Rafael's Table の小説・ストーリー

I feel Rafael's hand sneak around my hip and squeeze. "Is my table ready?" His tone cold and to the point. "Yes sir." She bites her lip. I noticed she only grabbed one menu. I want so badly to say something but, lets see how this plays out. Rafael pulls out my chair, then sits down in front of me. She hands him the menu and he places it in front of me.

In the end, I still decided to endure it. By the time I headed downstairs the next morning with dark circles under my eyes, Rafael was already seated at the dining table, reading the financial news. He was dressed in a light gray shirt today. The sleeves were rolled up all the way to his forearms, revealing his well-toned wrists. I had to admit, he certainly had the looks to be the male lead. Too bad something wasn't quite right with his head. "Did you get a good sleep last night?" Rafael glanced up at me when he spoke. His tone was so casual it sounded like he was asking about the weather.

Including the long dining table and ten chairs. "Hi, Kel." Rafa stood by the long table and waved at me, his grin lopsided. Sweat made his face and arms glisten under the big chandelier. A black tank top showed off his dark, tattooed skin and muscular physique. He looked a little beefier and tanner than Enzo, but practically the same height. "There you are." I gave Raffaele a big smile despite the streaks of blood on his right hand and injured arm. "You feel okay?" I stood close to him.

The table is already set with gold trimmed plates, tall candles, wine glasses gleaming under the chandelier light. Dinner starts with small talk. Lucia and Renald talk business, while Rafael chips in here and there. I nod when I need to, sip my wine and try not to overthink this dinner. It was looking like we were all hiding under the pretext of a meal and there was something else at play. Halfway through my meal, I catch Rafael staring at me. I give him a look that says ‘What do you want?’. He shrugs and looks away. “You don’t look like you want to be here.” He finally says.

But instead, it swung open slowly, and a different figure stepped in. Raffael. I didn’t know if I should feel relief or resentment. He strolled in with his usual commanding presence, his eyes sharp as they landed on me. “Still awake,” he said, his voice low but firm. He came closer, his gaze flickering over my face before settling on the untouched tray of food Romano had brought earlier. His expression darkened. “You haven’t eaten,” he snapped, picking up the tray and holding it in front of me like it was some kind of crime.

What a family. Rafael's eyes kept darting to the tablet, so did Olivia's. “Are you going to respond to that?" Olivia suddenly asked. I lifted my gaze slowly, letting her lower her gaze under mine. “Respond to what?" I asked, raising a brow. She slid the tablet toward me. I let my eyes skim through the article once more. “This is embarrassing," Rafael said. “For them,” I said. He looked at me, puzzled. “They’re testing you,” he said.

Raf helped her to keep the things in the bag. “Rafael, there are 2 to 3 pictures in that drawer. Please bring them,” Saraya said while pointing towards the drawer of her study table. Raf went towards the table and opened the drawer. He found a few pictures and picked them up; the back of the pictures was towards him. He was going to turn them around but stopped when he heard a thud sound. Raf kept the pictures in his jacket’s pocket and turned towards Saraya. The last picture in those pictures was none other than Saraya and Miah’s.

"You don’t just ‘make a move’ by throwing millions into a deal just to spite Mondragon! Do you have any idea what you’ve started?" Rafael’s smirk deepened. "Oh, I know exactly what I’ve started," he said. "This is just the beginning." The screen flickered, shifting to an image of the gala, and then... her. Rafael’s smirk faded as his gaze locked onto the picture of a woman displayed on the screen. He stood up, ignoring whatever his uncle was ranting about. With slow steps, he walked closer to the massive TV, his fingers lightly brushing against the screen where her face was displayed.

I close my fingers around my napkin as if it is a small weapon, as if it is something I could use to destroy the neat ideal of the room. Later, when laughter fills the space and music softens, Rafaele leans toward me across the table and the warmth emanating from him is like a promise and a threat. “You are restless tonight,” he says in a way that is almost affectionate. His face is close to mine and for a moment I allow myself to dwell on something perilous: the idea that he is interested in me in a way that is not only about possession.