Page 120 of Vicious Intentions
Even my rebellious sister, Stella, is lost in her own little love bubble. Seated on Kirill’s lap, her fingers trace the same spot over his shoulder again and again. She smiles up at him whileKostya and Frankie’s brother, Darius, talk animatedly about what I can only assume is their upcoming family vacation in Russia. The unguarded way Stella looks at her husband makes it clear how completely consumed she is by him.
Everyone is deeply, madly, irrevocably in love. Love wraps itself around this entire night like a spell, and they’ve all been bewitched by it. And for once, I’m grateful for it. Grateful that they’re so lost in each other, they don’t even remember I exist, much less notice my movements.
No one is watching. No one is questioning why I drift from room to room, why I linger near the edges, why my gaze keeps flicking toward the sliding doors that lead to the backyard. Behind it, the woods stretch far into the distance, now covered in pink, orange, and golden hues as the sun says its last goodbyes.
My heart pounds steadily in my chest, anticipation threading through every breath. Ever so carefully, I move through the crowd, offering polite smiles where needed, exchanging brief greetings so no one grows suspicious of my intentions. When I reach one of the open sliding doors, I don’t hesitate and cross its threshold, stepping into the backyard where more guests linger beneath the open sky and artificial twinkling lights.
I recognize most of them only in passing, and I breathe a little easier when none of them pay me any mind as I drift closer to the edge where the mansion grounds end, and the woods begin. The moment I’m a hundred percent certain no one is looking, I sprint into the woods and disappear from view.
“I’m coming,caro mio. I’m coming,” I breathe out, running as fast as my heels will allow me.
I’m not usually one to wear high heels, preferring my ballet flats, but Stella insisted, and for once, I’m glad I listened. The added height changes the way the soft pink gown falls on me, making me feel like an actualprincipessa.
Stella may have picked out my shoes, but the dress was entirely my choice. When we went shopping earlier this week, Stella, Izzie, Frankie, and I sifted through what felt like hundreds of options, none of them quite right. That is, until I saw this one. Hanging there, soft and delicate, almost ethereal, it caught my eye instantly. Once I tried it on and saw how the lace bodice hugged my torso perfectly, and the rest of the fabric spilled into gentle waves at my feet, light and effortless with every movement, something in me just knew this was the one.
This would be the dress I’d be wearing when I told Raffaele that I love him.
How was I supposed to know he would beat me to it and tell me he loved me last night over the phone, no less?
Still, in a few minutes, we’ll get to repeat all the words we shared last night. Only this time, we’ll seal our true-love vows with a kiss. A real kiss. Not the imaginary ones I’ve had to cling to for my own sanity.
The thought of having real, uninterrupted time with the man I love so desperately has me hurrying through the woods, a smile as wide as the sky above stretched across my face.
“Rafe,” I call out once I’ve reached our spot. “Rafe! Are you there?” I sing happily.
“I’m here, beautiful,” he says, pushing himself away from the tree trunk he’d been hiding behind.
I rush toward him and leap into his arms.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” I nearly shout, true happiness bubbling in my chest.
“I know. Me neither,” he says.
His voice is wrong. Not only does it lack that familiar raspy quality that I’ve become obsessed with, but it almost sounds… sad. How can he be sad at a time like this?
“Rafe, what is it?” I ask when he sets me back on my feet, his arms still wrapped around my waist.
“Anna,” he starts, as if my name alone hurts him to say out loud.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” I insist, but instead of answering, he pulls me into another embrace. His body begins to shudder, and that’s when I realize…he’s crying.
I’ve never seen him cry before. I’ve felt his sadness through the texts he’s shared with me, but I’ve never seen him break like this. I hold on tightly, knowing he needs comfort, praying that my arms can soothe whatever is hurting him so deeply. His head falls against my shoulder, his tears soaking into my dress.
“It’s okay, Rafe,” I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. “Whatever’s happened to cause you this much suffering… it will be okay.”
“You say that now… but you’re wrong,” he stammers, lifting his head, the blue of his eyes dulled by misery.
I cradle his cheeks in my palms and pull his face towards me. “Tell me what’s the matter,” I plead softly. “Let me carry some of that pain for you.”
“Fuck. You don’t want this shit, Anna. Trust me, you don’t.” He shakes his head.
My heart clenches as I stare into his eyes and find nothing but despair. I knew something was wrong last night. I felt it in my bones that he was hiding something from me. I chalked it up to nerves, but this… this feels like something else entirely. But what?
“Rafe, please… talk to me.”
He shuts his eyes, like he wants to shut me and the world out just as easily.
“I don’t deserve you. I never have,” he says, more to himself than to me.
