enjoy your stay - chapter III
rafe cameron x reader
summary: after finding out that your fiancé had cheated on you with his childhood best friend—who just so happened to be Rafe's fiancée— Rafe proposes a reckless plan: follow them across Italy and Greece and ruin the dream honeymoon they stole. but somewhere between petty sabotage, breathtaking views, and far too much time together, the two of you begin to discover there's more waiting for you than revenge.
content warning: strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, forced proximity, one bed, sexual tension, explicit sexual content, mentions of death (for this chapter only!) 18+ MDNI
w/c: 9.4K
a/n: another long chapter, sue me (so sorry!!) i just need you all to read this with through a romcom lens — trust me, it'll help
series masterlist
previous
Sleep hadn’t come easy to Rafe in the past two months; if anything, it’d been the last thing he’d gotten. There were a few things he could think of why it might’ve been the case; perhaps it’d been the silence that filled Tannyhill now that Charlotte was gone, or maybe it’d been how his bed had suddenly felt far too big for just one person, a subtle reminder that every empty inch served as a reminder that someone else had once occupied it. Or perhaps it’d been the way he kept seeing his father’s disgruntled face when anyone would come up to Rafe asking about his now-called-off wedding, even if Rafe had nothing to do with it.
Whatever the reason, sleep had become something he tolerated rather than welcomed, which was exactly why waking up after one of the best nights of sleep he'd had in weeks irritated him beyond belief. Rafe had woken long before the sun had fully climbed over the rooftops, the first rays of morning spilling through the terrace doors in pale strips across the room, casting over your body. For a moment, he simply lay there, unusually still, waiting for the familiar heaviness to settle over him, but it never came. Just silence. A comfortable silence that hadn’t come easy to him for a bit.
Until he heard you sigh in your sleep.
Rafe internally groaned as he realized that someone else was in the room, that someone being you. It wasn't that he'd particularly enjoyed or despised sharing a bed with you, there was barely anything for you both that the other could provide except two people working together to ruin someone’s life. However, there had been something strangely familiar about hearing another person's steady breathing in the darkness, about feeling the mattress dip ever so slightly every time you shifted in your sleep. It reminded him of a time before everything had fallen apart, before a version of himself was lost.
Rafe looked to see you sleeping peacefully on your side, your small breaths making your chest heave as the satin rubbed against your skin. That was until a loud, aggressive knock against the door, causing Rafe to nearly jump out of his own skin. You stirred beside him with a sleepy groan, pulling one of the pillows over your head as you groaned, "Who in their right mind comes at the crack of dawn?"
“Jus’ ignore it,” Rafe muttered, slamming his palms over his eyes as he let out a long, ragged exhale. The brief, peaceful illusion of his perfect night of sleep vanished instantly, replaced by his usual morning irritability. As you both stayed silent, your eyes shut until the door knocked again.
“Room service!” A voice called out from behind the door. Your eyes flew open at the same moment Rafe's did, making bolted upright, your hair a wild, tangled halo around your face as your eyes darted around the unfamiliar room in a blind panic before looking back at Rafe, whose expression matched yours. The two of you stared at one another across the ridiculous expanse of the honeymoon bed, equally confused.
"Did you order breakfast?" you whispered through your teeth. Rafe looked offended as he whispered back, “Does it look like I ordered breakfast?” You both rolled your eyes as the same three raps hit the door, making you feel bad as the voices strained when they called out again. Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose.
"They're gonna keep knockin'." You glanced down at your satin pyjamas before looking back up at him. "I'm not answering looking like this." He looked you up and down for half a second before forcing himself to look away. "Yeah, probably for the best."
"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
“Oh my god, Rafe, just go!” You shooed him away when the knocking reappeared, Rafe muttering as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I am, as soon as you quit arguing with me for five seconds."
With one last sigh, he unlocked the door, opening to find a young server standing with an elaborate silver trolley overflowing with polished domes, fresh fruit, pastries, steaming coffee, and enough food to feed six people.
"Buongiorno!" he greeted cheerfully as he wheeled the trolley into the room. "Congratulations again to the beautiful newlyweds.” Rafe didn't even bother correcting him this time, grumbling, "Mornin'."
"Here is your breakfast." The server beamed at you as you marvelled at the spread. Part of you tried to push away the thought that Charlotte and Ethan would’ve been enjoying right now, yet instead, their exes were in their place, even if it’d been a sour start. You gave a small smile back to him, “Thank you, this is wonderful.”
“Oh, and before I forget, this is especially for you,” he pointed towards a specific dish, the edges of the plate adorned with flowers and touches of saffron. “The chef made it just for you. It is considered good for fertility.”
You choked on your own spit as Rafe cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Fertility?”
“Yes, you know? To have babies.”
“I don’t want babies!”
“You don’t want babies?” The server looked at Rafe before looking at you with a raised eyebrow and a pointed finger at Rafe, as he asked again with a confused yet joyful tone, “You don’t want his babies?”
“No!” Rafe looked back at you with mock offence as he questioned, “You don’t want my babies?” He couldn’t help but feel dejected with your response, as if it’d added more salt to the wound that he wasn’t wanted even by someone whom he’d just shared a bed with, which had then become apparent to you as you sank back into the bed in embarrassment.
“Uhm, no, I just meant not right now. Of course I want… your babies.” You cringed as the words came out of your mouth before you turned back to the server, your face hot as you began, exasperated, “Tell the chef I say thank you.”
As soon as he was on his way, Rafe sat back down on the bed, an awkward silence lingering as you both looked at the dish. Breaking the silence, you croaked out, “You can have it.”
"You trying t'send me a message, Angel?" Rafe snorted, yelping when he felt a napkin hit the side of his face.
