Page 42 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
“Didn’t your papa tell you?” he asks, his voice dropping low.
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Tell me what?”
For whatever reason, Rafaele’s gaze flicks over to Vince, who’s sitting at a table a few feet away. Something dark seeps into his expression. Something that sends a pang of worry through my heart.
“You should ask your father. It’s not my place to say.”
I blink. My thoughts begin to race, galloping down various paths inside my head. What did Papà promise him? It sounds like something big. “O-Okay.”
We turn, and the room spins for what feels like too long. I tighten my grip on Rafaele’s hand, using it as an anchor against my dizziness, but he must misread the action for something else. The line between his brows deepens.
“I’ll talk to your father. This marriage is a business arrangement, and since you’re a part of it, you should know the terms.”
I can tell he’s attempting to reassure me, but his words have the exact opposite effect. Panic rises inside of me. What did Papà sign me up for?
“May I?” A hard voice slashes through my thoughts.
Rafaele’s attention moves to someone behind me. After a moment, he lets go of me without any warning.
I sway, only to feel a new pair of hands settle on me. They’re warm and big, and there’s nothing clinical in how they wrap around the hollow of my waist.
My eyes lift.
Ras shoots Rafaele a tight smile before moving his darkened gaze to me.
I wait until Rafaele leaves before I glare at Ras. “What are you doing?”
He’s removed his tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt are now undone. Dark hair peeks out from within the white triangle of fabric. “I wanted to talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“What if I said I want to apologize?”
I slide my hands over his shoulders, trying not to note how hard and muscular they are. It’s just to steady myself. My legs feel halfway to jelly.
“I’d assume you were lying since you haven’t demonstrated any sign of a conscience,” I retort.
His expression hardens. “You know, you’re extremely difficult to talk to.”
“Which begs the question why you insist on trying.”
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “I keep wondering the same thing.”
I suck in a lungful of air, fighting against the nausea. Jesus, something is wrong with me. “Any hypothesis?”
Ras lowers his voice. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”
I notice that he doesn’t answer my question. “Apology not accepted.”
His shoulders stiffen beneath my palms.
“I’m also sorry for the whole thing in New York.”
“Oh, are you? It’s been nearly six months.”
“Better late than never, right?”
I shake my head. “If you think your two half-assed apologies are enough to smooth things over between us, I’m afraid you’re way off mark.”
