From the first time I saw you, I've belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me.
~Cassandra Clare~
*Unedited*
Sophie
At exactly 8 pm, there was a knock on our door, causing innumerable butterflies in my stomach. I stared at my image in the mirror; my face looked perfectly made up with a touch of pinkish lipstick on my lips, my blue eyes shining in excitement and expectation I had for this date.
I walked to the door, impulsively brushing my dress like I was trying to straighten invincible creases while, in truth, I was doing it out of nervousness.
Raphael stood at the door, his hands on both sides of the door leaning in, smiling a secret smile—a knowing smile, his eyes on me. He looked like I felt, which was to drag him in and have my way with him, and he knew it.
At the hotel, he sat beside me, one of his arms resting behind my seat. He wore a suit as usual—a dark one and a pristine white shirt; he kept leaning over me, smiling, his fingers caressing my cheeks as I had dreamed and imagined. Once in a while, he would reach out, pull out a lock of my hair and twirl it around his index finger.
I wore a floral dress, 3 inches high heels that brought me almost to his chest, my hair down the way he liked it, accessorized by diamond earrings, and an Armani watch that he bought me after I left him.
I stare at him, thinking of how handsome he looks and how much I love him. He kisses my right cheek. "It's me and you, Cara," he says, and I close my eyes as I feel flutters in both my heart and stomach.
I watch him as he switches off his phone for the evening, and suddenly I realize what he meant when he said it was him and me. It was our time, without any disruption, and I loved it.
"What do you want to eat?" he asks me; I look at him over the menu I was holding up, covering half my face.
"I haven't decided yet," I tell him. He brings his hand to my menu, touching the right tip of it, I look at him, and our eyes meet. "I can't see your eyes when you're holding this thing up to your forehead" I smile shyly, letting him place the menu on top of the table.
Will I ever get used to his smile, his touch, or his eyes on me?
Finally, I decided what to eat; this time, I didn't let Raphael order for me, not because he didn't know what I liked but because he knew me too damn well. I wanted to order for myself, partly because I wanted to show Raphael that I had at least become sophisticated as opposed to the beginning of our relationship when he had to do almost everything, including showing me how to hold the fork and knife up until this moment in my floral dress, months later and a baby later.
His brows lift as he regards me in surprise. I don't really understand it— his surprise, that is.
I wonder if his wish is always to want me to depend on him, which in retrospect, I probably will, considering who he was.
"What? You're surprised I can order for myself without your help?" I snap at him, and he gives me an almost sad smile before he takes a sip of water. He doesn't say a word, neither does he look at me, which makes me feel bereft, but it doesn't last long, just when I thought I had spoilt our night out, I feel his hand on my palm, I look up, our eyes meeting, his mischievous and mine relieved.
"I'm not surprised that you can order for yourself; I'm just a little disappointed that I can't do it anymore."
"Is it because you want me to be dependent on you?"
"Not that, but because I love doing it for you."
His voice is soft, his eyes on me as he starts reminiscing on all those times we ate out, starting with the pulse launch. He had ordered for me then right until our or trip to Florence.
"You can order for me when we go to some of those exotic hotels you take me out to, but I have become adept with Italian cuisines; I can comfortably order for myself" I kiss him, letting him know I was still okay with him ordering for me.
"Mine," he whispers to my ear."
"Yours," I whisper back.
I have come to realize that I am much Raphael's as much as I belonged to myself. Maybe that is stretching it a little bit, but that is how I felt. This, however, did not mean that I couldn't function without him; I would, but not well and not without my heart hurting.
"He is a proud man; your Raphael is," My grandmother had told me. I knew then as I know now how proud he was, just as much as I knew and understood how powerful he was. I also knew, according to Romano and Bruno, that I was Raphael's only weakness.
"What is on your mind?" He put his forehead on my arms which I have clasped together, my chin slightly lying on my fist, feeling the weight of his head, and I wish it were possible to run my fingers through his hair without toppling his head off my hands.
I whisper nothing, and we stay like that for a while.