“Shut up.”
The repeat of heavy footsteps hitting the road beat like a metronome as you watched Rafe pace in circles while talking on the phone, one hand stroking the top of his head as he argued with the poor soul who was on the other side of the phone. Behind him, the Colosseum was in view, standing in its glory in the sun as the heat rose from the ancient stone in dizzying waves. The air was thick with the scent of hot asphalt, cheap exhaust from passing Vespas, and the melted sugar of nearby gelato stands.
The plan was simple: find the tour that they’d booked, cancel it under the guise of an emergency, and have the two stranded without any plans and in the blistering sun. Knowing that Charlotte had planned everything specific to every moment of the day, and would ensure that her plans went smoothly, getting this one mix-up would’ve done a number. That was until you saw Rafe walk up to you with his signature stern look set on his face that said otherwise.
“She changed the booking,” Rafe grumbled, glare fixed on his screen. “And they’re not letting me know shit about it because it’s under her name now.”
“Even if it was with your credit card?”
“Yeah, some fuckin’ safeguarding thing for their customers.” He scanned around the bustling plaza, his broad shoulders tensing as he tried to map out a backup plan. “As if my money doesn’t make me a customer.” You looked at the phone clenched tightly in his hand, a sudden spark of inspiration hitting you. “Give me your phone. And the original confirmation.”
“Huh?”
“Just give it to me, trust me.”
Rafe reluctantly handed the device over, watching you with a heavy, irritated skepticism. Part of him—the ugly, volatile part—almost wished you’d fail. He wanted you to prove that nothing could be done, if only to give him the familiar comfort of being right and remaining on top of things. As twisted as it was, the alternative was worse; losing control meant being inferior, giving someone else the upper hand and another reason to scrutinize him.
Though the heat was unlike what it was at home, he’d remembered the last time he stood in the sun, the intensity of its rays being much less compared to his father’s gaze on him.
“What the hell am I supposed to tell people?”
“What?” Rafe looked up from the kitchen island at his father as if he’d misheard him, his eyes closing in on him as if it were the first time those words had been pieced together. Ward paced the room, phone pressed against his ear before tossing it onto the marble countertop with enough force to make Rafe flinch, before sighing, his fingers closed over his nose in annoyance.
"Two hundred guests. Business partners. Investors. Family." He laughed bitterly, though there wasn't a shred of humour behind it. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"
“Dad, she cheated on me with her best friend who’s engaged himself,” Rafe grimaced. “I gave her everything.”
“And what are you going to do about telling everyone, huh?” Ward complained, barely acknowledging anything that Rafe had said. Rafe flinched as Ward’s voice became lower, which felt worse. "They're going to ask what was wrong with my son that his fiancée walked away two months before the wedding."
“I didn’t do anything, Dad.”
"It doesn't matter." Ward's gaze settled heavily on him. "Perception is reality, Rafe. And right now, our family looks like a goddamn embarrassment."
A sharp nudge to his arm suddenly snapped Rafe out of the memory. He blinked, the image of his father dissolving to reveal you standing in front of him with a sharp, mischievous smirk painted all over your face—an expression he’d never seen on you before.
“Rafe, how would you like to go on an all-expenses-paid, VIP tour of the Colosseum?” The light sparkled in your eyes as you looked up at him.
“What?”
“I said-”
“Okay, no, I heard that, smartass. I mean, what do you mean?”
“Charlotte paid extra and upgraded the reservation, but it’s nonrefundable,” You said as your fingers wrapped around Rafe’s forearm, pulling him to move forward as you walked towards the Colosseum. “So why don’t we just go ourselves? We’re here anyway, and I’m sure Ethan will find a way to please her just to make her feel better.”
Rafe blinked at you, bewildered by the sudden change in your demeanour. “Are you okay? Are you having a heat stroke because just yesterday you were feeling bad for them?”
“Yeah, well, we gotta stick to the plan somehow so we can mess up theirs.”
Awestruck couldn’t cover half of what you both felt as you approached the Colosseum.
No photograph, no travel brochure, nor history documentary could have prepared either of you for the sheer scale of it as you approached the entrance. The ancient stone shone in the sunlight, despite the age of its stone otherwise, while its weathered arches stacked endlessly toward the cloudless sky. Time had softened parts of it, worn away corners and details, yet somehow that only made it more impressive. It stood there scarred and broken and centuries old and still managed to dwarf everything around it.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of chatting tourists, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional shriek of excitement from nearby tour groups all blurred together beneath the weight of what stood before you.
"Holy shit," you whispered, as Rafe let out a low whistle beside you, softly exclaiming, "Yeah." You had never seen him so peacefully quiet. The VIP entrance guided you away from the larger crowds, and through a shaded stone corridor, the sudden drop in temperature was a relief after the blistering heat outside. Ancient walls towered around you, the stone rough beneath your fingertips when you reached out instinctively to touch it.
"I can’t believe this is from a whole time before us," you muttered. “I wonder if two people tried to screw over their exes here back then too.”
Rafe glanced over. "Pretty sure one would’ve had their head slain before they got to that point."
"Quite the optimist, aren’t we, huh?"
"One of us has gotta be the one with red horns to counter you, angel." The laugh that escaped you surprised both of you, making Rafe stare at you as you immediately looked away afterward, as though you regretted letting it slip. The joke wasn’t particularly funny, yet it was one of the first genuine laughs he’d gotten out of you in a while, one where your posture wasn’t so rigid, and you weren’t so guarded.
That was until a couple came up next to you, their friendly demeanour prompting them to break the awkwardness between you and Rafe. “Did you hear the commotion?”
Rafe immediately put his hand on your hip, as though to guard you from them, as you turned to look at them, confusion on your face as you asked, “No, what happened?”
