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“Ready to talk about it?”
She picked up her long spoon and stirred her drink, although she’d already done that once. “I’m not sure it’s anything worth sharing.” She allowed the beverage to drain from the spoon before moving it to the napkin.
“Concerns about BDSM?”
Hope glanced around the room, at anything but him.
“No.” She toyed with her napkin, revealing nothing else.
“What our marriage might be like?”
“About love.”
The waiter returned with a basket filled with small pastries and rolls, and Rafe took a moment to be grateful for the interruption. “About love?” he prompted.
“What if that were important to me?”
“Affection will develop out of compatibility, sex—”
“I’m not talking about affection.” She waved her hand, forestalling anything else he had to say. “I mean deep and abiding emotion that clobbers anything else. Something that would survive without sex. The fuel that becomes commitment, because you can’t imagine living your life without that person.”
Hope’s question took him aback. They’d discussed his Three C’s on numerous occasions. He looked forward to seeing her and fantasized about introducing her into deeper elements of BDSM. He’d shown much more emotion with her than he had with any other woman. To him, that was the basis of their relationship, a much stronger foundation than mercurial whims of an untrustworthy heart. Seeing the intent way she scrutinized him, he proceeded with care. “I prefer to put my trust in commitment, things that are more tangible.” Damn. A sheen of tears covered her eyes. The exact emotion he didn’t want, and he’d thought she didn’t want it either. He’d fucked up this conversation, and he didn’t know how to undo it. He couldn’t make wild protestations of undying love, nor did he want to upset her. Instead, he settled for, “Does that matter to you?”
“It does.”
“So you’re saying…?”
“I won’t get married without love.”
The same blinding emotion that had gotten his father into the fucking mess with Lillibet? The disastrous feelings that had led to his sister’s two divorces? “Hope.” Rafe drew a breath, stalling for time while he figured out what the hell to say. He hadn’t offered love, wasn’t sure he was capable of it. He was convinced they could have a successful relationship without it. “We need to talk about this when we’re alone.”
She shook her head, and one of those wrenching tears escaped the corner of her eye. “Unlike everything else in your life, this isn’t negotiable.”
He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. Obviously to compose herself, she used her napkin to dab her face before extracting a tube of lipstick from her kitty bag. She repainted the color, focusing on the tiny mirror on the end of the case. “There’s Celeste!”
For once, Rafe considered Celeste’s timing terrible. Any chance that she would offer a small greeting and then be on her way was dashed when Hope stood to hug Celeste. Hope smiled her gratitude at the reprieve while he seethed, pissed at the interruption.
“Would you like to join us?” Hope invited, desperation punctuating her words.
“Thank you. Yes.” Celeste ignored the polite tip of the head, indicating he didn’t want the company.
After they were all seated, their server hurried over with a menu and to inquire if Celeste would like coffee.
“English breakfast tea,” Celeste replied. “Twinings.”
The server refreshed their coffee, then brought her a porcelain teapot with matching cup and saucer.
Celeste asked Hope about her stay and what she thought of the Parthenon.
Around him, the conversation continued. Some time later, he blinked, aware of both women staring at him. Obviously, one of them had been speaking to him, and he hadn’t been aware of it. “My apologies.” He shook his head to clear it. “Where were we?”
“Talking about the holiday extravaganza,” Celeste said.
“It’s April,” he protested. He hadn’t recovered from the trauma of last Christmas, when his dad hadn’t shown up, and neither had his sister’s husband. Arianna had spent the day in tears. His mother had been stoic. The entire day had been bleak and gray. Fittingly, it had even rained. In the end, he’d gone to work.
