Rafe
Iwake early and let June sle ep.
She had trouble getting comfortable last night.
I’m the same. Having her in my bed for the first time in years was difficult, much
more difficult than I thought.
I k ept wanting to roll toward her. To touch her, pull her against me, devour her
body, ruin her with my tongue and my cock, leave her messy and wanting more.
But I want to respect her space. I wasn’t lying when I told her our marriage will be
forever, and I don’t want to be with a woman who sees me as her enemy.
I dress quickly and slip out of the room. In the hall, I pause to listen to the quiet of
the house and check my phone for messages. I have dozens of emails, a few texts
from my brothers, and a thousand tasks to handle. That’s the life of a man in my
position. I’ll carve out forty minutes at sunrise to exercise, and then it’s into my office
for the remainder of the day.
When I look up, I notice Hattie’s door is open.
She’s standing on the threshold, staring at me, sle epy-eyed and frowning. She’s in
pink and blue matching pajamas with a stuffed unicorn clutched
under her left arm.
“I’m hungry,” she says, her slate gray eyes calm.
God, those eyes. The eyes of my brothers. The same eyes I see in the mirror.
My mother’s color. My father’s intensity.
This girl is a Corvino de ep down to her bones.
I glance over my shoulder. June’s still asle ep. She’s been through a lot and needs
some rest. I could wake her to handle Hattie. Hell, I should.
But I’ve done this before.
It’s been years, and my brothers weren’t this young, but I know what to do.
“What do you like to eat?” I ask, softening my voice. It feels strange, but Hattie
responds to it.
She rubs a fist to her eyebrow. “Cereal. Cotton-candy. I like apples. Pears too.
Mommy says blueberries make me poop.”
“That’s good to know. We’ll skip the berries.”
“Can I have apples? And cinnamon toasties?”
“I’m not sure what the toasties are, but let’s go see what we can find.” I hesitate,
heart racing. Why do I feel so nervous right now?
It’s only a little girl.
I offer my hand. Hattie considers it for a moment. “I’m not supposed to go with
strangers.”
“My name is Rafe. I married your mother.”
“Oh. Okay. Rafey.” She slips her tiny hand in mine. “Will you carry me?”
I laugh despite myself. “I thought I was a stranger?”
“Please? Rafey? I don’t want to walk.”
“Alright, come here.” I scoop the girl into my arms. She clings to me, arms around
my neck, legs around my middle. I support her bottom. “Hold on.”
“Why?”
I run forward. She squeals with delight and laughs as I go down the st eps. It’s
probably stupid—if I trip, we’ll both get hurt—but I can’t help myself. I love it. The
way she clings tighter, the fear but also the excitement in her voice as she tells me to
go faster, and the way she collapses to the ground when I reach the kitchen and
place her on the floor.
“Again!” She holds her hands out. “Please, again!”
I could do this all day. I could spend my life running with her in my arms if it
means getting that reaction. Holy hell, my chest is a knot and I’m smiling.
“Breakfast first then maybe we’ll run later.”
“Okay.”
She sits happily at the table and plays with her stuffed horse while I skin and
deftly slice an apple. I find some cinnamon cereal in the pantry, which seems to
satisfy her, and make myself some coffee while she’s eating. I lean against the
counter and observe, trying not to be too much of a cre ep, but unable to help it.
She’s got Corvino eyes and Corvino hair. My brother Silas has that nose. But
everything else is her mother: the softness of her, that smile, her laughter.
I should get to the gym. My phone buzzes a few times as I’m standing here
watching her eat. I’m running out of time to exercise and I hate when my routine gets
interrupted.
But I don’t. Instead, I sip my coffee, slice her more apples, and listen to her talk
about her ponies and unicorns. Apparently there’s some kind of intergalactic battle
between ponykind and unicorns. Her favorites are the unicorns, especially earth
unicorns, which hate sky unicorns but love fire unicorns, and they’re all enemies with
stone ponies, or something like that, I only half listen and half understand as she
talks, and none of that matters.
I’m enraptured by her.
By this incredible little girl.
My own daughter.
“Hattie! Oh my god, Harriet!” June comes rushing over from the far side of the
kitchen. She throws her arms around the little girl and hugs her tight. “Where have
you been, baby? I was so worried!”
“I was down here with Rafey. He got me apples and cinnamon cereal and I told
him about how sky ponies hate earth ponies—“
“That’s amazing, baby, can you think about that some more for me while I talk to
Mr. Rafe?”
“Just Rafey, and okay.” She tosses her pony plush onto the table. “Empress
Cloudling will ke ep me company.”
June’s wrath is impressive for such a small woman. I almost think she’s going to
rip me in half with her claws as she drags me some distance out of earshot.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” she snarls, full-on protective Mom-mode. I
don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to her in my life. “Do you understand me?
You don’t ever take Hattie anywhere without me.”
“She was hungry.”
“Then you wake me up. Do you hear me?”
I consider for a moment. “I hear you.”
“You better. I swear, Rafe. I’ll cut your throat, you do that again.”
“God, you’re so beautiful right now.”
“What the fuck?”
“Our daughter is amazing, you know.”
“I know that, you dick.” She hesitates, looking over at Hattie. “You made her
breakfast?”
“Like I said, she was hungry.”
“And you let her call you... Rafey?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I figure that’s better than Mr. Rafe.”
“So long as she’s never calling you Dad...” She trails off, and I don’t know why, but
that hurts. I hadn’t expected the sudden shock to strike me in the chest, but it’s like a
kick.
And I realize I want Hattie to call me Dad.
Maybe not now... not when we’ve only first met... but one day.
“She is my daughter.”
“You’re a sperm donor at best.” June flinches and holds up a hand. “Okay, that was
needlessly mean.”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “You enjoyed every moment of my donation, wife of
mine.”
Her cheeks flush pink and her mouth opens. Then she’s setting her jaw. “Don’t do
that, asshole. We sl ept together one time and it was just fine.”
I catch her wrist before she walks off. I hold it tight, mouth finding her ear. “It was
fucking heaven and you know it. You’ve been playing with yourself for years thinking
about my big dick filling you to the fucking brim. You can lie to me, but don’t lie to
yourself. You’d happily let me ruin you again if you weren’t so stubborn and afraid
you’d want more.”
She st eps aside, breathing fast, and I let her go. Her eyes are wide, and there’s no
sharp retort, no fresh comeback, no denial. Instead, her face burns, and she storms
off back to Hattie and collapses into the chair across from our daughter.
I leave them. I don’t want to. I’d rather stay and listen to Hattie explain her
space-pony-unicorn-war story or whatever it is she’s building.
But I don’t have time to stand here any longer. I’ve already cut my exercise
allotment in half.
How is this happening? Why would I rather talk to a child than administer the
empire I’ve fought for so hard?
I remember what it was like, back in the early days. When Devlin and Kellan were
so young, especially Devlin. He was a child, barely over ten when our house burned. I
didn’t know him that well—we’d basically grown up in different eras of the
family—but I was forced to figure out how to take care of him.
It was fucking hard. There were painful days, especially as he got older and the
Corvino operation grew, but I sacrificed. I gave everything to my brothers. And in the
end, I’m proud of who they’ve become, proud of the men they are.
Like I’ll be proud of Hattie, no matter what she grows into.
And I want to be there. I want to see her become a person.
I’m shaken as I leave the kitchen, not sure what’s happening or how I’ll handle it.