“Oh honey, you missed it!” The lady exclaimed. “There was this young couple, probably around your age, going all crazy that someone stole their booking, but they couldn’t prove it.”
“They were also complaining to each other about their hotel booking being taken as well. They had that poor associate stressing for no reason,” her husband chimed in. “Talk about karma, huh?”
Rafe squeezed your hip as you looked to him with the same soft smirk he’d taken a liking to. “You don’t say?”
Finally, the guide led you deeper into the Colosseum, explaining various sections of the arena. Massive tunnels stretched beneath your feet. Ancient passageways twisted below like a maze, while above, sunlight poured through gaps in the stone, illuminating floating dust particles that looked almost golden. Everywhere you looked, there was something else to marvel at.
"Can you imagine building this?" you asked quietly. Rafe followed your gaze upward to see thousands of seats curved around the arena in massive tiers. "Nah, it'd take me three business days just to figure out which contractor was screwing me over." He jokingly deadpanned, making a smile tug at your lips again.
As the guide motioned everyone toward a restricted section reserved for private tours, she explained, "From here, we can also access the upper viewing platforms."
Your eyes visibly brightened as you looked at it, recalling the memories you had of your father telling you about seeing it himself, but then almost immediately dimmed again with hesitation. Rafe sensed your hesitation, the way you looked between the guide and the area, but only for you to keep walking ahead with the group as the guide continued to speak.
Rafe felt an odd discomfort as he noticed something in you shift, how moments ago you'd been practically glowing with curiosity. Now, your shoulders had drawn inward slightly, while your hands stayed clasped together in front of you. How you’d shown interest in something but then immediately pulled back as if you were apologizing for wanting something that strayed from the usual, making him more irritated than he probably should have been.
As the group continued walking, your attention lingered on a gated staircase leading toward another section of the monument, constantly trying to catch a glimpse further into it. Rafe sighed, making you direct your attention to him. “What?”
"You wanna go up there."
Your eyes widened. "No, I don't. I was just looking."
"You know, you’re terrible at lying." You rolled your eyes. "We don't need to."
"Who said anything about need?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it as the old knot of anxiety tightened in your chest. It felt stupid, embarrassing even to voice anything when it all felt so foreign to you. You'd spent so many years shrinking your wants into something smaller, easier, less inconvenient, willingly going with what Ethan had said because it’d made sense from a logical standpoint. It was still like it’d happened yesterday, when you’d first expressed excitement before for something, only for it to be turned down and somehow turned into a burden—too much, too expensive, too childish, too dramatic. That any alternative that Ethan provided was good enough. Eventually, asking had stopped feeling worth it. So now, even something as simple as wanting to explore an extra staircase felt foreign.
"I'm fine," you insisted. “Rafe, I promise, it’s okay.”
Rafe stared at you, right through you, not buying a word. Then, without warning, he raised his hand. "Hey." The guide turned along with a few people from the tour as well, and you immediately wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Rafe pointed toward the staircase. "Can we see that section?"
You looked at him in horror. "Rafe—" You were cut short when the guide smiled immediately. "Of course, I completely forgot to show that."
Rafe looked down at you, smug when he saw your jaw that was slightly dropped. "There y’go, angel."
You smacked his arm. "Oh, my God."
"What?"
"I- nothing. Thank you." You hated how you didn’t have anything to say, even if it felt embarrassing to have someone speak up for you, as if you couldn’t do it yourself.
The staircase led to one of the higher viewing platforms, and the moment you stepped onto it, every ounce of embarrassment from Rafe speaking up had vanished. The view was breathtaking. Rome stretched endlessly beyond the ancient walls. Terracotta rooftops glowed beneath the afternoon sun, church domes rose above the skyline, and the city looked endless, alive, and impossibly beautiful.
You walked closer to the railing, a soft gasp escaping you. Rafe watched your expression instead of the view—the way your eyes widened, the way wonder softened your features, the way you forgot to be self-conscious for a few precious seconds. Something about it tugged at him unexpectedly.
"You happy now?" he asked.
You glanced back, a genuine smile spreading across your face. "Very."
For the rest of the tour, the energy between you both had changed from the stiffness to comfort and ease, with subtle things neither of you paid mind to, from the way you started walking beside him instead of keeping a respective distance, your arms brushing each other, leaving a warm aftertouch that felt normal. Times where you’d point out random details to which Rafe would make stupid jokes, making you laugh more. At one point, you stumbled slightly on an uneven stone step and instinctively grabbed his arm to avoid falling forward, your fingers pressing into the muscle of his arm that felt hard and plush under your grip, while Rafe’s other arm immediately went straight to your waist to hold you up.
Neither of you let go immediately. Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to notice too. An older woman from another tour smiled knowingly as she passed. "Nice to know young love is still so pure." You nearly choked while Rafe barked out a laugh, but she’d disappeared before either of you could defend yourselves.
"I swear, no part of this makes us look like a couple."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about; I act like this with all my fake wives." You shoved him again.
A few minutes later, another tourist offered to take a photograph for the "newlyweds." Then someone else asked how long ago you’d been married. By the third time, even Rafe looked exhausted. "This is ridiculous."
"It is."
"You literally just linked arms with me."
"The stairs were steep. Would they rather I die?"
"Were you going to die when you rested your head on my shoulder during the explanation?"
"I was looking at something."
"You were looking at the wall."
"It was a very interesting wall." Despite your complaints, both of you were smiling.
By the time the tour ended, the afternoon sun had softened into a warm golden glow. The Colosseum looked even more beautiful now, the stone practically burning amber beneath the fading light. You lingered near the exit, reluctant to leave. It had been the first genuinely enjoyable day you'd had in a long time—the first day where revenge hadn't entirely consumed your thoughts, where you hadn't spent every second comparing yourself to Charlotte, where you hadn't felt small. "Y'know," he said.
