“I won’t insult you by lecturing you on the importance of safe sex; accidents happen.”
Sin eases forward on the couch beside me. I turn my frown on him and he throws back the rest of the alcohol in his glass, then puts it on the table next to mine. He looks like he’s preparing for some unpleasantness.
I look back at Rafe, attempting to suppress indignation. I shouldn’t feel offended. He’s absolutely right; I don’t belong to him. There’s no reason for him to assume I haven’t slept with anyone since him. He’s probably slept with plenty of women since.
Yuck, what an awful thing to think about. My stomach roils again. I can’t quite look at him, but now I feel insulted enough to come out with it. “I’ve only had safe sex. I’m not a moron.”
“But you are pregnant?”
“Yes.”
He frowns at the impatience in my voice. “And since you have no money of your own and you didn’t want your sister to know, you came here to ask me for help.”
“I came here to tell you, because I thought it was the right thing to do.”
For someone so observant, he seems to have blinders glued on right now. “Why would telling me be the right thing to do? You don’t owe me anything.”
“Would you stop saying that?” I snap, pushing up off the couch. “I know I don’t owe you anything. I wasn’t even sure I needed to tell you, but I know Morelli men are… weird, and I talked to Vince and he said how he would be mad if—” I suck in a breath and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m pregnant. I told you. Now you know.”
As if he is the one I just delivered this news to, Sin is now sitting forward with his face buried in his hands.
Rafe’s dark eyes narrow with malice when it hits him. The intensity of his gaze causes my stomach to drop. Some of the righteous indignation drains right out of me as my instincts prickle. This is closer to the response I was dreading. While my romantic brain was projecting visions of Rafe snuggling Dom against his chest and imagining teaching him how to swaddle our little bun in the oven, the more predominant, logical side understood a man in his position probably would not find an accidental pregnancy with his holiday hook-up terribly exciting.
“Am I understanding correctly that you’re trying to say I am the man responsible for this predicament?”
“Well, yes, that’s… I’m not saying it well, admittedly, but that—” I lose my train of thought as he stands, prowling toward me. I take a few self-preserving steps backward. “I thought—”
He cuts me off. “You thought I would believe this?” Now he smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. “I used a condom each time I fucked you, Laurel. My naked dick went nowhere near your vagina. I would have noticed if there had been a break in the latex.”
Now I flush with humiliation, not only because he’s calling me a liar, but he’s speaking so coldly and clinically about those lovely days, and to make matters worse, he’s doing it in front of an audience. “I don’t have an explanation for you, Rafe. I was as surprised as you are, but there’s really no arguing with that little plastic wand.”
“I did not impregnate you.”
My eyebrows rise, even though he stalks close and my stomach sinks with nerves. I keep my chin up and meet his gaze. “Yes, you did.”
His jaw locks, anger flickering in his gaze. “You took the wrong approach, kitten.”
I shiver at the coldness in his tone, hating that he’s using that nickname right now.
“If you’d been honest with me, I would have been happy to help you. Hell, I would have still taken you upstairs and fucked you tonight before sending you home tomorrow with the money you needed. Mista
kes happen. But this manipulative bullshit—I thought you were above this. I guess being raised by your mercenary sister, she must have rubbed off on you.”
My eyes widen, fists clenching at my side. “Excuse me? My sister is an incredible person. I’m not sure where you get off—”
“I get off right here,” he says, simply. I feel him withdraw emotionally, but he takes a step back, just in case I missed it. “Easter was fun. I’m sorry you tried to extend the ride with deceitful bullshit, because now it’s over.”
I can’t breathe properly again. My skin is so hot with embarrassment, I’m surprised I don’t burst into flames. Then the absolute worst thing happens—tears well up in my eyes. I don’t cry often, but I’m also not accustomed to this level of humiliation. None of my experience with Rafe in Chicago prepared me for this sort of response. Despite being a bad guy at work, he was consistently warm in his downtime with me. I came here alone and unprotected, completely vulnerable, putting myself entirely at his mercy, expecting—at the very least—civility. Even if the news disappointed him, I didn’t expect him to be cold.
I was infatuated with Rafe Morelli a few hours ago, even after watching him with the blondes at dinner, but right this moment, I despise him. This is not my fault, and he’s being needlessly cruel and completely irrational.
Now he behaves like I’m not even here. He doesn’t speak as his finger moves across the screen of his phone. I want to cry and throw up and yell at him, all at the same time.
Breaking the heavy silence, I make another attempt to engage. I get that he’s not thrilled—neither was I—but I flew here from the other side of the country to talk to him about this, and he’s ignoring me. “I am not lying to you, Rafe. Why would I lie to you?”
His mouth curves up in a small, mean smile. “For the same reason any woman would. What kind of fucking question is that?”
“I didn’t even come here to ask you for money,” I tell him, despising the way my voice shakes mid-sentence. Clearing my throat and trying again, I add more strongly, “I came here because I didn’t know what was fair. I didn’t know if I needed to tell you or not, but more importantly, I didn’t know if you’d want me to. I was trying to be respectful—”