Rafael's Table の小説・ストーリー

Rafaelia preached. Warren and I didn't do anything but clean up. We told the story of what Warren and I did to Rafaelia. "I can see what you did," Rafaelia said with a little laugh. "Wifey, can we learn how to cook?" Warren suddenly suggested. "That's a good idea, but I don't have time for that right now." "It's just me and Rechelle! Right Rechelle?" Warren said happily and looked at me. "Y-Yes if that's what you want," I just answered.

Rafael dropped my hand, but he didn’t release my waist. “Are you well?” Rafael asked, worriedly peering down at me. With my heels on, he was still a few inches taller than me. “Yes,” I replied as I plastered a smile, nodding my head in reassurance. “Come, let’s go to our table,” he urged, his voice a low rumble, guiding me toward a table at the front. As we neared the round table, I noticed three men in business suits, each with a partner, already seated, and I assumed the two remaining chairs were for us.

She went back into the room and freshened up before heading down to the table. Rafael was seated at the head of the table with a plate in front of him. He had barely touched his food when she walked into the dining hall. She was not the only one that had been burdened with insomnia all through the night. Rafael had been up thinking about literally everything that had happened.

As he leaned slightly toward Marceline, his eyes flicked over her, quick enough to be polite. Rafael’s hand stilled. The waiter straightened, poured the water, and then gave a small smile. “Please let me know if you need anything else, ma’am.” Marceline nodded politely. “Thank you.” As soon as the waiter left, Rafael set his knife down. “Do you enjoy that?” he asked. Marceline looked up. “Enjoy what?” “The attention.” Her fingers tightened slightly around her fork. “I’m just eating dinner.” Rafael leaned back in his chair, his gaze moving past her again, scanning the room like he was counting how many eyes returned to their table.

she scoffed. “No.” He smirked, slow and dark. “Jealous that she gets to kneel for me. Jealous that she gets my attention. Jealous that I haven’t fed you a single bite yet.” Keira’s lips parted, stunned. Was this happening? Rafael leaned in, voice lower. “You walked in here with fire. Good. I like girls who test their limits.” And then, he stepped back snapped his fingers and two staff members exited through a side door, leaving them completely alone.

She linked her arm with mine as we walked toward the boardroom. Rafael was already seated at the head of the long glass table, dressed in his signature black-on-black. Cold. Untouchable. Dangerous. My heart skips. His eyes found mine. A single, unreadable look k couldn't interpret. No smirk. No anger. Nothing. Was he pissed? Plotting something? Fuck. I thought this would be easier. I thought I could just ignore him. But sitting here, under his gaze, felt like walking a tightrope over a fire pit.

"Then you also have the answer to your question." "That is true!" Rafael called a waiter with a gesture of his hand to ask that the table in front of him be cleaned immediately. "I want some wine." He said to the waiter. Rafael's hand reached forward to pick up the glass of liquid wine on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Cheryl could see a black ring around his left ring finger, as well as an anchor-shaped tattoo that adorned the inside of his wrist.

I’m about to eat a hot plate of real food that I didn’t have to dig out of the ground with aching fingers or scrounge from the back of the pack cafeteria dumpsters. The curtain draws back, and Rafe unloads three full plates of food on the table in front of me and slides into the booth to my right. The curtain flaps closed behind him, and he turns on the seat, blocking the only exit. “I’ll answer all of your questions, but you’ve got to eat first.” He nods at the plates. “I wasn’t sure of your tastes, so I ordered everything. Let me know your likes and dislikes, and I’ll have the chefs alter the menus.”

We head inside, order our food, and sit down, but before we can even touch our plates, someone slams their hand down hard enough to flip my dish over, sending food splattering across the table and floor. “Oh! I’m sorry – my mistake.” I slowly lift my head at the sound of that voice. Rafael stands there grinning at me, flanked by a few of his friends though there are fewer of them than usual. Looks like their last punishment was bad enough that some are still stuck in the infirmary. “Still alive, I see,” I say with a laugh which immediately makes his face darken with anger. “You’re damn right I am. I haven’t killed you yet, so why would I die first?” he snaps back.

Something about them didn’t sit right. “Wait—” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Come take your horrible rice cakes.” Rafael paused, glanced back at me, and then smiled like the smug bastard he was. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Those are actually free from peanuts. I knew you’d take the small one, so I decided to do a little trick. You fell for it.” My jaw dropped. He had known the whole time? He planned this? “Anyway,” he said casually, opening the door, “good night, neighbor.”