Page 28 of The Senator: Raphael

He raises his eyebrow in a challenge. He has this way of making you do what he wants, and making you feel like you’re the one suggesting it. A politician at his finest.

“Listen, the bed is a California king. It’s huge. We can share it and not even notice the other person on the other side.”

“Why do you need a bed so big if you sleep alone? For you and your huge ego?” I ask, because compared to this, my old queen size looks like a cot.

He barks out a laugh. “Maybe. You’ll find out soon enough,” he teases and I smirk in response.

I accepted this agreement because he has the power and the connections to keep me safe. Nobody can walk into this manor without being invited or shot trying to gain access illegally. But I didn’t think about all the implications, like the PDA in front of his staff or sharing a bed. I mean, he’s hot, he kisses like a champ, and I’m not complaining. It’s just awkward sharing a couple’s life with a stranger.

He stands up and reaches out a hand for me to grab. “Come with me, I think this will convince you it’s not all bad.”

He drags me into the adjoining bathroom and my mouth hangs open. The floor and walls are covered entirely in an intricate mosaic of red, blue, and yellow tiles. There is an enormous shower on the left and a double sink on the right, but what gets my full attention is an antique clawfoot tub in the middle of the room in front a huge window that faces the vineyard and the hills surrounding this place.

“Are you serious? I could live in this room alone and never come out!”

He laughs and strolls next to the tub. He turns on the hot water and beckons me. “What do you think? Want to relax in here while I make a couple of phone calls?” he suggests with a grin.

“Do you even have to ask? Of course, I will spoil myself with a hot bath.”

He smiles like he feels satisfied making me happy. It’s obviously not the case, considering we barely know each other, but it’s nice having someone taking care of me for once instead of doing it alone.

“I’ll bring your bag. The towels and bathrobes are in the linen closet next to the sink and the window has one-way glass installed. You can see out but they can’t see in, just in case you see one of my men doing a round of the garden,” he explains before leaving the room.

When I slip into the hot water fifteen minutes later, I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot. I close my eyes and enjoy this turn my life has taken recently. I still can’t process if it’s a good turn or a bad one, but I’ve learned to take life one day at time. Today I’m soaking in a tub surrounded by luxury. It’s a good turn today, and I’m not wasting this opportunity thinking about what shitstorm will hit next. I’ll deal with it when the time comes.

“Are you still alive in there?” Raphael’s voice comes from behind the door.

“Yes, why?”

“Because it’s been more than two hours and I thought maybe you’d drowned.” He chuckles.

“Really?” I didn’t realize how much time had passed, but now I notice the water is lukewarm.

“Really!” He laughs.

“I’m coming,” I shout as I stand and grab the fluffy bathrobe I found. God, I could get used to this life.

As soon as this thought crosses my mind, I feel a pang in my chest. This isn’t my life. This is an existence I’m borrowing while I decide what to do with my future. I can’t get used to it because as soon as I get comfortable in it, someone will pull the rug out from under my feet, and I’ll be back to my miserable existence.

I walk out of the bathroom, not even bothering to change out of the bathrobe. “I’ve decided to spend the rest of my life in this fluffy cloud,” I tell Raphael when I reach him in the kitchen.

He looks up and grins. He’s changed into gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I’ve never seen him out of a three-piece suit, and I have to admit he’s even more handsome. He looks almost younger than his thirty-five years. I googled him after I agreed to this arrangement, and learned the basics about his public life. Nobody, however, mentioned how that t-shirt stretches over his defined pecs and drool-worthy biceps.

“Are you cooking?” I ask, smelling something delicious coming from the pan in front of him.

“Reheating what the chef prepared for us.”

“Oh, you have a chef.” I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Money is clearly not a problem for him like it is for me. Hiring someone to cook for me is so far from my reality I could be on another planet.

He glances at me for a second before turning around and grabbing two plates from the cabinet.

“I can cook but I don’t have time, so I have a person come in and cook for me when I eat at home. Now that you’re here too, I can ask him to come daily.” He puts a plate on the counter for me and the other one in front of the stool next to mine where he sits down.

“There’s no need for that, I can cook. I’ll have to go back to work anyway, so there won’t be many chances to eat at home, especially in the evening.” As soon as I say it, he stiffens.

“You’re not going back to that place.” He pins me to the stool with a stern look.

I stare back, not intimidated by his order. I’m used to far worse creeps than him to be scared by that pretty face. “Iamgoing back to work,” I insist.

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