by Sam Mariano
He smiles faintly. “You put your heart on a shelf, huh? In a jar, or a box?”
I smile, settling into the crook of his arm. “Well, it was a jar, but some dimwit thought it was a box, so… I guess that’s the story we’re going with.”
“Virginia’s jar. That sounds unimaginably dirty,” he states.
“Virginia’s box sounds even crasser.”
“It does,” he agrees, reaching for his drink on the table, tipping it back, and draining it. As his glass thuds on the table, he looks over at me and says, “What do you say we get out of here?”
“Get out of here? And go where?”
“Somewhere I can play with your box,” he says lightly. “Doesn’t seem like you’re ready for exhibitionism yet.”
I stare at him like a petrified object, frozen forever in this moment, unable to escape it. I won’t, either. I know this moment will end, and we’ll both move on, but I am already so fucked from coming here with him tonight. Now I have this to contend with. The knowledge that he wants to take me somewhere alone, that some of my fondest fantasies could come to life… and I’m obligated to tell him no.
That’s just mean and unfair.
I can’t quite get the words out, so I shake my head no.
“Why not?” he asks, simply.
I can see in his eyes he doesn’t accept this as a firm no. He wants to find out my reasons so he can refute all of them, talk me right out of my good sense. I know his game. I desperately wish I could throw caution to the wind and get swept up in him tonight, but it’s not worth the cost. No matter how much I want to say yes, I need to say no.
“You know why,” I answer vaguely. “We both know why.” I hear the resignation in my own tone, so he must hear it, too. “The answer is no, Rafe.”
He watches me for a moment, studying, taking the temperature of my refusal. His eyes drift away to our empty glasses on the table. He eyes mine the longest, then looks back at me, the corners of his mouth tipped up, but an unconvincing measure of amusement in his eyes.
“I should have kissed you,” he states.
Offering back a faint smile of my own, I pat his hand. “It’s good that you didn’t.”
He lets me scoot away, but I can see he’s none too thrilled. “I’m getting a bit tired of this dry spell,” he says, almost conversationally.
I pause as I get to my feet in front of the booth, smoothing the back of my dress down and glancing back at him.
Since I don’t speak, he continues. “I’ll call a car to take you home. I think I’m going to hang out here a bit longer.”
The feeling inside like my rib cage is collapsing in on itself is all the proof I need that this night was a bad idea. Countless times Rafe has brought countless women to the restaurant, and knowing he was going home with them has never felt like this—not even the first time. But now, because he has snuggled me in his fucking booth, because he has touched me, even tasted me, now when he tells me he is going to fuck someone else… well, now it’s collapsing rip cages and my heart tumbling from its cavity into a scorching sea of acid.
I’ve never in my entire life been threatened into having sex, and I can’t believe I’m considering changing that right now.
That’s not fair. I know he doesn’t mean it as a threat. It’s a warning. There’s a difference. He isn’t trying to force me to change my mind, he’s only being fair, paying me the courtesy of honesty, giving me a choice. I have played the part of his date tonight, I’ve turned him on enough that he wants someone to go home with, and now I’m telling him no. Like a tease. Rafe doesn’t play with teases. I’ve seen a couple girls think they could dangle the prize and get him to chase them, and I’ve watched them lose his interest instantly when they tried to play that game.
That is not my motive, not even remotely, but the result is the same regardless. Rafe wants to fuck someone, and if I’m unwilling to be that someone, the pretty little Russian who eyed him up like a juicy steak will surely accept the invitation.
I realize I’ve been standing here for too long. Quiet for too long. The glint in Rafe’s eyes changes, becomes a little more guarded. That knocks even more wind out of me than the heart-eating acid situation, so I force myself into action.
I nod my head, even though my chest feels tight and my lungs can’t draw enough air. “Okay. Actually, um, I can call my own car, so you don’t have to worry about that. Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I had a really nice time.”