"Hm?"
"It’s okay to ask for things, or to let someone else take care of you." Your heart stumbled. Looking up, you found his expression unusually serious. "You wanted that view."
You glanced away. "Maybe."
"You would've missed it." The truth settled uncomfortably in your chest, because he was right; you would’ve and probably would’ve kept thinking about it for years to come. Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets as he continued, "You don't gotta act grateful every time you want something."
Your throat tightened unexpectedly, nodding as you pondered how many things you’d let go just for Ethan’s sake. Neither of you spoke for a moment, but before the silence could become too heavy, Rafe nodded toward the street. "C'mon."
"Where?"
His grin returned as he looked towards a small shop with a striped blue and white banner. “We have some time before they get to Trevi Fountain.” Rafe jerked his chin toward the storefront, “Let’s go get some gelato."
The array of trays of gelato spread across the creamery, bright like technicolour with how colourful they were right when you stepped in. It was almost exactly how your mother had described it, how you could smell the saccharine in the air without feeling dizzy, or how impossible it’d be to pick just one flavour. The coolness from the low temperature the creamery was set at felt like a relief compared to how hot it was outside, despite the linen dress you had on.
As you stepped forward, the cold bursts from the freezer made you shiver, yet it didn’t give you the same chills that you’d gotten once asked, “So, what are you getting?”
“Oh uh—,” you peered over the display, your eyes settling on the raspberry gelato that immediately spiked your interest, before immediately spotting what felt safe, “Probably the vanilla or stracciatella.”
“That’s basic.”
“Excuse me, but it’s hard to go wrong with something that’s so versatile and safe.” You retorted, suddenly defensive for a flavour you hadn’t even wanted, even though you were wincing at your words. You recalled the last time you had said what you’d wanted at the local ice cream shop near your university years ago, the way you could practically taste the flavour profile before you got shut down.
“I think I’m leaning towards chocolate cheesecake,” you mentioned as you eyed your choices. It’d been a hot day on campus at university, and after a few months of grieving, you’d decided that it was time to go back to places you hadn’t visited since that day.
“That’s so much sugar, it’ll make you crash before you get your next class,” Ethan interjected, sugar-coating every word under the guise of concern. “Plus, chocolate doesn’t always taste the same every time.”
“They’ve had this for ages though,” As you laughed nervously, you looked at his face, his eyebrows raised. “What could you possibly suggest that’s good, E?”
“Vanilla.”
“Vanilla?”
“Hear me out, it’s so versatile and safe; you can’t go wrong with a classic flavour.”
“You can get that; I’ll just go with-”
“Trust me,” he pleaded, the irises in his eyes widening as if everything depended on this very moment. “Please?”
You sighed, smile soft as you agreed with him, “Sure.”
“And let me guess, Ethan told you that,” Rafe prodded as he looked at you, as if he could sense the whole scene playing out in your head. It made Rafe pity you with how he’d seen you light up at the sight of one flavour only to default yourself to what seemed like was pseudo-forced onto you. “C’mon, angel, don’t let him keep having a chokehold over your life when he’s out sticking his tongue down someone else’s throat.”
You glanced back at the display, “I don’t even know if it’ll be any good.”
Rafe felt himself getting more annoyed with the back and forth, probably more so that someone he’d be spending the next few days with was still being puppeteered by the same person who’d taken his fiancée and ruined his reputation. “Fine, whatever,” he muttered, stepping forward to give his order before you could say anything.
He shouldn’t be caring; it wasn’t his responsibility to break the habits you’d become used to, yet a small, nagging tug in his heart made it impossible to not want you to be your own person, to stray away from being someone who’d simply followed her ex’s lifestyle. He saw the way you’d been hurting, even if it wasn’t openly shown, and felt his stomach tighten at the idea that someone could love and miss someone so deeply. It hurt even more that he knew no one was sitting with themselves while they were missing him. Maybe it’d been because he’d never felt that pain before, the pain of grieving someone who was still alive, yet the death of their part in his life lingered unwantingly.
The only pain he could feel was the pain from the betrayal and its subsequent embarrassment that it brought, making Rafe wonder if he’d ever been loved by Charlotte as deeply as you loved Ethan, or if he was simply mourning the version of his life he thought he was supposed to have. He let out a quiet breath before looking back at the register, his brows furrowing at the two cups set in front, but neither had vanilla.
“That’s it? Where’s the uh-” Rafe looked at the employee before looking at the display again. “Sorry, I thought there was one for vanilla.” Rafe watched as your fingers wrapped around the one with bright pink gelato smoothed into it; a shy smile peeked through your lips. His eyes widened just slightly at the fact that you didn’t get vanilla.
“Cat got your tongue, Rafe?” You teased as he watched the way you placed a spoonful into your mouth.
“You didn’t get vanilla.” He said matter-of-factly as you both walked out, slightly gulping at the sight of your lips encased around the plastic, before shaking his thoughts away and rebuking the ideas that’d popped up.
“Well yeah, I figured I should maybe try what I like for once. Not like someone’s here to shove their propaganda about bland flavours into my face.” You shrugged. A sudden surge of energy ignited in you, almost as if a rush of euphoria ran through your nerves as you tasted the tartness of the raspberries, cutting through the sweet cream coating your mouth. For so many years, you’d become accustomed to specific things, knowing that if you’d strayed away, you’d get the same speech with the same carefully measured tones. It was almost freeing in a way to do things your way for once.