"Raphael-"I whisper, my voice trembling, I feel him kiss my wrist, and I know it's his way of letting me know he is listening.
"Did you have to book the whole restaurant?"
He chuckles, lifting his head off my arms. He is amused; I can see it in his eyes and something else lurking in those beautiful black orbs which I do not recognize.
"I wanted to have you all to myself and only for my eyes," he says authoritatively.
He moves closer, pulling me to him; he tucks me in his body, embraced in him, his scent surrounding me, his lips on my shoulder. Gavin Degraw—More than anyone softly plays in the background. I find it so appropriate because I know that I will love Raphael more than anyone, and my heart stills as I hope, wish he could love me as much.
"I could make love to you right now, right here" his voice trembles, so do his fingers, and so does my whole body.
"No, you wouldn't. We are not alone. I can see waiters and your security hovering at every corner."
"Trust me; I can have this room cleared within a minute. Just say the words."
I wanted to say yes, but I didn't. I was afraid someone might see us, watch us, or worse, take a video of us. It was my utter belief that intimacy, especially physical intimacy, should be private and I damn sure wasn't about to take the risk of making one of the most beautiful acts I did with Raphael public.
"No. What I do with you in private should remain just that. Private." I tell him, but not before kissing him. I have become confident enough to initiate a little bit of intimacy but not making love which I really wanted to initiate. I knew Raphael looked forward to the day I would and that he was always slightly disappointed when I didn't though I kept telling myself— someday I will. Maybe today was the night. I console myself.
We have finished eating our food; my wine, however, is half full. I tell Raphael, whose beer is almost finished whether he was up to taking me dancing before we call it a night, he agrees without much enthusiasm. I steal a glance at him, and I'm met with a frown. "What?" I ask; he shrugs, guzzling his beer like it was water.
"What? And please don't shrug at me or shake your head or worse, tell me it's nothing."
I'm looking at him, my glass of wine forgotten midway to my mouth.
"I'm just selfish," He says.
"In what way?" I'm not sure whether to believe it or not, but I ask it anyway.
"I want to take you home right now, end this night the exact same way we both planned."
"We'll still do that," I whisper.
"That is why I said I was selfish. I want it sooner. Now, if it was possible."
"Okay, we can go home" I don't say this to make him feel guilty; neither do I capitulate to show how accommodating I was to his wishes; I said it because I wanted it too.
Despite what he wanted, Raphael chose to take me to pulse. I danced, we danced until I was hungry again, but that was to be expected and common knowledge to him because no sooner had I sat down than a plate of French fries and chicken was put in front of me by Matteo.
"You work here now?" I ask him breathlessly. I can feel sweat trickling down my brows and under my arms. Matteo smiles at me and says sometimes, he doesn't elaborate, but I get the feeling he would have if Raphael weren't with me.
"Well, don't be a stranger," I call back to him as he turns to go; he grins at me and says va bene, which is Italian for okay.
I'm really enjoying this. I pick one piece of chicken with my hand, and I hear Raphael chuckling, "What, you're too tired to use a fork and a knife?"
"No, I'm just too drunk to try."
"I'm glad you're having fun, but you're not that drunk" his voice is flirty, and I can feel his leg edging mine under the table. I knew it was about time we went home; I had a perfect image of what was coming next.
I had worn a matching bra and panties in anticipation of this. Raphael pulls back his chair, stands beside me, holding out his hand to me. I put my hand in his and let him pull me to his body which feels like home, my home.
He stops by the door for a while, discretely speaking to a group of guys. He is standing in the way that hides me from view, my face buried in his chest.
"Cara," I can hear him, but I don't want to answer; I'm comfortable, sitting on his lap, tucked in his chest, his arms resting on my waist.
"Please don't fall asleep" his voice is desperate, but to both our disappointment, more so to Raphael, I did fall asleep.
This time I did not throw up on Raphael or his leather upholstery, but he bathed me and dressed me in a set of black silk pajama shorts.
I don't think I could have loved him more than I did that morning when I woke up the following day. He did not dress me in the red or pink or white or in any numerous sets of similar pajamas I had in my drawer, but he chose black—Not because I look better in them or because I loved black and most Importantly, not because he loved them because he loathed black.
