Chapter Fifteen
Meg
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Rafe pauses just long enough for my heart to pound out a few beats, then finishes unbuttoning his black dress shirt. My gaze bounces from the tanned, muscular chest he’s uncovering to his face; I’m not sure where to focus my attention. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” he asks.
My eyes couldn’t be wider. “Taking your clothes off?”
“Ding, ding, ding. Someone get this woman a prize.” He shucks his shirt and approaches the dresser. He does it calmly, as if it’s part of a nightly routine. The room is dark since I was asleep before Rafe slipped inside. Now I can’t help staring at his bare back as he stands in front of the dresser. I think he’s taking his gun apart or something. I’m not sure what he’s doing, I’m just sure of his impressive biceps and the slight movement of his back muscles as he tinkers. Damn, the Vegas Morelli has back muscles for days.
Are the pants coming off next? I’m torn between wanting to see the muscular ass that likely matches the rest of his impressive physique, and definitely not wanting to see it. I could’ve tapped that ass a few months ago and I didn’t. My brain is confident in that decision, but my eyeballs are beginning to have doubts. “I reiterate, what the fuck are you doing?”
He turns around now, smiling slowly, enjoying my alarm as he leisurely unbuckles his belt, yanks it off, and drags the leather strap across his open palm. “See this? It’s a belt. I just took it off.”
My gaze follows the belt’s journey and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how long it’s been since I’ve had sex. Dammit. Caressing a belt shouldn’t even be sexy.
“I hate you,” I tell him, yanking the blanket up and tugging it around me. “I hate you so much. Get out of my room.”
He deposits the belt on the dresser with his gun and ignores me. At least he doesn’t take his pants off, though. He’s still wearing black dress pants. Instead of stripping those off in front of me, he opens one of the dresser drawers and pulls out what appears to be a pair of pajama pants.
“I’m really confused about what’s happening right now,” I state, just so we’re all on the same page.
“I’m going to take these in the bathroom and put them on, so as not to offend your apparently delicate sensibilities,” Rafe states. Then, waving a hand toward the ceiling, he adds, “And because, if I’m being honest, I don’t want to give Mateo a show.”
He holds my gaze on that remark, reminding me subtly that there are cameras in this room. That grounds me. I’m actually glad he said that; for a moment, I was so completely thrown off by the casual way he was undressing in front of me, I did sort of forget. They put me in a guest room tonight, not the bedroom I was in before, and I hadn’t even thought about the cameras.
When he comes back out of the bathroom with blue flannel pajama pants hanging from his narrow hips, I ask, “Is there some reason you’re getting ready for bed in my room?”
He hikes up a golden eyebrow and halts by the bed. “This is my room. They put you in my room. I hate to be the one to tell you this, princess, but you don’t own everything you touch. Sometimes you’re just a guest in someone else’s space.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m the one who lives here, not you.”
“Before all the loyalty leaked out of you, maybe. Now you don’t have a home. Rats are relegated to crawling around in the sewer, scavenging off everyone else.”
I want to punch him in the face. I can see from the gleam of amusement in his eyes he’s just performing for the cameras, but I still want to hit him. He’s such an asshole. “So, you’re going to sleep in this bed? With me? Am I understanding that right?”
“Sure are,” he answers. “I’m not really a ‘sleep on the couch’ kind of guy.”
“This is annoying,” I inform him. “This is not at all how I want to spend my first night back in a bed. I bet you radiate heat, too, don’t you?”
He walks around to his side of the bed, shaking his head. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“It’s a man thing. You all radiate heat. It’s nice in the winter, but right now? Ugh.”
“Well, I’m not going to cuddle with you, so I think you’ll be just fine,” he tells me.
“Oh. Well, yeah, of course. Ew. I didn’t mean we would cuddle.”
He plugs his phone into the charger and pulls back the blankets, shooting me a skeptically amused look. “Ew? Really? The thought of cuddling with me warrants an ‘ew’?”
I usually have more game than this. I want to crawl out of my skin. God, they couldn’t just let me have one night of peace?
Apparently not, because Vegas Morelli slides right into bed beside me.
“So, I don’t know if I just don’t listen to Mia when she talks or she edited this part out of the story. Since you’re so possessive of the mattress you sleep on each night, does that mean you slept in bed with her when she spent the night at your house?”
“I did. She may not know that, though. She passed out when I was showering and I was out of bed before she woke up the next morning. I plied her with a lot of alcohol that night.”
“A consummate gentleman,” I remark, dryly. “Did you date rape her after that? Hey, maybe the baby’s yours and not Vince’s.”
“That’s not funny,” he says, sparing me a look of annoyance. “You trying to get me killed?”
“I don’t know, he really hates Vince; Mateo might actually be relieved.”