“Since you’re on your whole ‘self-discovery’ thing, here,” Rafe held out a spoon while you eyed its earthy green hue cautiously. “Pistachio.”
“No, it’s okay, Rafe, I can just stick to my own-” Rafe let out a quiet scoff, rolling his eyes before nudging the spoon a little closer. “Quit bein' dramatic.”
You hesitated for another second before finally leaning forward, taking a small bite from the spoon he held out. The rich, nutty flavour spread across your tongue, softer than you'd expected, followed by a subtle sweetness that lingered just enough. You lifted your eyebrows, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, you were right. It’s good.”
“I know.” Rafe smugly mused.
“Don’t let it get to your head now, Rafe.” A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks, which surprised him.
The more time he spent with you, the easier it became to forget—if only for a few moments—why the two of you had ended up in Italy together in the first place. Against all logic, he was beginning to enjoy your company, and judging by the grin you were trying very hard to hide, you weren't entirely immune to his either. Maybe it was the warmth of the afternoon sun, or the fact that for once neither of you had spent the last ten minutes thinking about Ethan or Charlotte, but the conversation came easier than it had before.
"So..." you glanced sideways at him as you took another bite of your raspberry gelato. "How many times have you actually been to Italy?"
"First."
"Seriously?"
"Mhm."
“Mister big developer has never been to Italy before his own honeymoon?” You questioned as you dug the spoon further into your cup. Ethan had talked about Rafe’s upbringing, the riches and lavish life that he’d enjoyed and how it was probably the only redeemable quality of his, that he’d be able to keep Charlotte happy and taken care of.
“Had other priorities, and then when I was ready, she’d already talked about it and, I dunno, I thought it would’ve been fun discovering it together,” he admitted. The words left his mouth so absentmindedly that he didn't realize what he'd admitted until a beat later. Together. You’d caught the word, yet still stayed quiet, refusing to acknowledge it for his sake of normality. Selfishly, also because you were enjoying how the day had been panning out so far.
Rafe, on the other hand, had realized that Ethan had definitely talked about him, and suddenly he felt his chest heave with anticipation over the thought of how he was painted in your eyes, if he’d been made out to be someone who he wasn’t, and more so, what you thought of him. He cleared his throat, eyes down as he began, “So, uh- Ethan told you about my past?”
You winced at his tone, hearing the vulnerability in his words that made you regret calling him that name.
“He did. Mostly that your dad practically ran Kildare and you’d taken after him and his business.”
“That all?”
You stayed silent, lying to Rafe that you didn’t know anything past the basics felt wrong when he’d been so honest with you. “He told me a lot of things, Rafe,” you said softly as the guilt started to ruminate within your body. “Ethan wasn’t exactly your biggest fan.”
"Yeah?" he scoffed. "News t'me."
"He said..." You hesitated, suddenly unsure if repeating it would do anything except reopen wounds that were barely beginning to scab over. "He said you were reckless. That you got into fights. That you had a problem with drugs and staying sober, but were your dad’s shadow. That you weren’t all that good for Charlotte and he never understood what she saw in you.” Rafe’s jaw ticked as he looked out over the crowded piazza, watching the pigeons scatter near an ancient stone fountain.
"Said I was a spoiled asshole too?"
"In… other words. Yes."
"Right." For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He simply watched the cobblestones beneath his feet, wondering if he’d spent so long coming off that way or if Charlotte had seen him that way and felt it was enough to tell others her perception of him. "Guess he thought he was a saint before goin’ and screwin' us both over."
"Rafe..." Even if you had something to say, it stayed within you, your lips sealed while your mind ran of all the ways you could’ve started a different conversation without disrupting your trip today.
"Nah." He shook his head once, forcing out a humourless chuckle. "Ethan's a real expert on me, huh? The guy spends five minutes around m’girl, and suddenly he's got me all figured out." Rafe continued with a low, husky voice. He stopped walking, turning his body toward you as he ran a hand over his tightly buzzed hair. "He doesn't know shit about me. None of 'em do."
There was a raw, volatile energy buzzing beneath his skin, the same kind you’d seen whenever someone brought up his father back home. But beneath the anger, you could hear the faint, desperate ache of a kid who had spent his whole life being judged by the shadow he walked in.
"I don't think he nor Charlotte knew you," you admitted quietly, meeting his dark, intense gaze. "But I don't think you're who he made you out to be."
Rafe searched your face for a long moment, his eyes tracking the serious line of your mouth as if he were trying to find the catch, the punchline to a joke he wasn't in on. Then, his shoulders dropped just a fraction, the rigid tension in his posture easing as his frown turned into a tight-lipped line.
“You don’t?”
You shook your head, looking at him with a look in your eyes that made it clear that you’d been honest. “I think…” A small smile tugged at your lips, “I think you’re just kind of an ass.”
“Okay,” He elongated, rolling his eyes with a small, humourless smirk played on his lips. “Thank you, Angel.” Rafe looked over just as you lowered the last spoon of your gelato, seeing a tiny streak of bright pink clung to the corner of your mouth. He reached over before either of you could think further about it.
“You got some uh-” His thumb brushed gently against the corner of your lips, wiping the small smear away in one smooth motion. Except, the action caught you off guard, making your entire body still while the path of his thumb left an invisible mark, as if he’d marked that part of your face that you’d remember for nights to come. The intimacy of it all, while he had done it so nonchalantly, made it almost impossible for you to say anything.
"So messy," he muttered automatically. Without thinking, he absentmindedly brought his thumb toward his mouth. The moment the raspberry touched his tongue, he froze, cheeks reddened, while your eyes widened in astonishment. The world seemed to go unnaturally quiet around you, as you both stared at each other, trying to make sense of what happened.
