“Why were you awake?” I ask.
“Goodnight Laurel,” he sends again.
I sigh. “Fine. Goodnight, Sin.”
I leave the messages open while I finish drinking my tea, just on the off chance he decides to tell me why he’s awake, but he doesn’t. I wonder how many of the other nights I’ve spent sleepless and alone I could have spent talking to him instead. I’m not sleeping because my hormones are all out of whack, but why isn’t he sleeping? I try not to think about it as I head upstairs. I try not to entertain the lamest, most mundane fantasy ever—the simple ability to be lying in bed next to Sin if we are both unable to sleep. We could fill that time much more pleasurably. I could relax him and at least help him get some sleep if the baby doesn’t want me to sleep. We could cuddle and talk—or I could talk, and he could listen to me until he drifted off. I would look up when I noticed him no longer responding. I would snuggle up against him, and even if I couldn’t sleep, it wouldn’t matter, because I love the feeling of his arms wrapped around me. It’s worth staying awake for. Then the next morning when he has to get up and go to work, I could catch up on my sleep in the bedroom with the blackout curtains. Rafe’s room lets in too much light to sleep peacefully during the day.
It’s crazy that my most unattainable fantasy involving the dark, dominant murderer is just the ability to have a normal life with him.
I sigh at the sight of Rafe in bed, sleeping. I don’t know why it annoys me that he can sleep. I don’t want him to be awake, because I’m always worried he’ll start pawing at me when we’re both awake in the same bed. Still, he’s ultimately the reason I can’t sleep since he’s the one who fucked up with the condom and put a baby in me.
Now that I think about it, I wonder why he isn’t pushing for sex. I don’t want him to, but the night at the hotel he was relieved when I told him as soon as I found out Sin slept with Marlena, I would be good to go, but it hasn’t really come up again. I haven’t seen him with Sin outside of the morning I made them both breakfast, and Rafe is overall calmer about everything than he probably should be.
Climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over me, I look over at him. Should he be so calm? Where is this sudden well of patience coming from? He never even addressed that bizarre morning when he made me cook for Sin.
Why haven’t I questioned any of this before now? This is not the behavior I have come to expect from him. Things have been pleasant and friendly between us at the house over the past few days, but sexless and unromantic, and he hasn’t once attempted to turn the tides in a different direction.
I turn over on my left side, yanking my pillow and blanket, attempting to get comfortable. I’m facing Rafe, so I notice his eyes open as soon as they do.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He smiles faintly, closing his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
I should let him go back to sleep, but now this is weighing on my mind. I try to think of what I could ask him without coming off as guilty and suspicious. The night I think things shifted was the night Sin came over to help me with Skylar. The night Sin took his shirt off and mauled me on the couch. When Sin was there the next morning, Rafe made a point of being affectionate and kissing me in front of him, but I think it was only to piss Sin off, because he stopped once he was gone and hasn’t really done it again since. I’ve been so relieved, I forgot to wonder why.
“Hey,” I whisper.
Rafe’s eyes open again. “Yes?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He shifts, readjusting his head on his own pillow. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“How come you haven’t been…” I stop, trying to figure out how to finish this question. I’m thankful for the darkness in the room, because I can feel my face flushing as the words find their way out of my mouth. “How come you’ve stopped trying to kiss me?”
A faint burst of masculine laughter shoots out of him. “Listen to the way you framed that question, Laurel. How come I’ve stopped trying to kiss you,” he repeats. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
My stomach sinks. Of course that question plunges me into an icy pool of awkwardness, because the answer is an apologetic no, but I don’t want to say it.
He doesn’t make me. He simply nods, his gaze dropping briefly to my neck, then back to my face. “There you go. Why should I keep trying to kiss you if you don’t want me to?”
“Are you kissing anyone else?” I ask.
“Are you?” he shoots back.
My face freezes. I shake my head no, but flashes of Sin on top of me on Rafe’s couch flood my brain. He asked present tense, so I’m not technically lying. I am not currently kissing Sin. Hell, I didn’t even get to kiss him that night, because apparently the man doesn’t believe in kissing on the lips. It would definitely fall under the umbrella of what I mean to ask with this question, though. If Rafe is getting his needs met elsewhere, I’d like to know about it. Then we could end this whole charade of giving each other a shot, and each have the relationships we’re actually interested in pursuing.
Since it’s the most honest thing I can think to say in this moment, the most vulnerability I can offer him right now, I tell Rafe, “I don’t ever want us to hate each other.”
He watches me for a moment, but doesn’t say anything. I’ve been overlooking him for days, distracted by my feelings for Sin and my relief that Rafe was staying more or less out of the way, but now it’s all I can think about. Now it’s twisting up my nerves that Rafe Morelli, a man dangerous enough to steal a criminal empire from at least two men who should have inherited it before him, is sitting back passively, not making any visible moves in regards to this situation. That doesn’t seem like his style. Is he making moves I just can’t see yet?
After a long pause, he finally asks, “What would make you hate me?”
“I’m too afraid to say,” I admit, honestly.
He nods faintly, like that was more or less the answer he expected. “Your hatred might be more enjoyable than your indifference, kitten,” he says, simply.
My heart stalls. That could mean so many different things, but given the line of my current thoughts, it only leads me to one thing. The thought that he is doing or planning something that will make me hate him. It may be my fear talking, leading me to jump to that conclusion, but what if it isn’t?