“That I raped his wife? I’m guessing no. I didn’t, obviously,” he adds, addressing the invisible spy in the room. “That definitely did not happen, and I fully support the murder of Meg.”
“You’re mean,” I tell him.
“You’re trying to get me murdered for no reason.”
I smirk, somewhat pleased with myself. “He’s going to steal your DNA while you’re here now, I hope you realize that. I also hope you’re telling the truth, ‘cause he’ll get that shit tested. If you’re lying, shave your head and don’t drink anything else while you’re here. No more jerking off. If you’ve done it today, take the trash out yourself and burn it. Maybe walk around in a hazmat suit to avoid dropping any DNA fibers.”
Rafe sighs, covering his face with his hands. “This place is fucking crazy. It’s like staying at an insane asylum without any doctors.”
“Doctors are for people who want to get better,” I tell him. “Welcome to Morelli mansion.”
I’m pretty proud of myself on all fronts as I consider the mayhem I’ve just triggered. Mateo’s a suspicious bastard and Mia has crack nipples. He already told me (before he hated me, when we talked about Mia’s predicament) that he wasn’t confident Rafe hadn’t fucked her. He insisted he didn’t think she was lying to him, but he still couldn’t cross off the possibility. That was weird. How could he think both? But he didn’t explain, just continued to stew about it.
I figured he must have satisfied his suspicions when Rafe was invited to the wedding and put in charge of guarding Mia, but who knows with Mateo? It doesn’t matter. It’s easy to arouse his suspicions, even if he had let it go before. If he didn’t get concrete evidence of Rafe’s innocence, just hearing me ask the question will reawaken them. He’s going to make poor Maria steal Rafe’s juice glass or root through his trash can, I just know it.
My amusement dies a swift death when I realize this whole interaction, while amusing, is bullshit. Rafe is performing. Mateo isn’t going to get to test his DNA when Rafe leaves, because Rafe and Dante are in league to take him down. No more of Mateo’s whacky hijinks. No more confiding in me over midnight ice cream. I guess he wouldn’t do that anymore anyway, even if this didn’t happen. I lost his trust. That, I regret.
Well, now I’m depressed.
Since I’m already thinking of sad things, my mind drifts to the human I just brought into the world today. I barely spent any time with him. When I was sure I was dying, prior to the cell phone lifeline, I had sort of made up my mind that I shouldn’t try to. Mia was the one he needed to bond with—as long as Mia loves him, Mateo will.
But now I’m not sure. I’m supposed to survive this now. Rafe still hasn’t told me when things are going down though, and it’s becoming more and more urgent. The baby is out of me. Mateo could murder my ass as soon as tomorrow, and though Rafe says he wants me on to help ease the transition, I’m ultimately inessential.
I know we can’t talk openly here, but I roll over to peek at Rafe, debating how I can bring it up without being obvious. He’s lying on his side, that damn muscular back to me. I can see the glow of his phone. I can’t resist the urge to peek over his massive shoulder and see who he’s talking to.
He doesn’t give me a chance to see anything, though. As soon as he hears me turn over, he cuts off the glow of his phone and replaces it on the bedside stand.
“Who are ya texting?” I ask, with awkward lightness.
“No one you know,” he answers dryly.
“Probably some showgirl in Vegas,” I decide. “Do you know a lot of showgirls? I’ve never been to Vegas. Always thought it would be cool to go.”
“Well, I’d say come see us sometime, but, you know.”
“Right. Short life expectancy.” When he nods, I go on. “You know how prisoners at least get a last meal? Like, a good one—steak, lobster, a whole birthday cake, whatever tickles their fancy. Do you think I’ll get a last dinner?”
“Highly doubtful,” Rafe answers. “He made you give birth without so much as a Tylenol; I wouldn’t hold out hope for an ice cream cake.”
“That’s lame. Can you at least bring me another one of those cookies?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Much appreciated.” I glance over at him again, seeking something real. “When are you supposed to head back to Vegas?”
“Soon.”
That’s it? Soon? That’s not helpful. He could at least try to communicate with me, here. “Well, all your clothes are still in the drawers, so not that soon, I guess. Are you getting everything together, or are you a last minute packer?”
Rafe cuts me a look of warning, his dark eyes flashing with annoyance. “Not worried about packing,” he answers, a bit shortly. “Just enjoying what’s left of my time here. I was visiting with your daughter today.”
“My daughter? Which one?”
“The small one. The tiny tyrant.”
“Ah, Rosalie.”
He nods. “That one. Got to meet the nanny. She seems nice. Quiet, but dedicated to the kids.”
I take that as code that he’s decided to keep Ju. It’s the kind of sneaky double talk I wanted, but now that it’s happening, it stresses me out.
“She met the baby,” he adds. “Hauled me to Mia and Mateo’s room to visit him.”