Neither of you spoke. For Rafe, he’d done it so absentmindedly as if he’d done this multiple times over; it hadn’t even registered as something intimate until your stunned expression reflected it back at him. Suddenly, he was painfully aware of how close the two of you were standing, while you couldn't stop wondering why such a small, thoughtless gesture had left your pulse racing.
You cleared your throat first, breaking the silence to avoid making the rest of the day awkward. “So… was it good?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, finally looking away. "Not bad. Good choice, angel."
"Great." You nodded a little too quickly. "Good to know." An awkward silence settled between you as you started walking again, both pretending nothing had happened, despite being painfully aware of each other for the rest of the walk to the fountain.
The magazines and pictures of the Trevi Fountain did no justice to how breathtaking it was to be looking at it with your own eyes. The thunderous roar of cascading water could be heard before the fountain came into view, echoing through the narrow cobblestone alleyways like a distant waterfall. As you finally turned the corner into the piazza, the Trevi Fountain opened up before you, a sprawling, majestic wall of blinding white travertine marble that looked almost surreal against the stark blue of the afternoon sky. The water was a vibrant, crystal turquoise, churning and rushing over meticulously sculpted stone gods, throwing a fine, cool mist into the heavy air that settled like dew against your flushed skin.
It was beautiful, even if it was packed with a sea of tourists all vying for a square inch of stone to throw their hopes into the water. You walked up to the lower stone barrier, the sheer scale of the monument making you feel incredibly small as you watched the coins catch the sunlight before disappearing beneath the turquoise surface. As you saw them shimmer, it instantly took you back.
“Honey, you could make any wish you want at Trevi Fountain,” your mother cooed as she brushed your hair. Even as a teenager, you’d found comfort as she held the ends with care, even if it was more for your mother not to feel the pain of you getting older.
“Any?” You looked up at her, hope in your eyes as you met hers. “I didn’t think you were one for superstitions.”
“I’m not, until I threw a coin wishing for a baby girl. And ten months later, you were in my arms.”
“Are we sure it wasn’t-”
“Trust me, honey,” she interrupted, though her stern tone was light, “that fountain does wonders.”
“What would I even wish for?” Skepticism heavy in your voice as you thought of what you possibly could need. You had your family, the boyfriend of your dreams who made you feel loved, and a comfortable lifestyle.
“Well, they always say if you throw one coin, you’ll come back to Rome. Two to fall in love, and three to get married.” She squeezed your shoulders, smiling at you as you both looked into the mirror. “But I’m sure you’ll know what to wish for when the time comes.”
Well, now the time came, and it was abundantly clear that you still had no idea what to wish for.
Rafe leaned his forearms against the smooth stone railing, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair as his now-darkened blue eyes tracked the ripples in the pool. He felt entirely out of place amidst the wishing families and starry-eyed couples, his jaw set in the familiar, rigid line that you’d practically memorized. As he looked at the coins glimmering in the light, all that could come to mind was how ironic it’d be that if he could make a wish for every single thing in his life, he’d fill the fountain with enough for them to make a living. Yet, the biggest one on his mind was how he could get things to change so that he could stop living under the scrutiny of his father, to make himself appear like how he once was.
As he scanned the area, he finally caught a glimpse of her blonde hair in the crowd, as her body was enveloped by his arms. They’d looked so enamoured by each other, it was enough to make Rafe’s blood boil.
“Did you know?” Rafe started, his gravelly voice barely cutting through the crashing weight of the water. He didn't look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the statue of Oceanus. It took you by surprise, the way he’d suddenly gotten quiet upon the question compared to how confident Rafe usually was.
“What?”
“Did you know they were together? Before… all of this. Did you have any idea they were doing this behind our backs?" The sudden bluntness of the question made your chest tighten, the sweet taste of the raspberry gelato turning somewhat sour in your throat. For almost a few hours, you’d completely forgotten why you were here in the first place, how you should’ve been finishing the details to your wedding. Following Rafe’s line of vision, you’d spotted Ethan and Charlotte, making your heart pang when you saw him give the same expression he’d once given you.
"No," you said softly, shaking your head. "Not for sure. But... I guess I had my suspicions here and there since high school. I just never thought more of it."
Rafe’s head snapped toward you, his brows furrowing in immediate confusion as he fully turned his body to face you. "You went to school with 'em? I thought Ethan said you guys met in college, that you were just some normal girl from the suburbs."
“I lived in the nicer part of the suburbs, yeah,” you corrected, a faint, bittersweet smile touching your lips as you recalled how you’d felt stuck between feeling more privileged than others but not as much as your classmates were. “We were upper-middle class, so they sent me to the same private school as Ethan and Charlotte. Ethan was in my homeroom, and Charlotte was always... Charlotte. Just floating in a completely different social orbit."
Rafe let out a low, rough breath, his fingers tapping an agitated rhythm against the stone railing. He swallowed hard, his mind clearly racing as he tried to piece together the timeline. "If you suspected something was off between them since back then, why the hell did you stay? Why would you let him drag you along for years if you felt like he wasn’t loyal to you?"
His tone was a mix of frustration and genuine, unscripted curiosity. To Rafe, a man built on survival instincts and aggressive control, staying in a situation where you were losing seemed entirely baffling. Your fingers gripped the edge of the stone ledge until your knuckles turned white, the roaring sound of the fountain suddenly sounding like background static compared to the sudden ache in your heart.
“Because my parents passed away during our senior year and he’s all I had left of them,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly under the sudden weight of the memory.
“Shit,” Rafe softly murmured your name, guilt written all over his face. “I had no idea.”
“No, it’s fine. It happened right before graduation, but everything changed so quickly. I lost everything, my parents, our routine. It was like it all evaporated, and I was the last thing remaining, just completely alone. I haven’t entered the house since I left for college.” You finally turned your eyes to meet his, seeing the way his entire posture froze.