Before I fall to pieces over one thing or another, I offer a tepid smile, grab my purse, and make my way toward the front door. My legs feel unsteady, the heels too high, and my inside are quaking, but I tell myself it’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. It has to be fine, because I’m the one that made this decision. He just took me out and invited me to spend the night with him, and once more, I said no.
It’s too late to be weak and say yes. I can’t go back now. Pride isn’t even the whole problem, it’s just common sense. It’s only possible to be trapped in a situation before you’ve left it. It’s only possible to give into a moment when you’re still in that moment.
The moment has passed, and going back to that table now wouldn’t be a moment of weakness or a bad decision made in the heat of the moment—it would be a choice.
If I thought there was even a slim chance he would come to me tomorrow wanting more, wanting a relationship, maybe I could make that choice.
But if he wanted that, he wouldn’t have just told me if I didn’t get him off, someone else would.
My shoulders sag with the weight of reality, but this is my fault for allowing myself to get swept up in him. Rafe has never misled me about who he is or what he wants. I’ve told him I enjoy being single too, so he probably suggested we could hook up because he thinks neither of us wants a relationship.
Rafe is completely honest about who he is, and I’m not going to be the idiot girl who lies to herself and sets herself up for disappointment.
I’m going to be the idiot girl who goes home alone, then lies awake imagining him fucking someone else.
Hooray for good fucking decisions.
7
Rafe
Christmas Eve.
It’s been ages since I last spent one in Vegas. As soon as my mother could conceivably leave town after my father’s death, she did. She hasn’t been back since. Not for a birthday, a holiday, a surprise—there’s nothing that can get her to step foot back in Nevada, and the birth of my son combined with Christmas is no exception.
Ordinarily, kids don’t factor into my holiday plans, so I go to Florida and spend the holiday with my mom. Rather, I spend the holiday on the beach, and who the hell can complain about that?
Now that Laurel is irrevocably tied to Vegas and I’m irrevocably tied to her, I suppose I’ll be spending the rest of my Christmases here. Sin has family in California, but they’re a bunch of self-righteous assholes, so I don’t see them carting Nicholas and Skylar off to Cali for holidays. Sin isn’t the type who needs people in his life if they don’t like him, and Laurel isn’t the type to force him just because they’re family.
Apparently that means if I want to make Laurel happy, I’m going to have to deal with her sister and my asshole little cousin for the rest of my damned days.
Kids. They change every-fucking-thing.
I straighten the sleeve of my black cashmere sweater, waiting for someone to answer the damned door. I’m standing on Sin’s doorstep with a bagful of presents, waiting like an asshole. In a house as small as this one, I don’t see how it could take so long to get to the door.
Finally, the locks start disengaging one at a time, and then the doorknob turns. I don’t know who I’m gonna get. I’m hoping for—expecting—Sin, but the wrong dark-haired, dark-eyed asshole is standing on the other side. This one, I’m related to.
“Vince,” I say, nodding once in acknowledgement.
He doesn’t say a word, just opens the door wider and takes a step back to let me in.
“About time someone answered,” I offer congenially. “Thought I was going to freeze to death out here.”
He stares at me as I step inside, then cocks an eyebrow. “It’s fifty fuckin’ degrees outside.”
“Like I said.”
Shaking his head at me, Vince says, “You wouldn’t like Connecticut.”
“Nobody likes Connecticut,” I inform him.
He rolls his eyes before shutting the door and locking all the locks again. I don’t bother waiting for him. I know he doesn’t like me, so we don’t have to go through the motions of pretending it’s good to see one another.
I put down the bag of gifts I brought with me when I get to the top of the stairs. I don’t know why I expected Laurel to be immobile on the couch with an IV drip or something, but she is up moving around, a bundled up Nicholas on her shoulder.
“Hey,” she says brightly, coming over to half-hug me.
“How are you feeling, kitten?” I ask, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
“Festive,” she answers, her blue eyes dancing with pleasure. “Thank you for letting Vince and Carly come for Christmas.”
