The Fabrizio Bride

Chapter Twelve

Sarika spun to see Rafe striding down the aisle toward her like an avenging angel dressed all in black, a fierce look in his eye. His arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her to his side. She tensed and glared at him, but he was too busy glaring at Lorenzo to notice.

"Thank you," he said, voice clipped. "You can sit down now."

Horrified by his rude tone, Sarika started to apologize only to see Lorenzo's lips tilt up in an amused smile.

"How the mighty have fallen," he said. "I think I'll take a front row seat for the rest of the show."

Rafe scowled as Lorenzo planted himself on a white folding chair. With a muttered curse, he turned back to Sarika and kissed her cheeks. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but he pressed a finger against her lips. "Later, princess." Then he led her to the altar. Santo was already in place as best man, right across the aisle from Elena as maid of honor, who eyed him in a way that was anything but honorable.

Apparently, she'd forgotten all about Tom the business plan guy.

The mock ceremony proceeded smoothly after that. When they finished, Sarika grasped Rafe's hand and dragged him inside to the library. He shut the door, leaned back against it, and pulled her between his thighs. She pushed away, but he held tight and nibbled her neck.

"You look good enough to eat. Like a pink strawberry."

"Strawberries are red," she said sharply.

"Like a raspberry, then."

"Raspberries are red, too."

"All right, like the cotton candy at Stearns Wharf." He bit her earlobe. "Would you stop talking and kiss me?"

She drew her head back, a tiny part of her still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "No. I'm mad at you...maybe."

"Why are you maybe mad?"

"Why are you late?"

He sighed and rested his forehead on hers.

"Rafe?"

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Honesty. I don't know if it's all it's cracked up to be."

His answer sunk in, causing her to pry his hands from her waist and step back. "Fine. While you think about honesty, let me be honest with you about how I felt when you were late." She ticked down on her fingers. "First I was frustrated, then annoyed; then I just got scared—scared that you had left me. Scared that maybe you'd been injured. Scared that the hope I had of being with you was just a stupid fairy tale after all. Scared that all your promises meant nothing. And so damn hurt that, like my father, you didn't care enough to stick around." Her voice grew husky at the end, and he stepped forward to embrace her, a pained look on his face, but she pushed him away with a frown.

"Sarika—"

"No. You're going to listen because your actions affect me, Rafe. It's not all about you and what you're going through. It's about me, too." She dashed a tear from her cheek, then poked a finger in his chest. "You say you want to be with me, but that means caring about me. What you put me through was not caring. You are about to be my husband. Act like it."

Guilt swam in the depths of his eyes, and he put his arms around her again, slowly this time. When she didn't resist, he squeezed tight, resting his cheek on her hair. "You're right. It was selfish of me. I got caught up in my own head. I promise it won't happen again."