Love Unwritten (Lakefront Billionaires, 2)

My phone buzzing makes my heart stutter. Rafael didn’t answer my text earlier asking for him to call me, which only adds to my anxiety about the photo posted by the paparazzi.

I expect to find a new message from him, only to have my anxiety replaced with disgust at Ava’s old contact name popping up.

AVA

I’m suspecting you had something to do with Phoebe and Cole breaking up.

She attached the same photo of Cole and me that has been circulating on the internet and social media apps.

Bile crawls up my throat as I check her next message.

AVA

Should have known you had a thing for taken men. Must be those daddy issues acting up again.

I want to reply with something awful, but confronting Ava after a message like that feels like a loss. She will always have this warped perception of me, and nothing I say or do will change that.

Angry tears spring to my eyes, and my body vibrates from a rage so potent, I’m afraid I might pop a blood vessel from the pressure building inside my head. The urge to take the pain away overwhelms me, and my fingers itch for something sharp to grab.

I search my checked bag for the one item I keep hidden deep within an interior pocket. My fingers shake as I grip the sliver of the old mirror and pull it out.

Staring at my reflection feels like taking a punch to the chest, and another strong wave of emotions hits me.

Anger. Sadness. Fear. They all swirl together, creating a tornado of turmoil inside me. My hold on the mirror fragment tightens as I lose grip on reality.

Ava’s message replays in my head, along with the sound of Rafael’s voicemail, creating a symphony of sadness.

I point the jagged edge of the mirror at my thigh only to stop when the sharp tip hovers beside the quote I had tattooed years ago.

This too shall pass.

I take a deep breath and tell myself that physical pain doesn’t take away the emotional kind. That I will only feel worse in the end if I let my demons win.

You don’t need the mirror.

I toss the sliver to the floor and fall back on my bed with a sob. I’m not sure how long I cry for, but eventually I begin to practice the strategies my therapist taught me. Deep breaths. Focusing on my five senses. Naming restaurants that start with the letter A all the way to Z.

It takes me longer than usual, but once I calm down, I call Rafael again. When my call goes to voicemail, I’m filled with a fresh wave of disappointment that threatens to consume me, but I focus on counting the stars tattooed on my thighs.

Once I’m no longer hyperventilating, I forward my lawyer the messages from Ava. Ms. Copper replies by telling me that Ava will regret saying that.

I try to call Rafael once more, but it goes directly to voicemail. It hurts like hell to know I’m being punished for something that was out of my control.

It is scary, giving someone that much control over my happiness. I know he is worth the risk, which is why him disappearing when I need him cuts into me like this, but that doesn’t stop me from questioning if this kind of behavior will happen every time we face a new challenge.

I pray for both our sakes it doesn’t, but after today, I’m not too sure, and that in itself terrifies me.

The next morning, I wake up with a renewed sense of hope. I could have given up and turned my back on the progress I’ve made, but I fought for myself instead. It wasn’t remotely easy, especially when the urge to cut returned, but my future is too bright to get lost in the darkness of my past again.

So instead of packing the mirror back into my luggage like I have done in the past, I toss it in the trash where it belongs, along with any hope of Ava and me making it through this court case civilly.

She might have caught me off guard this time with her hurtful messages, but I won’t make the same mistake again.

That much I promise.

I’ve tried to get in touch with Rafael multiple times since last night, but he hasn’t been answering my calls, although he did send me a text late last night apologizing for missing them.

The message was bland, which told me everything I needed to know.

My heart aches throughout the next day and inspires a new song that starts with a sad opening verse that had Cole questioning if I was okay and apologizing for the fifth time about the photo.

“If you say sorry again, I may punch you.”

He taps on the bump in his nose. “Anywhere but here, please. My nan already gives me enough grief about not getting it set properly.”

I roll my eyes.

He sighs. “I know I can’t control the photos, but I still feel guilty.”

“Guilty enough to help me finish this song?” I use his same logic against him, earning a glare and a huff from the big man who has slowly become a friend.

We continue working on our song, and I push all thoughts of Rafael and the stupid paparazzi photo aside.

By the time I return to my hotel room at the end of the day, I’m irritable and hell-bent on speaking to Rafael, whether he wants to or not.