"Except for Ethan," you continued, a stray tear threatening to spill over your lashes as you forced yourself to stay steady. "He’d met my parents, spent weekends at our cottage with us, it was like he was part of the family. He was there through the worst of it. He held my hand at the funeral. He helped me pack up their things. He was the only person left alive who actually knew them, Rafe. The only one who remembered what my life looked like when they were still in it. If I left Ethan, it’d mean letting go of the very last piece of my parents I had left in this world. I thought if I lost him, I’d lose them completely."
“Jesus Christ, angel,” Rafe exhaled, feeling something in his chest twist painfully. “I’m so sorry. What a fuckin’ prick.” He looked at you for a long moment, the usual smart remark sitting uselessly on the tip of his tongue before it dissolved completely.
You let out a watery laugh, hastily wiping beneath your eyes before the tears had a chance to fall. "It's okay."
"No." Rafe shook his head once, jaw tightening. "No, it ain't." His cerulean eyes drifted back toward Ethan, who was smiling at Charlotte like he'd never spent eleven years building a life with someone else.
"He lets you bury your parents with him," Rafe muttered, more to himself than to you. "Then turns around and does... that?"
His lip curled in disgust. "What kinda man does that?" You followed his gaze, your own heart sinking despite yourself. "I don't know."
He hands you a coin before holding one of his own. “Make a wish, angel.”
“What?”
“Just make one, one that’ll be worthwhile.” He urged, before plopping another coin into your palm. “Wait, actually, make two; I need this for something else.”
“Rafe, what are you going on about?” You glanced at the coin in his hand and then to his face, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me, angel.”
You closed your eyes, wishing for something you hadn’t dared to voice out loud in years. You wished for a clean slate, one that the phantom weight of Ethan had put on your shoulders for the past eleven years would finally stop suffocating you, that you could finally figure out who you were meant to be, the you that your parents would love to see. Underneath that, a smaller, quieter wish slipped through, one that you knew you shouldn’t have thought of, but did anyway.
With a soft plunk, you tossed the first coin over your shoulder, before tossing over the second one into the turquoise water, opening your eyes just in time to see Rafe’s fingers tighten around his own.
"Alright, your turn," you murmured, watching him closely. "What are you wishing for?"
Rafe let out a low, dry chuckle that sounded rough against the thundering roar of the fountain. "I don't waste my breath on wishes, angel. None of that superstitious shit for me, y’know? I take what I want." He flipped the heavy euro coin in the air, catching it with a practiced ease before his eyes darted past your shoulder, locking onto something in the distance. “Just like this.”
Rafe’s knuckles whitened as his fingers wrapped around the heavy euro coin, not hesitating with the whiplash snap of his wrist when he hurled the metal directly through the mist.
Crack.
The coin flew, striking Ethan squarely in the side of his neck, causing him to let out a sharp yelp, his hand flying to his throat as his face twisted in immediate pain. He spun around, wildly scanning the crowded steps of the piazza to see who the hell had hit him. Almost instantly, an older tourist standing just a few feet away from you pointed a thick finger directly in Rafe’s direction, calling out to Ethan to show him where the projectile had come from.
“Oh fuck—”
“Oh my god, Rafe, he’s looking right at—” Before the warning could fully leave your lips, Rafe’s hand shot out. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his grip firm and desperate as he yanked your body flush against his chest. He didn't give you a second to think, going to tilt your head up and slamming his mouth onto yours.
Your breath hitched, your hands instantly coming up to press against his shoulders as your brain short-circuited. The crashing water of the fountain along with the copious amount of chatter around you had dissolved into thin air, and suddenly, you didn’t care where you were. The second your lips parted in shock, the entire nature of the kiss shifted.
Rafe deepened it with a bruising, desperate intensity that felt like a match catching fire in a dry forest. It was heavier, more passionate than anything you had ever experienced in your life. His other hand slid down to wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you so close you could feel the erratic, violent thud of his heart against your ribs. He could taste the raspberry that was still lingering on your tongue, his mouth moving against yours with a raw, possessive hunger that made your knees turn completely to water. Rafe was obsessed with how your lips moved effortlessly with his, like waves that swayed with each other effortlessly, despite the crashing environments around them.
You, on the other hand, hated the whole kiss because it was the best kiss you’d ever had, one that didn’t feel awkward. You found yourself chasing for more, chasing the feeling of someone who’d poured themself into you as if they had nowhere else to be. The way he had a faint taste of pistachio and tobacco was addictive, a combination that would’ve had you thinking otherwise not too long ago.
Against your closed eyelids, the illusion fractured. Rafe had opened his eyes. Through the thick fringe of your lashes, your own eyes fluttered open, and the breath died in your throat. He wasn't looking at you. His dark, intense gaze was burning right past your shoulder, his pupils scanning the crowd over your head to check if Ethan and Charlotte were still watching the performance.
A sudden, icy wave of humiliation flooded your veins, cutting straight through the heat in your chest. It’s just a cover up. He’s just using me to hide from them. You naturally assumed right then and there that the kiss meant absolutely nothing to him. It was just another calculation that he’d taken out of his dad's playbook, that’d had you regretting how you’d felt seconds earlier.
Except, there was a war of emotions raging inside Rafe’s head. He had only intended to look for a split second to ensure their cover was safe. He saw Ethan look away, entirely oblivious, but when Rafe’s eyes drifted back down to your face, his brain completely stalled. The safety window had passed, and he knew they were no longer looking. He knew he should pull away, but his body absolutely refused to cooperate.
