Laurel is thoroughly distracted by her dessert and paying no attention to us whatsoever, but when I glance her way, I see Rafe smirking in such a way that I have no doubt he was listening.
“It’s not polite to eavesdrop, you know,” I tell him.
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to be accused of impoliteness.” Leaning in, he adds, “Side note: do you charge hourly, or does he get a subscription price?”
My amusement—and the color—drains out of my face. “I’m a whore because I’m teasing my boyfriend?”
Rafe shakes his head. “Of course not. You’re a whore because you get paid to fuck someone. Aren’t those the traditional parameters for prostitution? I’m not judging, just curious.”
I stare at him for a moment, then look back at Vince. He’s still dealing with blue balls, so he hasn’t noticed Rafe and I chatting privately. Still, I lean in closer. “Who…?”
Rafe rolls his eyes. “Who do you think?”
I growl low in my throat. “Goddammit, Lex.”
“Lex?”
I shake my head. “Nickname. Forget about it. Why would he tell you?”
Shrugging, Rafe says, “We share things sometimes.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, I bet you do.”
Now he smiles. “You’re pretty judgmental for a hooker and a spy.”
“I am not a hooker and I am not a spy.”
Rafe leans back, raising his eyebrows like I’m a little too much. “Someone get this girl a dictionary.”
Laurel scoots back into Rafe’s side, frowning up at him. “Don’t try to canoodle with my sister. I don’t care what you do for a living; I’ll cut you.”
Rafe kisses the top of her head, the same way he did Mia’s. I narrow my eyes at him. I feel like he did it on purpose, but I’m probably being paranoid. Or, I assume that until he winks at me over her head. Fucker.
“Look, I don’t know what kind of fucked up, bullshit games you and your cousin play with each other—”
Rafe cuts me off. “Calm down, Vivian. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I scowl, not initially understanding his reference. Then somehow my brain makes the connection—the hooker Julia Roberts played in Pretty Woman was named Vivian.
I’m not sure he’s a man I trust with my secrets, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice. I sink back against Vince’s side, but he notices the change in my mood. His protective urges come out to play and he leans in, murmuring, “What did he say to you?”
I hug the arm draped across my chest. “Nothing important.”
—
After perusing the strip and watching my sister do her best to make Rafe adorable, we head back toward his house. Vince tells me his dad’s house is right next door and he has the keys now, so we’re going to go over there and check the place out.
I swing our hands as we traipse across the back yard toward his house, but Vince looks distant.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “You’ve been patient enough. I’m going to try to never say her name again as a thank you present.”
That’s certainly more effort than his typical fuck-up gift—and ice cream sandwich. If he gave me an ice cream sandwich for every time he was frustrating this past week, I’d go up a full pants size. It’s not going to do either one of us any good to make Mia a sore subject, though. He’ll think about her from time to time whether he tells me or not. The only way to foster the closeness I want to remain between us is by keeping the lines of communication open and free of ghosts. I can make Mia a big, scary, threatening thing, or I can fight with the strongest tool I have—love.
Being kind and understanding will yield me far better long-term results—a lesson Mia herself could teach in college courses, if only she could figure out her own toolkit. She makes all the monsters feel safe with her, but I’m not confident she knows how she does it.
I guess it doesn’t matter.
I know how I do it.
I give his hand a squeeze, offering up a smile. “Nah, don’t do that. It’s not healthy. I want you to share your feelings with me—all of them, not just the ones you think I’ll like. Besides, it makes sense that you would think about her here.”
“Not just her. Dom.” He flicks a glance up at the huge Mediterranean style house. “This is where I made him.”
I grimace at the way he words it—how he made him, not how they made him.
“Is it weird that I already kind of miss his slobbery little smile?” he asks.
A sad smile tugs at my mouth and I lean against his arm. “No, that’s not weird at all.”
“Is it weird that I want to put a baby in you so we have one of our own?”
“No, that’s not weird either.” I peer up at him, my mouth downturned. “It wouldn’t work, though. That wouldn’t fill the hole Dom left. I do want us to have a baby someday, but I don’t want that to be the reason. I think it’s normal—healthy, even—for you to mourn this loss. Dom is obviously fine, but we aren’t going to get to see him, and that does suck.”