I hear the chair scrape the floor, so I’m not surprised when Rafe storms up behind me, his face serious. “This isn’t a fucking game, Virginia.” Gesturing to some obscure point off in the distance, he says, “If that little bastard is out there and he knows something, he could cause real problems for us—all of us. You included.”
I shake my head, unconcerned. “He’s not going to cause problems for me. He likes me. You’re the one he hates.”
“Yeah, well, that would be your problem now, too. Our honeymoon’s barely over; you ready to start making conjugal visits?”
“Nope. If you go to prison, I’m taking my get-out-of-jail-free card and a shitload of your money and going to Ibiza or some shit. I’m gonna peace out of here. I’m not playing mob wife to a jailed gangster who won’t even—” I almost say who won’t even fuck me, then I remember Sin is here, and that’s probably too far. “No. You imprisoned me over nothing, so if you go to jail for your actual crimes, find yourself a pretty cell mate. Your waitress would have come to fuck you, but your wife is staying far away.”
“Man, she fucking hates you,” Sin remarks.
“It’s the wine,” Rafe mutters. “I shouldn’t let her drink. It turns her into a pain in the ass. She gets all mouthy and difficult. I swear to God, I’m going to dump out all the alcohol in the house.”
“Alcohol usually makes people more honest,” Sin informs Rafe, lightly amused.
“Yeah, well.”
“Aw, man. Have fun with that. I’m going home with my wife who actually likes me,” Sin
says, sliding off his seat. “See ya later, Virginia.”
“Bye, Sin,” I offer, waving.
Rafe waits until Sin has had long enough to make it out the door and probably out to his car, then he leans against the counter, crosses his arms, and stares me down.
“If you don’t care about me, think about Sin. Think about Laurel. If I go down, I guarantee Sin goes with me. That’s a given. Think about Skylar and Nicholas, forced to grow up without their fathers.”
“Then Laurel would go back to Connecticut with Carly and Vince, and the babies wouldn’t be raised around active criminals. Is that really your worst case scenario? It sounds more like incentive. Might want to keep trying.”
“Jesus, you are a mean drunk.”
“And you’re a mean husband,” I inform him, tossing the cloth in the sink and wandering off. Checking the imaginary watch on my wrist, I say, “Oh no, it’s getting close to bedtime, you better change clothes and leave the house for no fucking reason.”
“Is that resentment I detect?” he inquires.
Theatrically widening my eyes, I spin around and regard him with jaw-dropping wonder. “Good God, is that Sherlock Holmes? It must be! Your skills of deduction are most impressive, dear husband. Most impressive, indeed.”
Shaking his head, Rafe says, “All right, it’s time to take you to bed. You need to sleep it off. No more alcohol for you, you little pain in the ass.”
“I’ll drink alcohol whenever I damn well please,” I inform him.
“It’s like you consume alcohol and you’re suddenly possessed by an evil demon,” he informs me, grabbing my wrist and hauling me toward the bedroom.
“If by evil demon you mean ‘good judgment’ then yes, absolutely.”
Since he knows I don’t have anything nice to say, he doesn’t bother talking to me as he leads me up to the bedroom. Wordlessly, he moves behind me and unzips the satin shell of my top and slides it forward, down my arms. Next, he tugs my skirt down by the layers of tulle. That’s not how he should handle it, he should use the waistband, but I don’t care that much. I’m tired, my head is starting to ache, and all I want is to curl up in bed in his arms, but he’s undressing now, so I know he’ll probably change and leave, like he does every night.
With a forlorn sigh, I bend down to undo the strap of my shoe, but I lose my balance and fall on my ass.
“Are you all right?” Rafe asks.
I giggle, nod, and tip over on my side. “I like wine.”
“It doesn’t like you,” he informs me dryly, offering me his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you with your other shoe.”
Even though I currently hate his face, when he says that, it brings back the lovely memory of that night in my apartment, him propping me against the wall and taking my shoes off me. Taking care of me like something precious to him.
He’s so sweet when he wants to be.
A swell of affection hits me as the memory swirls around my mind, and when my handsome husband puts a hand on my hip to steady me, I can’t quite separate the past from the present. I would have given anything, literally anything, to be his wife that night.