He thinks it’s a trap.
Of course. Unknown number. A vague address.Please.I wroteplease, like a hostage in a movie. I’m going to be embarrassed about that one for a long time, assuming I’m around to be embarrassed.
I have one more shot.
“One more. I promise. One more.”
The guard turns to the door and listens. When it’s clear no one’s coming back anytime soon, he shrugs.
“Sure. Why not.”
He almost seems amused.
Fine. Have a fucking laugh. I don’t care.
I need to give Raffaele a clue that it’s me, and that I’m doing this on my own free will. Victor isn’t over my shoulder, setting another trap.This is me, Raffaele. Only me.
I think. My mind flipping through all the memories we’ve made, good and bad. Eventually, the flipping slows, then comes to a stop.
Really, that’s what comes to mind first?My cheeks flush with heat as I remember.
The penthouse. The kitchen. When he spanked me for questioning his devotion to anything but me…
I scroll. Emoji keyboard. Food row.
There.
The little orange saucepan.
I tap it. I send it.
The bubble appears under the first one.
Read.
Two seconds. Three.
The little three-dot bubble appears.
He’s typing.
I don’t breathe.
The bubble disappears.
It reappears.
It disappears again.
The guard is watching me watch the phone. He doesn’t say anything.
The bubble comes back one more time.
A reply lands.
One word.
Coming.