Vince walks up the stairs behind me, and he can’t help muttering dryly, “Yeah, you’re a real swell guy.”
The funny thing about that is, according to our family’s policies concerning the passing on of power, this city should be his, not mine. That’s not why he’s pissy, though. By all accounts, he really is content to live his life with Carly in the godforsaken New England suburbs instead of having power in the Vegas underworld. He’s only mad at me because I fucked his ex-girlfriend. The way I see it, at least I waited until she was his ex.
In the interest of fairness, maybe I don’t deserve credit for that. I can probably only say that because I didn’t meet her until she was his ex. I did mess around with her when the little bastard was holding her captive in an ill-fated attempt to make her love him again, so he probably considers that foul play.
Eh, whatever. He’s married to someone else; the kid should really be over it by now.
Ignoring Vince’s petulance, I step around Laurel so I can look at Nicholas. He’s so fucking tiny, I can’t get over it. “How are you doing, little guy?”
He makes a little noise and looks up at me as Laurel lovingly rubs his back and murmurs, “Nicholas, can you say merry Christmas?”
I notice she doesn’t call me daddy. I’m not offended—or really even surprised—but I wonder what he’ll call me. I know Sin is the one raising him, I know he’ll be better at it than I would anyway, but logistically, I would feel better if I knew what to call myself. There’s always a hint of awkwardness in any situation where you don’t know your own position.
“Want a cookie?”
I look up, not bothering to hide my surprise, when Laurel’s sister holds out a snowman tray full of chocolate chip cookies. “Are they poisoned?” I inquire, given her cheerfulness.
Carly Morelli likes me even less than her husband. I fucked his ex, but I fucked her little sister—and I knocked her up. Suffice it to say, I didn’t earn any points with her for being half responsible for producing a cute nephew, just all the “you ruined my sister’s life, asshole” grief that accompanied him.
Her blue eyes dim with annoyance. “No, they aren’t poisoned. They’re yummy. Have one.” I wait, so she goes on, even more exasperated. “Laurel said I had to be nice to you.”
That explains it.
“We are going to have a nice family Christmas,” Laurel says firmly, eyeing both of us. “You two are going to play nicely, Vince is going to limit his sulking despite your presence, and we are all going to give Nicholas the first Christmas he deserves.”
“Yes, mom,” I offer dryly.
Skylar decides to make her presence known now that I’ve said her second favorite word. “Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom,” she calls over. We all turn to look at her, decked out in a Christmas dress with a red bow in her dark hair. Seeing she has out attention, she gives us a little grin and waves.
“Hi, Skylar,” I offer back.
Her tone decidedly more pleasant than I’m accustomed to, Carly gushes, “Skylar, you’re ready for Santa to bring you presents, aren’t you?”
Now Skylar notices the tray of cookies, so she throws the red block she was just chewing on and crawls as fast as she can over to Carly. Laurel smiles as Carly grabs Skylar and props her on her hip. Skylar eyes the plate the whole time, and once she’s settled on Carly’s hip, she grabs one and starts going to town on it.
“Just one, though, okay? We have to save some for Santa,” Carly reminds her.
Sin appears out of nowhere, as he’s wont to do and flashes Skylar a stern look. “Cookies before dinner?”
Skylar takes a bite of cookie, then babbles sweetly, “Love dada. Love love love.”
I can’t help laughing. Manipulative little shit—she’s definitely a Morelli.
Sin shakes his head, leans in and kisses her cheek, but leaves her to her cookie and walks over to rub Nicky’s hand. “Want me to take him?” he asks Laurel.
She shakes her head, smiling. “I’m good.”
“You are supposed to be resting,” he states, nodding his head at the couch.
Flashing him those big blue eyes, she says, “Sin, it’s Christmas.”
Unimpressed, he says, “And you just had a baby.”
