Another month passes in the blink of an eye, during which Rafaele and I fall into a comfortable rhythm.
No, that’s a lie. A rhythm, yes. Comfortable? Maybe for him.
On paper, things are going well. He’s been around a little more this month. We’ve gone on dates, attended dinner parties, and even went to a gallery opening together. When we’re together, I never feel like I bore him. He’s a great listener, and whenever I have some problem at work, he gives me thoughtful advice. I enjoy his company, and I think he enjoys mine. But as soon as I try to pierce the armor he wears, to move beyond facts and logic, I hit resistance.
Every time he shuts down a conversation or pulls away, I have to remind myself not to be greedy.
The problem is…I am greedy. With each passing day, my feelings for him grow. They pulse inside my chest, a cocktail of longing, affection, and desire. And I want more from him. I want to know what Rafaele is thinking when he looks at me with those piercing blue eyes. I want to know what he’s feeling when he touches my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I want to know if he feels the same way I do, and whether he wants more too.
I’m falling for him, fast and hard, and I don’t know what’s waiting for me at the bottom of the drop.
It’s Sunday morning, and the house is quiet. I wander onto the back terrace and take a look at the garden. It takes me a moment to realize it’s in full bloom. I’m checking the calendar on my phone for the date when familiar footsteps sound behind me. Rafaele wraps his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to my shoulder.
“I can’t believe it’s July,” I say. “Do you know my birthday is in a week?”
“Of course, I do.” His voice is still raspy from sleep. “How would you like to celebrate?”
I turn in his arms and place my palms on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. “I want to celebrate with my sisters.”
It’s been too long. I miss Gem and Vale, and it’s gotten particularly bad over the past two weeks. We talk on the phone often, but it’s not the same. I need an in-person heart-to-heart. Desperately. Maybe my sisters will be able to give me some advice on how to navigate this marriage.
I know Rafaele can’t be thrilled about my request. As expected, when I lift my gaze to his, he’s wearing a pensive look. I can practically see the wheels inside his head turning. Gemma is the woman who walked out on him. There’s no way Ras will allow her to travel here alone, so Rafaele will have to play nice with the man who got his ex-fiancée pregnant while she was engaged to him.
And Damiano will insist on escorting Vale. I guess Damiano and Rafe are business partners, so that’s not too bad. But if I’m inviting all four of them, I’ll also have to invite Mari, Damiano’s sister, and her husband, Giorgio, who’s Damiano’s head of security.
That’s a lot of Casalesi mobsters to have in New York at one time. But it’s not like Rafe would let me go see my sisters in Italy on my own, and he’s too busy with work to take time off.
“I know it might get a bit messy,” I say. “But I haven’t seen Gemma since she left or Vale since the wedding. That was almost four months ago, and I miss the hell out of them. It would be the best gift ever. A big party with all of them around.”
He sighs. “And here I was thinking the thirty-carat diamond necklace I bought at auction last week would be enough.”
I grin. “It’s a good start, for sure.”
A smile tugs at his lips.
“We could invite your sisters too,” I offer. “Maybe they could fly down with Vince from Europe together.”
The light in his eyes dims. “They’re usually too busy to attend anything that’s not a wedding or a funeral.”
“Why aren’t the three of you close?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He shrugs. “Just how it is.”
Frustration pulses at my temples. Rafaele doesn’t talk about his mother or his sisters. Why? What happened between them to make their relationships so strained? As his wife, don’t I have a right to know about his family history? Why won’t he share even that with me?
Maybe he senses my frustration, because he pulls me into him and distracts me with a kiss. When we break apart, both breathless, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and says, “Fine. You can throw your party.”
Excitement blooms inside my chest, overriding the disappointment. “Thank you.”
He smiles again and presses his forehead to mine. “Anything for you, tesoro.”
I wrap my arms around him and press my cheek to his chest.
Anything? Or just the crumbs you’re willing to offer?
I spend the next week calling Vale and Gemma, making arrangements for their travel and figuring out the logistics of the party. The theme is tropical paradise, and since I have no idea if I’ll be able to do this again next year, I decide to go all out.
On Wednesday, they deliver dozens of mini palm trees. When Rafaele comes home that evening, he nearly trips over one. On Thursday, the bamboo bars arrive. On Friday, while Rafaele and I are having breakfast, the staff start bringing in the alcohol I ordered.
His brows climb up his forehead. “Tesoro, are you trying to get the whole state of New York drunk?”
I give him a wicked grin. “Don’t think you can keep up with me?”
His eyes darken, and he shakes his head, but he can’t hide the amused smile on his face.
On the day of the event, I’m so excited that I practically bounce off the walls. The staff are still adding some last touches to the décor, but the ballroom already looks like Party City exploded inside of it. The mini palm trees are arranged around the perimeter, fruit decorations hang off the ceiling, there’s a giant champagne tower on a gold table with a pineapple base, and bartenders are ready to serve every sugary drink you can imagine from behind the bamboo bars.
