When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(29)

“Will you join me for a dance?”

A cold shiver runs down my back at the sound of Rafaele’s voice. I force a smile and take his offered hand. “Of course.”

My head is aching as we make it to the dance floor where a few couples are already dancing.

Rafaele keeps our right hands linked and places one clinical palm over my waist. Even his touch is cold. Uninterested.

It dawns on me then that I’ve never really asked why he’s marrying me.

Rafaele has something Papà wants, but their agreement has to provide some benefit to both of them, right? What is Rafaele getting out of this?

“May I ask you something?”

My fiancé’s heavy gaze brushes over my skin. “Of course.”

“Why marry me?”

The rhythm of the song picks up speed, but Rafaele’s movements stay slow and steady. This is a man who does everything at his own pace, I realize. Everything and everyone else be damned.

“I need a wife.”

“I understand. But why me? Surely, you had plenty of other candidates to choose from.”

A single line appears between his brows. Since I can’t read my future husband, my first instinct is to assume it’s anger, but then his eyes flicker with what can only be confusion.

“Didn’t your papa tell you?” he asks, his voice dropping low.

Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Tell me what?”

For whatever reason, Rafaele’s gaze flicks over to Vince, who’s sitting at a table a few feet away. Something dark seeps into his expression. Something that sends a pang of worry through my heart.

“You should ask your father. It’s not my place to say.”

I blink. My thoughts begin to race, galloping down various paths inside my head. What did Papà promise him? It sounds like something big. “O-Okay.”

We turn, and the room spins for what feels like too long. I tighten my grip on Rafaele’s hand, using it as an anchor against my dizziness, but he must misread the action for something else. The line between his brows deepens.

“I’ll talk to your father. This marriage is a business arrangement, and since you’re a part of it, you should know the terms.”

I can tell he’s attempting to reassure me, but his words have the exact opposite effect. Panic rises inside of me. What did Papà sign me up for?

“May I?” A hard voice slashes through my thoughts.

Rafaele’s attention moves to someone behind me. After a moment, he lets go of me without any warning.

I sway, only to feel a new pair of hands settle on me. They’re warm and big, and there’s nothing clinical in how they wrap around the hollow of my waist.

My eyes lift.

Ras shoots Rafaele a tight smile before moving his darkened gaze to me.

I wait until Rafaele leaves before I glare at Ras. “What are you doing?”

He’s removed his tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt are now undone. Dark hair peeks out from within the white triangle of fabric. “I wanted to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“What if I said I want to apologize?”

I slide my hands over his shoulders, trying not to note how hard and muscular they are. It’s just to steady myself. My legs feel halfway to jelly.

“I’d assume you were lying since you haven’t demonstrated any sign of a conscience,” I retort.

His expression hardens. “You know, you’re extremely difficult to talk to.”

“Which begs the question why you insist on trying.”

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “I keep wondering the same thing.”

I suck in a lungful of air, fighting against the nausea. Jesus, something is wrong with me. “Any hypothesis?”

Ras lowers his voice. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

I notice that he doesn’t answer my question. “Apology not accepted.”

His shoulders stiffen beneath my palms.

“I’m also sorry for the whole thing in New York.”

“Oh, are you? It’s been nearly six months.”

“Better late than never, right?”

I shake my head. “If you think your two half-assed apologies are enough to smooth things over between us, I’m afraid you’re way off mark.”

Some color leaks out of Ras’s skin. His hands tighten on my waist. “Seriously, what’s your problem with me?”

“Problem with you? Didn’t you conclude earlier that I’m just redirecting my anger at other people onto you?”

He studies my face. “I’m reexamining that conclusion.”

There’s a sharp stabbing pain inside my gut that freezes me in place. “Shit.” My throat constricts, and a surge of acid comes up.

Ras’s gaze flashes with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

My fingers dig into his shoulders for support. I’m practically hanging off him now. When will this stupid song end? I need to get away from him and sit down, but I’m afraid I’ll collapse as soon as I let go.

He brings his palm to the side of my neck and hisses. “Cazzo. You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine.”

His eyes narrow. “Like hell, you’re fine. Come on.”

I’m too weak to argue. He leads me to the closest chair, hands me some else’s glass of water, and gets down on his haunches, his eyes weirdly concerned. “What is it?”