Page 80 of Vicious Intentions
Rafe:Tomorrow.
I bite the corner of my bottom lip before sending a text meant to test the limits of our relationship. Just how far can I push before he closes the door on the conversation altogether?
Me:I like that you’re the last person I talk to before I fall asleep. I’ll miss that tonight.
I watch the blue bubbles bounce on the screen, then disappear.
I guess I don’t have to push that much at all, it seems. But just as I’m starting to lose hope, the bubbles begin to dance again.
Rafe:Am I who you think about when you close your eyes at night,cara mia?
My heart leaps into my throat, and I have to grab onto the piano bench before my knees give way.
Cara miacan mean many things. It can meandear, or evendarling. Perfectly acceptable words for one friend to use for another. I think. But it can also meanmy beloved, ormy love.
My head is already a little dazed from his question. Trying to decipher what he actually means by that endearment only makes it worse.
Me:Would you judge me if I said yes?
Rafe:It depends.
Me:On?
Rafe:If you judge me for doing the same.
I bite my lower lip and smile so widely I can’t stand it.
Rafe:Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
I slam the phone to my chest and hold my breath, just so I don’t squeal with excitement. We might not be at a place wherewe can see each other’s faces yet, but Raffaele is more than happy to show me how he feels with his words. And that is enough.
As if spurred on by them, I grab my phone and change his name.
As of today, Rafe won’t be the first thing I see when he texts me. It will beCaro Mio.
The doorbell rings just after lunch, sharp and insistent, cutting through the raucous hum of a full house. Christmas is always a loud affair, and now that our family has grown in size with the addition of my brothers’ and sister’s partners, we spend it at the old Salvatore mansion. Jude and Mina were the only ones who didn’t make it this year, but they promised they’d be here to ring in the new year with us.
Last Christmas, I felt like I was playing a role, detached from my own life. But not this year. This year, I’m able to enjoy the day and join in on my siblings’ animated bickering, knowing it all comes from a place of love.
“Is someone going to get the damn door?” Lucky grumbles, sprawled across the couch, clutching his stomach as if he were in pain.
“I’ll get it,” Enzo says, jumping to his feet, but not before placing a sweet kiss on his husband’s lips.
“I told you not to eat that third slice,” Frankie reprimands, handing Lucky some antacids and a glass of water.
“That wasn’t the deal when we got married. I promised to always support you in everything you do. So if you cook it, I eatit,” Lucky says with a wink before taking the medicine and water from her hands.
“It’s a wonder you haven’t gained more than a couple of pounds since getting married. If I ate like you, I’d probably need a forklift to get me off this couch today,” Stella says, looking equally pained from all the food she consumed over lunch.
“The trick is exercise,” Lucky says with a grin, throwing an arm over Frankie’s shoulder the second she sits beside him.
“Right,” Marcello laughs, his hand resting on Isobel’s thigh. “You haven’t exercised a day in your life.”
“Goes to show how much you know,” Lucky says, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I get plenty of exercise every day. Sometimes twice a day. Hell, if I play my cards right, even three times.” He wiggles his brows suggestively.
“I don’t get it,” I whisper to Alejandro when the room erupts into groans.
“He means sex, Anna. That’s what the little asshole means,” Stella answers, rolling her eyes.