Rafaele and Nero are chatting in the corner while holding piña-colada-filled coconuts in their hands. They accepted the drinks from me without too much grumbling, but apparently, I took it a step too far with the matching tropical-patterned button-up shirts, because they categorically refused to put them on.
Around three p.m., my sisters finally arrive. Gemma’s bump is just starting to show and she’s glowing. Vale looks more tanned than the last time I saw her, and her hair is longer than mine, reaching past her waist. I run toward them and envelop them in a hug. “You’re here!”
We squeeze each other and jump around in a circle like a bunch of lunatics. Mari stands to the side, watching us shyly, until we pull her into our big group hug.
Damiano, Ras, and Giorgio greet Rafaele and Nero with as much warmth as an icy breeze on a cold winter morning. My sisters and Mari pause our conversation to regard them for a few seconds.
“We all told them to behave, right?” Gemma asks.
“Oh, yeah.” Vale tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I told Dem I’ll murder him if him or Ras ruin your birthday.”
Mari shrugs. “Gio won’t do anything. He’s always well-behaved.”
Vale arches a brow. “I’m pretty sure I saw him looking at everyone’s home addresses and credit card statements on the flight over. He’s researched the entire guest list to death, hasn’t he? Memorized everyone’s social security numbers? Dug up old family secrets?”
Mari winces. “You know how he is. He doesn’t go anywhere unprepared.”
“Rafe will probably just glare at them the entire night,” I say, noting the frigid look on my husband’s face. He must feel my attention on him, because he glances my way, and a bit of warmth slips into his expression.
“C’mon,” I say, wrapping my arms around Vale and Mari. “Let’s grab a drink.”
Soon, the party is in full swing. I introduce my sisters and Mari to Sandro and Tiny and bring them around to the kitchen to say hi to Luca. Then I take them on a tour of the gardens, excitedly pointing out all the flowers that recently bloomed.
I catch Vale giving me a curious look. “What?”
“Nothing. You just…seem happy,” Vale comments.
Gemma nods in agreement. “You do. How are things with you and Rafaele?”
“He’s growing on me,” I say.
“So you like him?” Mari asks.
Like him? It’s progressed far beyond that. I let out a sigh and glance between my sisters. I can’t believe I’m about to confess that I’ve thoroughly fallen for my husband.
“Cleo!” A voice calling my name grabs my attention. It’s Loretta. She’s standing with an older couple in tow. I vaguely recognize them from the wedding. They must be her parents.
“Give me one sec,” I say to my sisters before I walk over to Loretta.
“Happy birthday, darling,” Loretta says. “You look beautiful. Doesn’t she, Ma?”
Her mother gives me a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “The skirt is a bit short, but what do I know.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I may have won over Loretta, but I guess her parents are a different matter. Whatever. I don’t care. It’s my birthday and my family is here. I’m not going to let this lady ruin my mood.
Loretta frowns. “Ma, don’t be rude. I told you Cleo’s really helping me with the shop. Why do you have to insult her?”
Surprise bursts through me. I wasn’t expecting Loretta to come to my defense.
“I don’t know what you mean,” her mother says, her cheeks turning pink. “You asked for my opinion, so I gave it to you.”
“Huh. You never seem to have those sorts of opinions about other hosts. Or at least you know well enough to keep them to yourself.”
“It’s okay,” I cut in, for once not in the mood to start any drama.
Loretta shakes her head. “No, it’s not okay. The only reason I’ve been able to pay back all of my debts is because of you, Cleo. I won’t have my own mother disrespect you like that.”
Loretta’s father clears his throat, his expression stoic. “Thank you for your assistance. It’s been a great relief to our daughter, and we appreciate the interest you’ve taken in the business. Right, Claudia?”
Loretta’s mom sniffs, her entire face flushed. “Of course,” she says, clearly embarrassed.
The tension in the air dissipates, and the older couple soon moves on to talk to other guests. I turn to Loretta. “Thank you. I’m touched. You didn’t have to do that.”
Loretta shrugs. “I’m just tired of this family hating on you. Besides, you’ve been a good friend to me.” She flashes me a small smile before heading off to greet another guest.
I rejoin my sisters and Mari, and Gemma asks if we can go into the house so she can use the bathroom.
“My bladder’s terrible these days,” she grumbles.
I nod. Better wait until tomorrow to bring up my dilemma with Rafaele. I’ll organize a lunch for just the four of us where we can talk without any interruptions.
When we return to the back terrace, Rafaele’s mother approaches me. I give the woman a careful smile. She hasn’t been around much, but I’ve seen her at a few of the family events Rafaele’s taken me to. I’m not sure where we stand though.
She kisses me on both cheeks. “Happy birthday, Cleo.”
“Thank you, I’m glad you could make it. What do you think of the party?”
“It’s lovely,” she says, a small smile on her face. “I just wanted to talk to you for a moment, if that’s all right?”
“Of course.”
She leads me aside, away from the chatter and laughter of the party. We stop in front of a small stone bench surrounded by potted plants. She sits down and pats the space next to her.
