The Fabrizio Bride

Chapter Thirteen

Empty, cool sheets greeted her as Sarika reached across the bed for her husband. She opened her eyes, squinting in the morning sun that streamed through the curtains. Rising onto her elbow, she pushed the hair from her face and looked toward the bathroom. The door was open and the light off.

"Rafe?"

Disappointment surged through her when he didn't answer. She'd expected him to wake her with kisses. Especially after last night.

Wisps of heat curled through her belly as she thought about how wild he'd been the first time they'd made love and how gentle the second. She wanted him here. Now.

Then it occurred to her he might be downstairs making breakfast, intending to serve it to her in bed. A smile curved her lips. Or maybe he'd gone to get her a cappuccino, chocolate, and a croissant.

She'd treat herself to them and to him all day long.

Pushing back the covers, she walked naked to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The marble, fixtures, and linens were predominantly black with splashes of salmon. Striking but not very restful. Maybe she'd talk to the designer about redecorating before she and Rafe left on their honeymoon, destination unknown.

Glancing at the mirror, she grimaced. The sexy wanton from last night had turned into a witch: hair a knotted in a wild mess, makeup smudged around her eyes. He'd probably taken one look at her as she slept and run away screaming.

No. He'd surrendered last night. He'd never leave her now.

Ten minutes later, she stepped out of the shower and into a large, navy silk robe that hung on the back of the door. Unable to wait any longer, she padded barefoot from the room along the hallway.

At the top of the stairs, she gazed at the gigantic, blown-glass chandelier hanging above the foyer. An astounding creation. She was admiring it when she heard clipped footsteps on the marble floor below. Rafe came into view, looking remote in a dark-grey suit and tie with black leather dress shoes. He carried a briefcase.

Her happiness faded. "What's going on? Why are you dressed like that?"

His mouth was grim. "I have to go."

"What?" Shock froze her heart.

"I'll be back tomorrow night. The day after at the latest."

She stood rooted to the spot, mind racing, then ran down the stairs in a sudden burst of speed. "No!"

He took a step back as she hurtled toward him. The robe loosened, and his eyes dropped to her cleavage and the expanse of her legs. She didn't bother tightening the belt before fisting her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

"Sarika, I have to do this."

"No. You. Don't. If you go out that door without me, don't bother coming back!"

"Don't say that."

"Then don't leave. Damn it, Rafe, you married me. You promised to love and honor me. Running away is neither of those things."

"I'm not running away."

"Then take me with you."

He dropped the briefcase and pushed his hands through his hair. "Look, there's something I have to do. For us. And...and I need to do it on my own."

Her eyes widened at the anguish on his face. "What is it? We were just married, for heaven's sake. This is our honeymoon."

He paced away from her. She followed on his heels. When he turned back, he almost knocked her over. His hands whipped around her waist to steady her, then he retied her robe so she was completely covered.