Chapter thirty three
Alora’s POV
I paced the bedroom like a caged animal, my pulse hammering, anger buzzing under my skin.
I didn't even understand what all this anger I had was about; it felt like every bottled-up emotion had chosen today to explode.
I had wanted to confront Bella so bad and send the pictures I had taken of Rafe to the class WhatsApp group just to make her feel bad about mocking me for dating an old man.
Petty? Absolutely. But the thought of her face when the pictures hit the group made my blood sing. Yet something, maybe guilt, maybe Rafe’s voice in my head, stopped me.
I wanted to hit something so hard, and just then Tanya decided to show up.
Of course Tanya showed up right when my patience was hanging by a thread. That woman had a PhD in bad timing.
I laughed in my head at how she knew how to make an entrance. Like the times she'd been here before, I knew she wanted to parade herself in front of Rafe.
But the moment she provoked me, all the anger I had from her previous insults and Bella’s humiliation channeled to her at once.
I didn't know if Rafe was going to be mad at my actions, but I did what I did.
The door opened and there he was, broad shoulders, calm eyes, a cup in hand like he hadn’t just walked into a hurricane.
He didn't look pleased from his expression, and I knew I was definitely in huge trouble for the stunt I had pulled downstairs with everyone looking at me like I came from hell.
"Rafe, I... I shouldn't have done what I did. I'm sorry," I apologized, trying to be actually sorry, but I knew I wasn't.
"Why are you saying sorry, gattina?" he questioned, looking at me gently. His voice was soft, almost teasing, and that only made me feel worse. How could he still sound gentle when I’d just gone feral?
This man never ceased to surprise me. Even with the tension, he still had to call me that nickname I had recently discovered meant kitten in Italian.
I bit my lip, frustrated while thinking of my next words. "Aren’t you mad at me for what I did to Tanya?" I asked.
He took a step closer, placing the cup beside the bed before coming back to stand in front of me.
"I'm not angry with you for that," he murmured, holding my hands.
"What are you mad about then?"
"That you will know some other time. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I lied, trying to sound casual.
He didn't say anything, just pulled me into his embrace, patting my back gently. "You don't have to lie to me, wife. I know you're not okay," he whispered soothingly.
His scent wrapped around me, coffee, leather, and something uniquely him, and for the first time all day, I felt my body unclench.
That was enough to make me tear up, and I held him tightly, trying to hold myself back, but I couldn't.
I was so mad, like something had possessed me all at once.
When my sobs died down, he pulled away, wiping my eyes dry, then made me sit down on the bed.
He took the cup he'd brought with him and handed it over to me.
"Maria said this tea would help you calm down a bit," he informed as I took it from him.
"That was so thoughtful of her," I said, sipping the tea. It tasted of mint and herbs I couldn’t name, warm and calming in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. I should ask her what the name is and thank her for thinking about me.
I couldn't help but smile as I imagined how life would have been if I had her as my mother.
"What are you smiling about?" Rafe asked, raising his brows at me.
"Nothing," I answered dismissively.
"What a strange woman," he muttered silently, yet I heard it.
"Finish that up, then change into something comfortable. We’re going somewhere in a couple of minutes," he said, getting up.
"Where are we going?" I inquired. He got down to my level, lifting my chin up.
"Do as you’re told, gattina. I have some arrangements to make. Be down in ten minutes," he said, then walked off, closing the door behind him.
My curiosity started eating me alive. We hadn’t gone anywhere together since this so-called marriage began, so what kind of mysterious arrangements was he talking about now?
I made my way downstairs to find him in the living room, sitting and toying with the car keys in his hands.
"Let's go," he said, getting up and heading to the back door leading to the underground parking lot.
I walked faster, trying to keep up with his long strides. We reached his black SUV convertible car, and he opened the door for me to get in.
"Can't we just stay here? You know Dr. Gibson said you shouldn't be doing anything like this," I argued, hesitant to get in.
He smirked, holding my two hands against the door.
"Alora, learn to listen, or I'll give that smart mouth of yours something to do. Not getting in? Don't make me repeat myself," he commanded.
I got in, not wanting to argue further. Why was he mad anyway? I was just trying to be concerned.
He got in, slamming the door, then ignited the engine. He moved closer, making me confused about what he wanted to do, and he put on my seatbelt.
Then he drove off. I rolled my eyes, displeased with him. There was a deafening silence between us, so I scrolled through my phone, not wanting to ask him where he was taking me.
He drove for three good hours before stopping in front of a big driveway. A black gate automatically opened as he drove in and parked in front of what looked like the main entrance.
"We’re here. Get down," he announced.
I got down, looking around as my eyes scanned the compound curiously.
"What is this place?" I asked.
"Welcome to my penthouse," he said, walking to unlock the door.
The penthouse was the perfect reflection of Rafe, dark, commanding, and impossibly clean. Shades of charcoal and walnut ruled the space, with a hint of warmth from soft amber lighting. A glass bar stood in the corner stocked with rare whiskey, and the faint scent of leather hung in the air. Every inch was organized, deliberate, and masculine. But beneath the strength of it all, there was a softness, a touch of solitude that told me he came here to be human, not a boss.
Unlike the two mansions I'd been in since coming to Rafe’s villa, this place seemed smaller yet spacious, the kind of sleek vacation house that whispered luxury instead of shouting it.
"How many houses do you have?" I blurted out.
"A number. Let me show you around," he answered, ushering me in.
"Damn, this place looks amazing, Rafe," I beamed, looking at the chandeliers.
"Wait till you see the rooftop. It has the best view."
The place felt alive, every corner spotless, every surface polished, like someone had been waiting for him to return.
He led me to the staircase leading to the rooftop. The sun was already setting.
The sunset spilled gold over the skyline, painting everything in honey and fire. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
Amazing was an understatement, the view was fabulous. I stood there in awe as my face lit up. Rafe wrapped his arms around my waist, laying his head on my shoulder.
"What do you think?"
"I love it," I beamed happily.
We watched the sun go down and the city light up. "Thank you for bringing me here," I whispered.
"Anything for you, gattina," he answered, his arms tightening and bringing me closer.
The world felt still, peaceful, the kind of silence you don’t dare to break. No chaos, no mafia, no jealous side bitches. Just us. For once, I wanted to be selfish and stay in that moment forever.
He let go of me, and I felt the emptiness, turning to face him. "It's getting cold. We need to get inside," he said, dropping his coat on my shoulders.
We walked slowly, heading back inside. The house was now beautifully lit.
"I'll order us something to eat," he said.
"I need to freshen up."
He led me to the master bedroom, which was spacious with a jacuzzi. "Take your time, I'll be back," he said, leaving.
I got into the shower, letting the hot water hit my back as I washed my hair gently.
I finished, then wrapped myself in a clean towel that I found arranged on the bathroom hook.
I walked back to the bedroom to find a new set of clothes in the closet. I picked one of Rafe’s shirts.
I placed it down, adjusting my towel to dry my dripping hair.
"Are you done yet?" Rafe's voice
came as the door clicked, startling me. And then, like the universe had a cruel sense of humor, my towel slipped.