Page 100 of In Love and Revenge

Who the hell does he think he is?

I’m vibrating with anger as I storm over to the tiny kitchen and wrench open the refrigerator. I grab a carton of orange juice and tip the dribble that’s left into a glass, before slamming it back like it’s tequila. I wish it was. Getting off-my-face drunk feels quite appealing right now.

I hate him.

I actually hate the man. I can’t believe I had sex with him.Twice. I can’t believe I cuddled him after. Let him hold me inside his arms like he actually cared.

‘The money that was stolen from me when he was convicted?’

Those were his words. I had no idea that the theft from my father’s old firm affected Rafael financially. He’s blamed my father this entire time. Why would he even spend the night with me in the first place if that were true?

A sharp rap vibrates my door. I take my anger out on it as I rip it open.

‘You have got to be kidding me?’ I seethe.

Rafael stares back at me, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘You hung up on me.’

‘Of course I bloody did! You accused my father of stealing from you!’

‘My opinions of your father’s innocence have never been a secret,’ he replies, his attention fixing on something behind me.

I glance over my shoulder. I’ve forgotten to close the fridge, and its lack of contents screams like a glowing neon sign.

‘When did you last eat?’ Rafael demands.

‘Earlier,’ I snap. ‘How much?’

‘Where?’ he presses.

‘Doesn’t matter. How much did you lose? It’s obviously a lot if you’re so concerned about it that you’re swinging accusations around. Ones that have no real evidence to back them up.’

‘Wheredid you eat, Aurora?’ Rafael says, his eyes returning to mine.

‘I went into Tesco on my walk back,’ I say in a rush. ‘Now tell me. How much?’

‘Did you buy food there? Or eat the scraps that every dirty bastard’s hands have been on?’ he hisses through gritted teeth.

I pull back my shoulders and glare at him. ‘How much? Tell me.’

‘Tell me first,’ he counters.

I muster all of my energy to stop myself from shoving him in his ridiculously broad, solid chest to make him move out of my doorway so I can slam the door in his face.

‘I forgot my purse,’ I lie.

A vein throbs in his temple and his nostrils flare.

‘Now tell me. How—?’

‘Two hundred and forty million.’

‘What?’ I gape at him. ‘That’s—’

‘An amount I’d very much like to recover.’ He clears his throat. ‘Do you have a suitcase?’

‘What?’

‘A suitcase?’ He arches a dark, thick brow at me, and I gesture vaguely to underneath my bed.