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Rafe continued driving, giving no outward reaction to this remark. She leaned back in the seat, her stomach sloshing uneasily with all that greasy food and wine. Her thoughts felt unfocused. The music poured from the speakers in violent waves of sound. When she felt his hand land on her knee, she jerked her leg away and he made the same bittered sigh of acceptance that she’d heard when his mother had rejected him at the funeral.
(Monster)
Suddenly, she felt fearful of the dark.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home.” His tone was cool. “Some monsters prefer their prey sober and fully rested.”
Donni realized dimly that Rafe parking the car along the bumpy road of St. Anne. It was so dark that she realized he must have turned off the headlights. She barely recognized her own house, just as she was unaware of the bottle slipping from her hands until it smashed on the sidewalk.
She slumped unwillingly against him as he walked her to the front door. She had to dig through her purse for the key. There was a spare hidden under a rock in the front garden, but she didn’t like to use it unless she had to. It looked like she might have to.
Rafe watched her lift the stone and remove the key with a frown. If she had been a little more sober, she might have noticed how he hesitated before stepping over the threshold as she gave the door a push that made it swing open.
“You’re coming in?”
“Can you walk?” he retorted.
She tripped over the doorstep, and he steadied her, pausing to kick the door shut behind him. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he reached behind him to lock it.
God, this was fucking humiliating.
Still clinging to him, she said, “What do you think of your childhood home, Raffi?”
He stiffened at her back. “It’s a house. Not a home.”
“What’s the difference? They’re both the same.”
“Homes are warm and alive. Houses are cold, dead shells.”
“That’s a fucked-up thing to say,” she said, tightening her grip on him. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, which she was starting to suspect didn’t mean he was sorry at all. “Was I supposed to say how much I missed you?”
“Fuck you, Rafe.”
“You sure did,” he said distractedly, which made her slap his back.
His steps slowed as they neared the first door at the top of the hall. She glanced at the door and shook her head furiously. “Not the master. I don’t sleep in there.”
“What?” He looked down at her with a frown.
“I sleep in my dressing room.”
Drunk as she was, she still braced herself for the inevitable questions to follow.
She felt him pause before pivoting at the hip and turning right, opening the door into her room. It was right next to what had been his old bedroom. She breathed in the smells of incense and fine leather, and the anxiety twisting her gut unknotted when he didn’t ask her anything at all.
“Close the door. Powderpuff will get out.”
He closed it with a click. “What’s a Powderpuff?”
“My dog.”
Hearing her name, the Pomeranian gave a little chirpy bark from her bed.
Donni lay back against the bed, stretching against them. Through half-closed eyes, she watched Rafe draw the curtains and feed her dog, gently pushing it aside with his boot as he strode towards the bed. “Jesus. I shouldn’t have let you finish off the bottle.”