“Rosalie met Roman? How’d she like him?”
“She got bored after about two minutes. He wouldn’t play with her and she didn’t realize he wouldn’t be able to talk. Overall, I don’t think it’s going to be a favorable review.”
“Two stars. Send him back to the baby factory.”
Rafe cracks a smile. “More or less.”
“Do you like kids?” I ask.
His eyebrows rise, traces of alarm on his face, telling me I’m not the first woman to ask him this. “Me? No. I mean, yeah, kids are… I don’t want any. I may have to procreate once, someday, but I like my life the way it is. Kids are restrictive.”
I roll my eyes. “Not really. I mean, sure, for normal people they are. When I got pregnant with Lily, it definitely changed my life in an irrevocable way, but you assholes with enough money for nannies and maids and shit, not so much. Hire someone to help out and you can still do your thing. Look at Mateo. He has 85 kids and he still does whatever the hell he wants.”
“I don’t want to talk about kids.”
I smile at him. “Am I making you itchy? This is how you make me feel when you try to make me crack open my soul to get your dick hard.”
“You are a lewd woman,” he states.
“Thank you.”
“Thank God that didn’t happen.”
I nod my head. “It would probably make this little ‘dead woman walking’ sleepover super awkward.”
“Should’ve known better than to try sampling both of Mateo’s women.”
“True enough.” The reminder of his attraction to Mia brings my mind back to this plan he has to make her his pet. “Mia’s been through a lot. Not saying you’re a thing she went through, but… kinda. She loves Mateo more than anything, so she felt really guilty after Vegas.”
He nods calmly. “Mateo told me.”
I nod, trying to think how to word this without setting off any of Mateo’s alarms, should he watch this footage in the morning while he drinks his coffee. “It’s not easy being the focus of a Morelli obsession—or so I gather—and she’s been there with two of them. One being Mateo. So she’s been through some shit. She always bounces back, but you have to wonder... I mean, I’m not sure how many more times she can do that and maintain that positivity you all like about her. Everyone has a breaking point, right? Even Mia has to have one somewhere.”
Rafe watches me for a moment, but there’s no indication of his thoughts. The wheels are turning, but there’s no hint, not a single one, of what he might be thinking.
“I know I won’t be around to see it, but I hope whatever her future holds, it’s gentler on her than her past has been.”
He stares at me, hard. Finally, his jaw locks like he’s lost whatever inward battle he was fighting and he asks, “Why did you do it? If you care about her, if you’re worried about what happens to her, why would you do what you did?”
I flatten myself against the mattress, sinking into the pit of bad decisions. “It didn’t have anything to do with Mia. I know I did it to her, but it didn’t… It’s not like I hated her or anything. I had no ill will toward her. I treated her like a casualty in my imaginary war. She was just the person I had to step on in order to accomplish my end. I was being an asshole, that’s the short answer. A selfish asshole.”
“Is that who you are?” he asks, simply.
He asks that like it’s a simple question, but it’s not. At least, it doesn’t feel like it is. Maybe admitting it just isn’t pleasant. I think it’s the way he asks, though. He’s not asking if I do selfish things, he’s asking if what I did is who I am. If I would do the same thing over again, if I had a second chance. He’s asking if I’m a monster, or just some lost little lamb who made a horrible, desperate mistake to save her own wool.
Thing is, I’m no lost lamb.
I care about Mia, and I threw her to her dangerous ex who made her miserable when they were together, just so I could hold onto a relationship that had already died and a comfortable lifestyle I apparently could’ve kept either way. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew she could end up hurt or worse; I even had a week to sleep on the decision. I sat at the breakfast table across from her that morning, knowing I could stop her from leaving, stop him from getting his hands on her, save her from further hurt she didn’t deserve.
I didn’t stop it.
I care about Mateo and I’m going to stand by and let these assholes kill him so they can take everything that belongs to him.
I am not like Mia. I’m not some innocent who got lost and wandered into dark places, hurting people I loved without meaning to. I chose to do it. I choose to do it, because it fucking benefits me.
I am a selfish asshole.
Rafe doesn’t like selfish assholes—not in female form, at least. I know he’s already agreed to help me, but he could change his mind. He said himself he doesn’t deal with people he can’t trust; the last thing I want to do is verify that I’m someone he shouldn’t trust.
Instead of answering that loaded question, I sigh and tug the blankets up, settling them around my chest. “You know what? I just had a baby a few hours ago; I’m exhausted.”
The corner of Rafe’s mouth tips up and he nods very faintly. “All right.”
I roll over so my back is to him, creating a little more distance. I punch my pillow and settle in. I may not know what tomorrow brings, but for tonight, I’m relieved to have the soft surface of an actual bed beneath me.
“Good night, Rafe.”
“Good night, Meg.”