He laughs softly. “They’re family, isn’t that how most families are?”
The warmth in his voice makes my chest ache a little. Ronan’s calling for another round, Kiri’s already fishing for his wallet, Rithy’s leaning back with a smirk that almost looks like approval and Rafe’s hand trails up and down along my back, a soothing motion, settling me to the core. Every time he tries to stop he begins again, like he can’t stop.
The pub bustles around us, alive, and for a little while,everything feels easy.
Chapter 58
Connaught On Mayfair
Rafe
The Connaught on Mayfair is not my scene.
The doorman’s overly polite, the marble gleams, it’s the kind of place where you feel like you should apologize for simplybreathing. But it’s one night, and I’ve got money I never get to use for anything that isn’t for travel, instruments or responsible investments. So why not?
Whynotbe ridiculous, just once, for her?
The elevator takes us up, through floors I’ll never stay on again. I can feel her beside me, her hand in mine, the tremor of excitement she’s trying to hide. She’s been asking where we’re going since dinner, but I wanted to see her face when it happens, theexact momentthe door opens.
It does, and I get what I paid for. She steps out and freezes. The apartment stretches out in gold and glass, the city spilling out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like it’s bowing to her. The chandelier above us looks like something stolen from heaven. There’s a terrace, amarble bath the size of a swimming pool, a bed that looks like a dream I’m not supposed to have.
She just stands there, eyes wide, lips parted. The sound she makes isn’t even a word, just breath.
“Rafe,” she manages finally. “You didn’t.”
I lean on the doorframe, trying to play it cool even as my chest tightens. “I did.”
Her laugh breaks the silence. She spins once in the middle of the room, the city lightcatching her hair. “You’re certifiable.”
“Accurate.”
“You’re not the flashy type,” she says, a tease wrapped in wonder.
“I’m not.” I push my hands into my pockets. “But I wanted to see that look on your face.”
She stops spinning, stares at me like she’s not sure what to do with the words. “So you blew a fortune for that?”
“Worth every pound.”
She walks toward the window, the glow from the skyline cutting across her shoulders. “You know,” she says softly, “for someone who hides in cabins and eats at Waffle Houses, you’re alarmingly good at this whole romantic-grand-gesture thing.”
I shrug, coming up behind her. “Guess I’m a fast learner.”
When she turns, I can see the city in her eyes, lights and movement all reflected back at me through her. I've never seen how trulybreathtakingit is, until now. My hand finds her cheek. “You like it?”
“I love it,” she whispers. “But you’re what makes it feel expensive. Someone that everyone else wants but only I get to hold.”
Something in me goes very still. For a second, all I can do is look at her, brush my thumb along her jaw.
“Good,” I murmur. “Because I don’t give a fuck about the room, just that you're in it.”
Her breath catches. The city is laid out below us, the glass holding back the world and I let myself believe that twenty-four hours might actually be enough.
I sink into the sofa, the kind that's worth more than my first car, probably the second too. Kasia curls up beside me, her head finding my lap, hair spilling across my legs like silk. In here it’s peaceful, soft lamplight, distant hush of air vents, her breath against my thigh. I run my fingers through her hair tracing every strand, following the rivers it creates on my body.
We talk for a while, nothing intense. Just rambling sentences, memories, little jokes that belong only to us. Then the words run out and there’s just this stillness. The kind that’s too full to move.
I close my eyes, try to burn it into my mind, the weight of her against me, the scent of her perfume, the way the world stops taking pieces of me when she’s here. If I can hold it long enough, maybe it’ll hurt less when I take her to the airport. Gatwick, Heathrow—I can’t even remember which. I don’t want to. I don’t want her to leave. It hits me then, how this, her, here, is thebest and worst idea I’ve ever had.How to torture myself in the most perfectly awful way.