Thankfully, he reaches out to me first, saving me from overthinking the idea to death. Relief hits me square in the chest when my phone screen lights up with his name and a photo of us that was taken in Hawaii.

Despite the immature urge to send his call directly to voicemail, I answer right away.

“Hey. Hold on a second.” I press the video call button and wait.

With a sigh, he accepts the request, giving me a view of his chiseled face and pouty lips pressed into a thin line.

I don’t bother beating around the bush with pleasantries. “I take it you saw the photo.”

He doesn’t speak.

My frown deepens. “Rafael.”

“Yeah, I did.” The muscle in his jaw jumps.

“So what? You plan on taking it out on me for the indefinite future?”

“No.”

“Well, it feels like it based on the way you pulled away.”

I needed you, I want to say. You were supposed to be someone I could count on, I mentally add.

I felt so damn lost last night, and you weren’t there to help me find my way out of the dark, I’m tempted to confess, even if it starts a confrontation with him.

He brushes a hand down his face and curses to himself in Spanish. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything, so long as you don’t ice me out for something that isn’t even true.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re punishing me anyway?”

His nostrils flare. “I’m pissed.”

“Because Cole touched me?” The paparazzi caught a single moment when Cole was trying to help me steady myself after I tripped over a hole in the pavement, and the media turned it into this whirlwind romance meant to sell papers and get clicks on the internet.

He shakes his head. “I know you wouldn’t do anything with him.”

“Then why are you angry?”

“I’m angry at myself. Not at you.”

I blink in confusion. “What?”

He looks past the phone’s camera and stares into the distance. “I feel…”

“Jealous?” I offer.

His eyes screw shut. “Partially.”

“It’s normal to feel that way from time to time, especially after what you’ve been through with your ex. I understand why something like that photo might be…triggering.”

He sighs. “I hate being insecure. It makes me feel pretty pathetic.”

“It’s okay if you feel jealous and unsure, so long as you let me help you feel secure about us rather than turning your back on me.”

“That’s not how a relationship should be.”

“Do you mind sharing your relationship rule book so I can get a better understanding of these archaic beliefs?”

“Elle.”

I ignore the warmth bursting through my chest. “What?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this. That’s why I stayed away.”

“See you like that?”

“Weak,” he says with a sneer.

“The only weakness I see is the fact that you’d rather pull away than lean on me when you need it most.” We could have supported each other, but he didn’t let me.

His head hangs with a sigh. “You’re right.”

I consider keeping my feelings about him ghosting me for a day to myself, especially given how torn he looks by his choice, but I decide to voice them anyway.

“Your reaction scared me. I was worried that you might be…done with me.”

His eyes snap open. “No. I might have needed a little time to cool off, but it had nothing to do with you.”

“Try telling my insecurities that.”

“Shit.”

“I could have used you last night,” I confess in a whisper. “You disappeared and left me all alone, which only made everything worse.”

“What happened?”

“Ava contacted me.”

He sneers, although I’m not sure if it is directed at Ava or himself.

“I’m sorry.” He curses again. “I should have answered your call, or at the very least, I should have called you back when I calmed down after a bit.”

I stare at my hands. “Yeah. You should have.”

“Staying away for as long as I did… You have every reason to be upset with me about it.”

I release a heavy exhale.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

I shake my head hard enough to send a few of my hairs flying in front of my eyes.

“Did you…” He lets the sentence hang.

“No.” I suck in a deep breath. “I thought about it…for a moment…but I calmed down.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “I should have been there for you.”

“What I do to my body isn’t your responsibility.”

“No, but you’re the woman I love, and knowing you were hurting enough to think about it while I sat around, pissed off and ignoring you, makes me feel like absolute shit.”

My chest clenches so hard, my next breath comes out like a wheeze. “You can take time to calm down or work through your thought process, but ignoring me the way you did isn’t fair.”

“You’re right.”

I exhale slowly. “I want—no, I need to know that you’ll be there for me, even when it’s hard.” If he pulls away every time he gets scared or is triggered by his past, we will never be able to move forward together.

“You can count on me, Elle. I’m sorry I made you doubt that because of my own insecurities, but I won’t make that mistake again. I promise.”

