Ras waits as I slurp my milkshake. The patient look on his face brings me right back to Ibiza, when he took care of me like he did.
Breathe, Gemma.
Screw this. I can’t keep all this inside of me. I need to talk to someone about the catastrophe that’s masquerading as my life.
I squash a napkin inside my fist.
“Papà’s making Rafaele his successor once he retires instead of my brother, Vince.”
Ras furrows his brows. “What?” He sounds as taken aback as I’d expect him to.
“I know.”
He drags a palm over his mouth and leans over the table. “Your father told you this? Tonight?”
“At dinner.”
Ras shakes his head. “He must have a very good reason for doing something like that.”
I nod. “He does. Rafaele is his get-out-of-jail-free card. Papà’s being investigated by the Feds.”
Ras’s eyes widen. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. Rafaele’s going to gain control of our family all so that Papà can stay out of jail. Did you know our grandpa did seven years leading up to his death? Plenty of my uncles have done time too. But Papà isn’t interested in all that. He said he’ll remain our don for another five years before Rafaele takes over. I imagine he’ll have a cushy retirement afterward. He must be happy how everything is working out for him.”
I take a bite out of my burger. How did I fail to see the extent of his selfishness? I’m the daughter he beats, and it took me longer than any of my siblings to finally acknowledge the kind of person he is. “I’m such an idiot. This is all my fault.”
“How so?” Ras asks carefully.
“You were right when you said I should have asked more questions. Now, I’m complicit in helping Papà force Vince out. It’s my fault—”
“Have you always done this?” Ras interrupts.
I glance at him. “Done what?”
“Take on responsibility for problems that you didn’t create and that you can’t possibly be responsible for solving?”
Something unpleasant runs through me. “I may have contributed to this one. If I hadn’t agreed to this marriage as soon as Papà put pressure on me, he’d have had to come up with another plan. Maybe I could have changed his mind.”
Ras’s gaze fills with pity. “Peaches, have you ever managed to change his mind about anything?”
No.
Papà has never listened to me. At least not when it truly mattered.
Ras sighs. My silence is answer enough. “What do you want to do about all of this?” he asks.
I finish my burger and chase it with the rest of my milkshake. “I really don’t know,” I admit sullenly.
Could I call Vale and ask her to get me out? Probably. With Ras here, he might be able to get Cleo and I to Europe and hide us away. But then what? How long could we stay hidden before Papà’s men, and probably Rafaele’s men came after us? They’d fight over us. Men would likely die.
I refuse to have blood on my hands. No, this isn’t a time to act rashly. “I need to talk to my brother,” I say. “Papà is lying about Vince being fine with this. I’m sure of it. I’ll do whatever I can to support him. For now, I’m still getting married in a few weeks.”
Tears well up in my eyes. Everything is so messed up.
Ras slaps a bill on the table and stands up. “Come on.”
We leave the diner and get into the car. I’m so tired. I stop trying to hold back the tears and let them flow down my cheeks.
“Take me home,” I mumble, letting my body sink into the leather seat.
“No.”
I flick my blurry gaze at Ras. All of his attention is on me. “What do you mean ‘no’？”
“You don’t need to be alone right now.” He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and leans over to gently dab it under my eyes. “I can stay with you.”
Something tender and raw squeezes inside my chest. Ras has done a lot for me in the past few weeks. More than anyone else, including my family. Suddenly, I know with absolute certainty that if I asked him to spend all night in this car with me, he’d do it.
A sob rattles my lungs. I’ve always been scared of being alone, and I hadn’t realized just how alone I’ve been since Vale left. If Cleo were here right now, she’d try to be supportive, but she’d tell me to stop crying because seeing me cry always makes her sad. And I’d do it. I’d bottle up my feelings for her sake.
Ras is different. He’s watching me, his presence attentive and steady. He’s giving me space to cry and freak out and feel scared.
And I am scared.
But something else is building beneath that fear, something heated by his gaze.
I sniff and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “You were right back in Ibiza. I was angry. Angry that the only way my family can be safe is if I marry Rafaele. But I was also resigned to it. Maybe I’ll never be as beautiful as Vale, or as courageous as Cleo, but at least I am selfless. Doing things in service of my family gives me value. It garners me praise. A long time ago, I got into the habit of doing exactly what Papà expects of me.”
The diner’s sign flickers. Through the tinted window of the car, I watch the lone waitress stroll past the empty tables before disappearing in the back.
When I turn to Ras, our eyes lock.
A slow heat travels through my veins.
My feelings for Ras go against everything I’ve been taught is right. They’re selfish to the very bone.
But they’re real. I want him. I’ve tried to fight it, but the insistent need won’t leave. It hums beneath my skin whenever he’s around.
Why not listen to it? Why not listen to myself for once? Can I even make out what that little voice inside my head is saying? It’s all the way at the back, in the corner, silenced and pushed aside.
I grasp at it, pulling it to the forefront of my mind. “Maybe it’s time I stop doing what Papà wants me to do and do what I want for a change,” I whisper.
His face is shrouded in shadows, and I can’t read him, but I think he can sense my intention. His body grows still.
Time moves in slow motion as I lift my palm and press it to Ras’s bearded cheek.
He’s so damn warm.
My thumb drops to his bottom lip, and I pull on it slightly.
He lets me, his eyes turning coal black. “What do you want, Peaches?” he murmurs.
“I want to pretend. I want to be someone else,” I whisper.
“Who?”
“Someone who’s not engaged.”
Ras takes my left hand and slowly pulls off the emerald ring.
He drops it in the middle console with a clank. “Done.”
I swallow. “I want to be a normal twenty-year-old.”
“What do normal twenty-year-olds do?”
“At midnight, in cars with handsome, dangerous men? I’m not sure.”
His lips twitch, and he drags a thumb over my wrist. “I have a few ideas.”
My heart pounds against my ribcage. “Show me.”
His eyes flash, and he lets go of my wrist and slides his seat back. “Come here.” His voice is low and seductive, dragging over the place between my legs.