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"Can we also have one of your best bottle of Pinot Noir?"
The waiter nods, scribbling down our orders before excusing himself.
"I have a confession to make," I tell her when we're finally alone.
Her brows go up as she tilts her head to the side.
The light from one of the lamps hits her at such an angle, it’s like she's bathed in light—a beacon of purity in the darkness of the night. My mouth becomes dry just admiring her like this—especially seeing the necklace resting against her skin and the slight peek of the valley of her breasts.
"Raf?" she calls my name and I clear my throat, faking a cough to mask the way her simple presence makes me lose my mind.
I wonder if her impact on me will ever lessen with time because so far, it's been the opposite. Every time I wake up in the morning with her by my side it's like I've been blessed all over again. There's a warmth that spreads all over my body as I remember the way she used to soothe and tend to me at thehacienda—how she'd kept me alive simply by existing.
Those memories, no matter how faulty, are always at the back of my mind. She doesn't remember—might never remember—and though at times that thought hurts, I'd rather she never did if it would protect her mental state.
It will never change what she means to me.
Heaven.
Light.
Mi luz.
"Right," I strain a smile. I have to admit Iamthe equivalent of a besotted fool. Everything she says or does has the ability to render me speechless, causing my brain to short-circuit until she's all I can think about. And though that has its time and place, sometimes it happens at the most inopportune moments.
Like now.
When I'm trying to use thelogicalpart of my brain.
"I spoke with Gianna," I start and her brows shoot up. "I wanted to get her approval to start the dissolve the conservatorship over you."
She blinks, taken aback my words.
"You…" she swallows hard. "What did she say?"
"She wants to perform a few evaluations which we will then have to submit to court. It's a bit more bureaucratic than I would have liked, but it shouldn't take too long."
"I'll do it," she nods effusively. "I'll do anything that needs to be done. Raf…" Tears gather at the corner of her eyes. "I can't express my gratitude in words. That is just…"
"You don't have to," I reach across the table to take her hand in mine. "I don't want you to feel in any way tied down to me, or feel like I'm holding something over your head. I want you to befree. Truly free. And then, choose me of your own volition."
"What did my brother say about this?"
"Irrelevant. He doesn't have a say in this. Not anymore. You're mine, but I want you to be mine because you choose so."
"You're the best man I've ever met, Rafaelo Guerra," her voices hitches, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "I don't think anyone else would have done that," she smiles tightly. "Because who would willingly give up control?"
"Control via coercion is like a ruler drunk on the power of the subjects who abhor him," I tell her softly. "Control should be earned. Submission should be earned. Only then it's satisfying. Only then it's worth having."
"You don't think I'm automatically inferior to you just because I'm a woman? That Ineedto be subdued because I don't know my own mind? That," she smiles, "I need someone to lead so I can follow?"
A chuckle escapes me at her examples—actual scenarios of what occurs in our world and beyond.
"I happen to have a deep respect for smart women. And I happen to have an even bigger respect for the woman in front of me. There's nothing inferior about you, Noelle, and I'd appreciate it if you removed that word from your vocabulary," I add sternly.
"It's why you're one of the few good ones, Raf. Not everyone thinks quite like you," she sighs sadly.
"I'm not as good as you make me out to be," my words are clipped, harsher than intended.