In fact, he detested anything black on me so much these days; I had a feeling the only thing keeping him from burning every black thing I owned was because he respected me and wanted me to choose the right time to let go of black. Raphael understood enough of me to know black meant I wasn't ready to let go, that I was still mourning our baby, and it wasn't his decision to decide when or how I should stop mourning.
"I see you're already awake," Raphael says from the door.
I look at him, and suddenly I feel guilty because I was the reason our night didn't end perfectly with both of us tumbling on this bed making love.
"Don't worry about it. Wine has that effect on you," He says. "But at least my Lamborghini isn't leaking puke." He chuckles, walking towards the bed.
I groan, hiding my face with a pillow. He lies down beside me, taking the pillow away from my face.
"It's okay, cara." He whispers. I turn, fitting my body to his and my cheek on his shoulder.
He clears his thoughts, and somehow I know he is about to tell me something I will not like.
"Would you mind terribly if Romano comes with you for the meeting today?" my throat automatically feels dry, parched, and somehow I'm in need of water. I don't say a thing for a while; in my mind, I'm pissed off, thinking, I didn't miscarry Romano's baby.
I lost this buffoon's baby. My thoughts are interrupted, however, when he says, "I would go with you, believe me, I want to, but there is an emergency meeting, and I have to be there?" He whispers regrettably
"Can't Romano go on your behalf?" I ask, pleading
"He has been attending those meetings for the last couple of weeks," he tells me. "And while Romano is patient, he has a limit" He laughs softly, and I wait happily because I'm about to learn something about Romano, which inevitably will tell me a bit about Raphael too. "Every year, we hold a profit, expenditure meeting with the head of every family under my authority."
"What do you mean under your authority?" I ask, intrigued, my forehead furrowed in a frown
"I'll tell you about it someday" I nod excitedly because I now know Raphael plans on telling me about his life.
"One day, I decided it was imperative to attend with Romano and Bruno because I wanted them to learn the art of diplomacy and the corporate side of the business, both of which they both hate.
Bruno had slept out that day, and his phone was off, so I went with Romano. You have to understand that the mafia is full of thrifty, stingy, cheap mutherfukkas who only gravitate to profits never expenditure" he pauses and pulls me to his body, so my boobs are pressing on his chest. He kisses my throat before he continues.
"Anyway, the debate or the discussion, to be precise, was about building a hospital in New York."
"The mafia is involved in charity?" I'm surprised, and my voice says as much.
He laughs, one of his genuine laughs that I've only heard with me. "Not out of the goodness of our hearts, I will tell you that much. We have legitimate businesses, which, just like any other business, are scrutinized by the IRS, and it's crucial to pay taxes and follow the law.
"That's commendable," I say.
"I come from the school of thought where we believe the end justifies the means."
He says this coldly; he is determined, I realize, to paint himself negatively, and I wonder why.
"This group, which constituted of ten grown-ass men debating on whether the hospital really needed to be big or why we shouldn't just build a small clinic. Remember, these men all have more money than they need, and instead of coming up with a figure and a sensible one at that, they instead spent hours on trivialities. Needless to say, Romano got tired of sitting through it all, took out his gun, and shot a glass of water that had been placed at the far end of the table, splattering at every corner, which as he had expected brought the room to absolute silence. Nobody spoke"
"What did you do?" Despite the implications of what Raphael said, I found it exciting,
I got up and told them I expected a cheque from each family by the following week.
"Did they"
"We have the hospital, not a clinic," Was all he said. He suddenly got up, kissing my forehead before he headed to the bathroom, bringing our conversation to an end.
I slid off the bed, follow him to the bathroom. I stand outside, watching him take off his clothes. "Raphael," I'm not sure if he can hear me, but I see him reach the door, glides it open, and peek at me "yes, cara."
"I love you" I don't know why I felt the urgency to tell him this at this time, but I did. He looks at me, stares at me for a while, water still cascading over his naked body.
"babie," he breathed.
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