Page 267 of Rosetti Family New York
“Let me guess again. You corrected him.”
I shrug, letting her apply pressure to the cut.
“Call it an educational moment.”
She huffs but can’t suppress her smile, the one that makes my chest feel too tight. She dabs again, slower this time, and I hardly notice the sting. Not with her by my side.
She sets the cloth down, and her hands linger at my ribs, fingers grazing bruised skin.
“You’ve been taking a lot of hits lately,” she says quietly.
I meet her gaze.
“I’ve walked away from all of them.”
Her fingertips tremble against me.
“So… what now?”
She asks it so casually I freeze. She’s not just asking about the bruise or the fights. She’s asking about us.
“What do you mean?” I say carefully.
“Now that everything’s over. Maddy. Dale. The Callahans.” She hesitates, eyes darting away. “I guess I should move back to my apartment.”
Her words are a cold slap, the kind that leaves a mark. My pulse quickens, and my mind races. No more Sloane tiptoeing around the kitchen, Sloane stealing my shirts, Sloane’s laugh filling the empty spaces of this place. Just me. Alone. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let her go.
“No.”
“Rafe—” she begins, but I cut in, sharper than I intend.
“No, Sloane.”
My hands slide up her back, but I hold her at arm’s length. She has to hear this. She has to understand.
“You think after everything, I’m going to let you go sleep in some cold apartment while I lie awake wondering if you locked the door? Wondering if you’re alone? Wondering if you’re still mine?”
My voice sounds rawer than I expect. She’s both everything I never wanted and all I’ve ever needed. She’s sunshine in this dark world. And the thought of her slipping away terrifies me more than anything else ever could.
Her voice is tentative.
“Rafe, I didn’t say—”
Interrupting, I declare, “You’re mine. You’re staying here. And you’re gonna wear my damn wedding band if it’s the last thing you do.”
She freezes, eyes wide as if trying to decipher every word. I hold my breath, waiting for her to bolt, waiting for her to say I’m out of my mind.
“Your wedding band?” she repeats.
I grunt again, this time because I’m losing it.
“Are you… proposing to me?” she whispers.
I press closer, voice gravelled.
“I’m not asking. I’m done asking. I’m telling you: you’re it for me. So either we make it official… or I keep you locked in this room until you come to your senses.”
Instead of fleeing, she starts to smile. It spreads slowly, like she can’t help herself, like I’m the biggest fucking surprise of her life. Her breath hitches, and then she laughs, a soft, beautiful, slightly teary sound.
