I wince. A therapist would have a field day with me. Daddy issues galore.
“I’m okay,” I say, aware he’s staring at me, waiting on a response.
A muscle flickers in his jaw, and the concern in his gaze makes me ache. “Tell me if you’re not.”
My throat gets choked, and I force an uncomfortable swallow. “Thank you.”
I mean it. I can’t remember anyone ever caring enough about my motivations to wonder about them, but I also know that I cannot come to this man for help, or anything else, once my stay in the Emblem comes to an end.
I’ll have to make the most of him while I’m still here, after which I’m pretty sure he’ll forget about me entirely.
22
RAFE
Iam obsessed with Diana Marchetti. I can’t get enough of her. Every time she smiles, or laughs, or her eyes light up at something I say, I have a motherfucking physical reaction. A damnedflutter,where nothing should be fluttering at all.
Tonight, it’s dark outside, and I’m sitting on the sofa, the warm glow of side-table lamps filling the room. A rugby match is playing on the TV, but it can’t hold my attention because my thoughts keep flitting back to Diana.
I shouldn’t spend as much time thinking about her as I do.
It’s all wrong.
And yet, I don’t stop. Ican’t.
I shouldn’t have taken her to the opera, shouldn’t have danced with her on the kitchen island. I shouldn’t swim with her every day; shouldn’t have bought her clothes. Shouldn’t have replaced my book collection with hers. Feeling the way I do, I shouldn’t even help her with her business anymore; what if I give myself away?
She’s more than capable of managing alone. She learns fast, and actions faster; I love seeing her progress, and working with her has given me more pleasure than I had ever anticipated.
But now, she doesn’t really need me at all.
Lizzie is leaving soon, which means Diana will leave too, and this will all be over; a short-lived era of my life that I’ll recall as pleasant and nothing more.
It’s not life-altering. It’s not pivotal. I’m not shaping my future around the shape of one woman.
I’mnotdoing that.
I cannot.
She’s my daughter’s friend. Aside from any other considerations, like the age gap and her current dependence on me, I’d be betraying Lizzie’s trust and it would feel like going behind her back.
In some ways, it already feels that way.
I take my phone from my pocket and start to scroll. I do this far too often. Every night when I’m alone in bed, before I fall asleep, I watch Diana’s recent videos. It started when I decided to make a list of books she loved for the library, but I found I couldn’t quit, even after I’d compiled it.
The buzz of the TV fades from my awareness as I play a video she made in my office. I pay attention to every word she speaks, while trying to ignore any other sensations her videos elicit. Yes, she’s beautiful. Vibrant. Can’t-take-my-eyes-off-her gorgeous. Anyone would agree with me.
But would anyone else fall asleep, their dick hard, and guilt infusing their body like poison?
Or is that affliction uniquely mine?
I change the video, choosing the one where I lift her onto the kitchen counter. She edited it perfectly. It has millions of views. Thousands of comments, almost all of them about Diana and how beautiful she is. I’m an irrelevancy; I could be anyone.A prop, nothing more. There’s no way of knowing it’s me. The kitchen is so dark, you can hardly recognise that it’s my house.
But itismy house, and itisme. I’m the lucky guy who got to lift Diana Marchetti onto a kitchen counter.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it, reliving the moment over and over.
I let my head fall back against the sofa, seeing myself as someone else might. A thirty-six-year-old man watching social media videos of a twenty-one-year-old.