I brush my skirt under my thighs and take a seat. When I turn to her, her eyes are glistening with unshed tears.
My stomach hollows out. “Mrs. Messero, are you all right?”
She reaches over and squeezes my hands. “Yes, I’m just relieved, that’s all. I didn’t think I’d ever see my son in love. Thank you.”
My blood slows. Why would she say that? “Did Rafe say something to you?”
“No. But I can tell he loves you, Cleo.”
She’s just making assumptions. An awkward laugh escapes my lips. “I’m not so sure.”
She sniffs and gives me a watery smile. “Do you love him?”
Oh God. I haven’t even confessed my predicament to my sisters yet, but there’s something about how she’s looking at me that convinces me to open up. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“Have you told him how you feel?”
“No,” I answer quickly.
How can I confess my feelings when I have no idea what’s going on inside his head? It’s too big a risk. Things are good between us. Great, even. I never thought going into this marriage that I’d actually enjoy being married. So am I going to ruin everything by pushing for more?
Mrs. Messero seems to read my mind. “You have to be patient with him. He’s not good at expressing emotions or even understanding how he feels.”
Don’t I know it. “Why is that?”
Mrs. Messero glances at her feet. “He had a very difficult childhood.”
The childhood that I know nothing about. “Can you tell me about it?”
She grimaces, her eyes still fixed on the ground. Foreboding seeps like rot inside my bones.
“Rafaele was a sweet young boy,” she says quietly. “Good-natured, gentle, and curious. Everyone loved him. But his father never saw him as a child, only as a future don.”
She reaches inside her purse, takes out a folded handkerchief, and dabs it under her eyes. “Rafe saw things he shouldn’t have. His father used to beat me. Sometimes, he did even worse. One night, Carlo was very unhappy with me. I can’t even remember why, it was always one thing or another, but he started hitting me. I remember hearing the door open, and it was my sweet boy. I’ll never forget the sound he made when he saw me on the ground. It was the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard.”
Blood drains from my face. I’d walked in on a similar scene only a few months ago with Papà and Gemma. Even as an adult, it was a hard thing to process. But to see something like that as a kid?
“When Carlo saw the tears on Rafe’s face, he got even angrier. I thought maybe seeing the horror in his son’s eyes would make him rethink what he was doing, but it turned out to be the opposite. He grabbed Rafe and shook him. ‘Why are you crying, you stupid boy? I didn’t raise a crybaby.’”
My stomach sinks. God. And I thought my father was horrible.
“Rafe kept crying. I wanted to go to him to console him, but Carlo pushed me away from my son. He told Rafe that until he learned to control his emotions, he’d keep hurting me.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my God.”
“From then on, he’d drag Rafe into the bedroom while he beat me. Whenever Rafe cried, his father would hit me harder. Carlo taught Rafe that emotion was weakness. Empathy was weakness. Attachment was weakness. He taught him that those things should be repressed and rejected at all cost.” Her skin turns a shade of gray. “And it was only when Rafaele managed to w-watch his father h-hurt me…very badly, without shedding a tear that he deemed my boy ready for his training to become made. He was eleven.”
Her last sentence is no more than a pained croak. I shift closer to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Mrs. Messero, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been. For both of you.”
She gazes into the distance, her pain etched into her weathered face. “The sad thing is that it was what saved me. With Carlo’s focus completely on Rafe, he let me take the girls to our home in the Hamptons, and we lived there for most of the year. My husband rarely drove down to see us. We had peace there. And when the girls got older, I convinced Carlo to send them to a boarding school in Geneva.”
I swallow. It’s all starting to make sense now.
A tear streams down her cheek. “But Rafaele paid the price. Carlo molded him into a weapon. Cold, ruthless, withdrawn. I know deep down he still loves us, but he’s careful not to show his affection for me, Elena, or Fabi. And how can I blame him? He understood Carlo would see it as a weakness and use it against him and us.”
“His sisters don’t know?”
She shakes her head. “His sisters were too young. The only thing they remember is their brother being closed off with them whenever they came home. He’s always kept them at a distance. They dislike him for it.”
“Why not try to mend their relationship now?”
She turns to me. “Some conversations are so difficult to have… Maybe it’s better not to have them at all.” Emotions flicker in her eyes—pain, regret, and love. Love for her son. A son who was torn away from her by an evil man.
She presses her lips together. “Rafe won’t be happy if he finds out I told you. But I want you to know. I want you to understand him.”
I nod, my throat tight and scratchy. “Thank you. I think I’m starting to.”
She gets to her feet. “Will you excuse me?”
“Of course.” I watch her leave, and then I turn toward the setting sun.
My heart is heavy inside my chest. Rafe was forced to become this version of himself all because of his father’s twisted agenda. Does he still believe that love equals weakness? The thought makes me ache for him. Maybe I can prove to him that it doesn’t. After all, the only reason we’re here now is because I was brave enough to marry him because of how much I love my sister. My love for her gave me courage.
And now my love for him does the same.
I let out a breath.
It’s time to take another leap of faith and tell Rafaele how I feel.
