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He nods, his expression grim. But he doesn’t ask about the conversation, which surprises me.
“What about you? Who were you on the phone with?”
He shrugs me off. “Business.”
I don’t press because I want to finish our conversation from earlier, and it’s clear he’s not going to say a word about the call. “Before the phone rang, you mentioned that there are a couple more things I should know.”
Rafael gazes at me. “Your security is not, in any way, tied to sex. It’s not a quid pro quo. I will continue to offer you protection, even if you decide you don’t want to be in my bed.”
Or if I decide I don’t want you in my bed. He doesn’t say it, but the sentiment hangs in the room like a musty smell in a dank basement.
“I appreciate it. But, technically, you’ve been sleeping in my bed.”
“Technically, we haven’t done much sleeping.” He smirks, and his mood lightens. “And that’s the last piece. I want you to stay at my apartment while you’re in Porto. At least until we know more about the traffickers,” he adds. “It’s ridiculous for you to stay here when I have a place down the hall. I’m too old to be running back and forth like a college kid.”
My heart is beating so hard I can almost hear it. I want you to stay in my apartment. Don’t read too much into it, Lexie. He’s not asking you to play house. It’s a matter of convenience, nothing more.
“I can do that. But if you expect me to share an apartment with you, you best have ample closet space.”
“Not an apartment, Angel—share a bed.”
A bed, of course.
His phone vibrates, and he glances at the screen, his expression unreadable.
“Something’s come up. I have to go in a minute, and dinner at Sirena is off tonight. I’m sorry. But if you decide to move into my place, we’ll have a midnight snack. What do you think?”
“I’d like that.” What I don’t like is seeing you so agitated. But I know better than to press for details. I just pray, whatever it is, that it doesn’t cause more of a rift between Valentina and her husband. I remember how happy she was when she first met Marco—how idyllic their relationship had been until the whole thing with the art gallery.
“I’m going to put Giana in charge of your security team,” Rafael says, pulling me out of my head.
“Giana?”
“Is there a problem?”
“No. I really like her. I’ve never had a woman in charge of my security, and it surprised me. In a good way,” I add, sorting through my feelings.
“It’s either her or Sabio. They’re both excellent soldiers. But she has seniority.”
I smile, a smile that begins in my soul. I can work with Rafael on security. It won’t be ideal, but his ideas are so much more modern than my father’s, and less draconian. We can make it work. I know it.
“One more thing before I go.” He pulls a velvet pouch from his pocket and hands it to me. “Your tracking device.”
I unloosen the drawstring, while he watches, and take out the jewelry.
“It’s an anklet,” he explains. “We can get you something else if you prefer.”
I hold the white gold anklet. It’s simple enough not to call too much attention to it, but lovely. “No. It’s perfect,” I assure him, fingering the charm—angel wings. My angel.
The emotion rattles me—and I try not to cry by reminding myself that it’s a tracker, nothing more.
“When you don’t want to wear the anklet, the angel wings clip off easily, and you can attach the charm to a bracelet or a necklace, or slip it in your wallet—the sky’s the limit. It has a separate tracking system from the anklet.”
“The angel wings are a nice touch.” I’m not talking about how they have their own tracking system.
“You’re an angel who needs to spread her wings. It seemed right.”
Not right. Perfect. It seems perfect. The kind of perfect that scares me.