Rafe kept kissing you. For several heavy, agonizing beats, he stayed entirely buried in the warmth of your mouth, his thumb tracing the sharp line of your jaw as he completely lost his grip on reality, and you were all he had to hold onto. He was drowning in the feel of you, completely caught up in a desperate, unscripted urge to erase every single trace of Ethan from your skin. To show how much you’d missed out on while you were being held back by Ethan.
When Rafe finally pulled back, his breathing was shallow, his lips flushed a dark, bruised red. A rare, unreadable vulnerability flashed in his eyes before he quickly masked it, his jaw tightening as he internally kicked himself for letting his guard down like a total idiot. Except, you’d suddenly become stiff and reserved, stepping back while your face paled despite the heat.
You threw up your guard around your heart, clearing your throat before motioning towards the exit, “We should head back.” Without waiting on Rafe’s reply, you turned on your heel and began walking back toward the alleyway, leaving him standing alone by the water as he watched the linen around your waist swish around your legs. The corner of his lip raised as his eyes zeroed in on you, completely unable to understand where your sudden change in attitude appeared from.
The steam from the shower had long since dissipated, leaving the bathroom heavy with damp heat and the sharp, clean scent of his hotel cologne. Rafe leaned both palms heavily against the edge of the marble sink, his head hung low between his shoulders as water dripped from his buzzed hair onto the porcelain basin.
He stared at his own reflection in the fogged mirror, his chest heaving under a tight, frustrated breath. He couldn't shake the feeling of you against him, like the way your hands gripped his shoulders that felt like you’d branded your handprints onto them permanently. The kiss felt so natural to him; he could barely remember how he’d kissed Charlotte all those times before, like you’d wiped every memory of their kisses out of his mind with every movement of your lips. It was driving him absolutely insane.
How the hell did Ethan do it? Rafe thought, his jaw clenching until his teeth ached. How did someone who was spineless, pathetic even, spend eleven years waking up next to you, holding your hand, and sharing a life with you, only to throw it all away over a change of mind? Rafe had spent years trying to decode Charlotte, trying to twist himself into the perfect, refined version of a husband she wanted, and she’d still treated him like an obligation. But you—you were real. You were sharp, and defensive, and entirely unfiltered when you actually let yourself speak.
"Get it together, Rafe," he muttered to the empty room, slamming a fist lightly against the marble. He vowed right then and there to lock it down. He wasn't going to feel anything about this situation. He couldn't afford to when he’d just gotten his heart broken two months ago, when he’d lost the foundation he’d invested so much time in building. This was a business transaction, a petty game of chess to ruin their exes, and letting himself get attached to Ethan’s old girl was a shortcut to losing his mind completely.
Besides, whatever progress he thought they’d made today had completely vanished the second the kiss ended. You’d spent the entire ride back to the villa acting like a stranger, your body stiff, your answers reduced to icy, polite monosyllables that made his blood boil. He hated the silence. He hated that he couldn't read the sudden shift in your attitude, and he hated even more that it bothered him.
Rafe grabbed a towel, drying his face roughly before throwing it over his shoulder. He turned the brass handle and stepped out into the bedroom. The space was dark, illuminated only by the pale, silver moonlight cutting through the open terrace doors. Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes immediately dropping to the small, stiff velvet couch in the corner of the room.
There you were, curled tightly into a ball, your knees tucked up to your chest under a thin linen blanket you’d dragged from the wardrobe. You looked impossibly small on the narrow sofa, your shoulders tense even in sleep, a physical manifestation of the guard you’d thrown up around your heart.
Rafe’s initial instinct was to just leave you there. Fine, he thought, a bitter, defensive edge flaring in his chest. If she wants to be stubborn and freeze on a stupid couch, let her. He took a step toward his side of the massive, empty king bed, ready to climb in and ignore you.
But as his eyes lingered on your huddled form, the irritation in his stomach dissolved into a heavy, uncharacteristic ache. He remembered what you’d said at the fountain. He remembered the raw, quiet grief in your voice when you talked about losing your parents, about how Ethan was the last piece of them you had left. You’d been through enough wreckage, and the thought of you sleeping on a hard couch in a foreign country because of a stunt he pulled made him feel incredibly sick.
Letting out a low, defeated sigh, Rafe crossed the cool terracotta tiles with quiet, deliberate steps. He stopped beside the couch, looking down at your face, relaxed slightly in sleep but still bearing the faint trace of the day's exhaustion.
Carefully, as if he were handling something incredibly fragile, Rafe slid one large arm beneath your shoulders and the other under the crook of your knees. He lifted you up bridal style in one smooth, effortless motion.
Your head instinctively rolled inward, your face burying into the crook of his neck as a soft, sleepy sigh escaped your lips. The sudden warmth of your breath against his bare skin made Rafe’s heart do a violent, erratic thud against his ribs. He froze for a second, holding his breath, terrified he’d wake you and bring back the icy glare from the fountain. But you stayed under, your fingers lightly clutching at the fabric of his shirt.
He walked over to the bed and gently laid you down onto the crisp, white sheets. You immediately uncurled, sinking into the luxury mattress with a contented murmur. Rafe reached down, grabbing the heavy duvet, and carefully pulled it up over your shoulders, tucking you in until you were completely safe from the cool night breeze rolling off the Mediterranean.
For a long moment, Rafe just stood there, leaning over your side of the bed. His eyes traced the soft lines of your face in the moonlight, a rare, completely unmasked tenderness settling over his features. Slowly, he walked around to his side of the bed, sliding under the covers while keeping a respectful distance between your bodies. He turned his head on the pillow, looking at your silhouette in the dark.
"Goodnight, angel," he whispered, his rough voice barely a breath in the quiet room, before finally closing his eyes.
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