Laurel shakes her head and rocks, petting Nicky’s hair. “Two days ago.”
“Exactly. You just expelled a human being from your body two days ago. You deserve some uninterrupted couch time.”
“I’ll rest when Virginia gets here,” she assures him.
My gaze shoots to her. “What did you just say?”
All innocence—bullshit innocence—she looks back at me, then down at Nicholas, kissing the side of his head before casually informing me, “I invited Virginia.”
“Tonight?” I demand. “And you didn’t think to ask me first?”
Now she flashes the big blues at me, but that shit doesn’t work on me. “Rafe, I just had a baby. I need help.”
“My ass,” I mutter.
She invited me a fucking date. Vince has Carly, Sin has Laurel, so Laurel invited Virginia for me.
I wonder if Virginia told her about the other night. I’m aware of their friendship, but I don’t know if they would have had a chance to talk about it since Laurel has so much going on right now. I’m not completely sure Virginia even wants to see me, but the last thing I want to do is invite any weirdness to everyone’s holiday.
“You shouldn’t have invited her without asking me,” I tell Laurel.
Rather than backing down, Laurel sticks her stubborn nose in the air. “It wasn’t your decision to make. She’s my friend too, and she didn’t have any plans for Christmas. There’s no reason we can’t have one more here to even out the numbers—plus, Virginia is a great cook, and why should Carly have to do all the cooking? Carly doesn’t even like you. At least with Virginia here, you know there’s one person in the house who would never poison you.”
Yep, she definitely hasn’t heard about the club. Oh well, this is clearly happening now. “Did you invite her just for dinner tonight, or is she going to be here tomorrow morning, too?”
“Tomorrow, too. The whole Christmas holiday. I told you, she didn’t have any plans. I couldn’t just let her sit at her apartment alone on Christmas, Rafe.”
“Goddammit, Laurel.”
“I don’t see why you’re so worked up about it,” she says. “You like Virginia.”
“I didn’t get her a present,” I point out, mentally jumping through gift ideas. What is an appropriate gift to get your… Virginia? I usually give her a big Christmas tip, but cash isn’t going to cut it if she’s going to be sitting around the tree in the morning. It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake. I don’t even have time to figure out what to get her—and the stores are probably so packed full of last minute shoppers and so picked over, I won’t be able to find a decent gift anyway
.
Motherfucker.
“How long do I have?” I ask.
“She’s coming to help us make dinner.”
I slide back the sleeve of my sweater and check my watch. That could feasibly put her here anytime between now and the next hour. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Sighing, I turn around and head back down the stairs to the front door.
“Where are you going?” Laurel calls after me.
“I’ve gotta go buy her a damn present.”
8
Virginia
When I get to Sin and Laurel’s house, I’m bursting with uncertainty. Rafe didn’t come to the restaurant last night, and he closes for Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I left the club.
He still has my work clothes, since they were in a bag in his car and I left alone. I looked at my phone about eight times, but I couldn’t make myself text him. I own three work outfits, and he has one of them. Texting him to tell him I need my things back seems too awkward, though. I don’t know how he will respond to what happened the other night, but knowing him and his allergy to women who can actually handle his ass, I’m expecting him to push me away with both hands.
I’m not going to let him, naturally, but I’m prepared for him to be annoying until he realizes there is no threat and nothing to freak out about. After that, it will be smooth sailing back to normalcy.
My mind isn’t immediately put at ease by what I hope is my ability to duck and dodge his weirdness, though, because when I get to Sin’s house, Rafe isn’t there.
I didn’t see his car in the driveway, but as Laurel flashes me a big grin and leads me up the stairs, I look around and take inventory of the faces to make sure. Sure enough, none of them are the handsome visage of Rafe Morelli.
Laurel leads me right over to a different Morelli—Vince. I met her sister at the hospital, but Vince wasn’t there. He offers me a crooked smile and his hand to shake.
“Vince Morelli, Laurel’s brother-in-law.”