almost worse because they’re real.
“Does this mean—” I start, then stop.
Rafe tilts his head. “Does this mean what?”
“That we can’t—” I swallow. “That we can’t keep doing what we’ve been doing.”
His face softens, but there’s pain there too. “We can,” he says slowly. “But it’s going to look different.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding. “How?”
Rafe’s thumb strokes over my knuckles. “It means we have to be smarter. It means we have to accept that more people will know pieces of our life, even if they don’t know the whole truth.”
My stomach twists again. “So, we’re just… trusting strangers?”
“We already have,” he says gently. “The doorman. The building staff. The housekeeper. We’ve already done it. We just haven’t called it what it is.”
I flinch, because he’s right. We’ve been living on borrowed luck, and now that luck is running out. “What did you tell them?” I ask quietly.
His eyes hold mine. “I told them I have someone I live with.”
My pulse spikes. “Rafe?—”
