“You have bills,” he cut in. “And from what I hear, you’re barely keeping up with that retirement home.”
Ice slid down my spine. “I’ll manage.”
“Will you?” His voice sharpened slightly. “Because if you don’t take this house, Belle, you’re fired.”
My breath stalled. “You can’t?—”
“I can.”
Silence.
“And then,” he continued lightly, “how exactly are you planning to pay for Daddy’s care? Of course . . . there’s always cleaning my house . . . ”
My fingers tightened around the phone. He knew exactly where to push.
I swallowed hard. “When do I start?” I asked quietly.
“That’s my girl.”
The line went dead.
For a long moment, I just stood there staring at the dark screen.
It was stupid how quickly the walls of this house could feel like a dream . . . .a beautiful, temporary dream.
As much as I was falling for Raphael, as much as this felt real, he had never said it was. We had less than two months left on a contract. That was the only thing in writing.
I plated dinner on autopilot.
By the time Raphael walked in, sleeves rolled, and expression softened from whatever he’d been working on, I had composed my face.
Almost.
“What is wrong?” he asked immediately.
Damn him for noticing everything.
“Nothing.”
He stopped moving. “Belle.”
I exhaled. “Tripp called.”
His entire body stilled. “What did he want?”
“He’s moving me to another property. Full-time.”
His jaw tightened.
“I told him I couldn’t, and he said if I don’t take it, I’m fired.”
The air shifted.
“Fired,” Raphael repeated evenly.
“And then how would I pay for Dad’s care?” I added quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “So I said yes.”
His expression went cold.
