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“Jesus fucking Christ!” he talks under his breath as both his hands slide through his hair again.
I stand, rooted to the ground, willing for him to turn around and explain what all this means and what I am to him.
“Go to your room, Riley,” he orders without turning around.
“Rafe…”
“I said go to your fucking room.” He spins around, his hand risen and his palm outstretched. I flinch, preparing for its impact, then watch the frustration on his face turn sad as he curls his open hand into a fist and presses it to his mouth.
“Just go to your room,” he tries again, his voice strained and his eyes closed.
This time I do as he says, turning around and running as fast as these pathetic heels will carry me. I almost crash into Sylvia when she comes out of the kitchen, and she steadies me with her hands, forcing me to stop.
“Are you okay?” she asks, looking concerned and confused all at the same time.
“Why does he want to hurt me?” I blurt through my tears.
“Whatever happened?” Wrapping her arm around my shoulder, Sylvia guides me into the kitchen, sitting me down at the table where me and Rafe had eaten dinner the night before. She pours me a glass of water, and my hands shake as I take it from her and down the whole glass in one swallow. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.
“There was someone at the party, and Rafe told him I was his whore,” I explain, sniffing back my tears because they are for such a pathetic cause.
“Oh,” Sylvia rolls her eyes, looking disappointed.
“One minute, he’s calling me that, and then he’s offering me his jacket because he’s worried I’m cold. I can’t do it anymore, Sylvia. I can’t keep trying to figure him out. It hurts too much.”
“And why do you think that is?” She’s got that look on her face, the one she gets when she tells you something smart.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I don’t understand any of it.”
“Come with me.” She takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen window. Through the glass, I can just make out the silhouette of Rafe standing with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the lake.
“I don’t know why Raphael brought you here, Riley, and I don’t know what his intentions are, but I do know that he’s hurting just as much as you are,” she tells me softly.
“He scares me,” I admit for the first time to anyone, ever, including myself.
“I think you scare him too,” Sylvia laughs, with a huge inappropriate smile on her face.
“Raphael hasn’t had an easy life. He’s lost people that he cares about.”
“So have I, but I don’t keep people imprisoned and fuck with their heads,” I point out, and to that, she nods her head in agreement. Guess she can’t really argue that point.
“Let him calm down, and then try to talk to him. Be honest with him and let him know how you feel instead of trying to overpower him. Trust me. No one will ever win a power war with that man.” She rolls her eyes again, surprising me when she places a tiny kiss on my temple and quietly leaves me.
I stand alone for a while, watching him through the window, desperate to know what’s going on in his head.
Somewhere between me climbing the stairs and changing out of the dress into another white shirt, Rafe must have decided to come inside because when I look out of my balcony window, there’s no sign of him.
Sleep is evading me. My mind keeps asking the same questions over and over. I try to read, but just end up going over the same sentence. I check the clock on the wall expecting hours to have ticked by and realize it’s only been one.
There’s no way I’m getting any sleep tonight, not until I make things okay between us and get some answers to my questions. So, placing down my book, I head out the door.
“Where you heading, Miss Riley?” the guard, whose name I don’t know, checks.
“To find your boss,” I answer, continuing toward the door that leads to Rafe’s bedroom.
“You won’t find him in there, Miss. He hasn’t come up yet.”
“Then where might he be?” I ask, trying my best to be polite.