Over the next few days, Rafael holds true to his promise of sticking by my side, regardless of whatever photos and articles are being published about Cole and me online. He even makes a few jokes about it, including scheduling me a session with my tattoo artist to ink his name on my forehead, which I politely decline.

If I’m going to get a tattoo inspired by him, I would prefer something a bit more discreet, although the gesture is thoughtful.

The next few travel days are long, thanks to our early train rides around Spain. By the time we make it to France three days after my conversation with Rafael, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open throughout the day.

After fighting with inserting my hotel key in the slot at the end of the night, I finally enter my room to find a nondescript box on my bedside table, along with a note attached to the top in a standard typeface.

Rafael’s Relationship Rule Book

Rule Number 1:

If your girl doesn’t want real flowers, make her one instead.

With a little squeal, I tug at the pink ribbon and rip open the box. Nestled between layers of protective paper is a 3D-printed hibiscus flower that is painted pink, along with a second note.

At least you can pack this one in your suitcase.

-Your Prom KingThis is from NôvelDrama.Org.

I fall onto the bed with a huge smile and cradle my new flower to my chest until I accidentally fall asleep without ever texting Rafael thank you.

The next night, I return to my hotel room to find another white box with a note attached to the top. Before I read the message, I send Rafael a text.

ME

You’re spoiling me.

RAFAEL

Text me when you open it.

I carefully remove the note from the ribbon and read it.

Rafael’s Relationship Rule Book

Rule Number 2:

Never clear your search history…

“Oh my God.” With trembling fingers, I pull on the ribbon until the whole bow unravels and I can easily remove the top of the box.

My mouth falls open when I pull out a U-shaped silicone vibrator, along with a second note.

Call me.

-Your Prom King

My heart races in my chest as I pull up Rafael’s contact and call him.

“You opened it?”

I check out the device from all angles in search of a button. “This wasn’t the one from my search history.”

He chuckles. “No. It’s better.”

“How so?”

“Do you want me to demonstrate?”

My heart lodges itself in my throat. “Sure?” I say with a squeak.

“Put me on speakerphone before taking your clothes off.”

I do what he asks and remove my pants.

“All of them,” he commands.

Goose bumps spread across my skin. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

I glare at my phone while tossing my shirt, bra, and underwear onto the growing pile in the corner of my room. “Happy?”

“Not yet.”

I reach for the vibrator. “How am I supposed to—” A soft buzzing sound stops me midsentence as the vibrator begins to pulse in my hand. “You control it?”

His dark chuckle sends invisible flames licking down my spine. “You didn’t expect me to miss out on the fun, did you?”

With how fast my heart is beating in my chest, I could die before I ever have a chance to come.

“Lie down,” he says before I hear a door shut on his end and the creak of the leather couch in his office.

I follow his command and settle on top of the mattress.

“Touch yourself first.”

The vibrator stops shaking in my hand, and I drop it beside me. With a deep inhale, I trace a path from my nipples down to my wet center before darting away, all while Rafael listens, his breathing getting heavier after he asks me to describe what I’m doing.

A belt jangles, and something drops before he groans.

“Wish you were here touching me instead,” I whisper as I drag my index finger through my arousal before brushing my clit.

“I can be there this weekend.”

I softly laugh before groaning when he tells me to slide a single finger inside myself. My eyes shut as I imagine Rafael’s hands instead of my own, slowly pushing inside before retreating to tease my clit. He is the one who replaces his hand with the vibrator. Just like he’s also the one slipping the silicone tip inside before pressing the other end against my clit.

I gasp as soft vibrations pulse through my lower half, sending a surge of pleasure through me that is so strong, my back bows.

“That’s it.” Rafael’s voice deepens.

I beg for more, and I’m rewarded with another pulse of the vibrator, this time different from the last. A moan slips past my lips, and Rafael grumbles something to himself. It doesn’t take him long to figure out which vibrations I prefer, and I’m writhing against the mattress within a few minutes, with sweat clinging to my skin and fire spreading through my body.

Rafael pleasuring himself at the same time only ramps up the pressure building in my core. His soft curses and stifled moans amplify my pleasure until I’m pleading for him to let me come.

He switches the vibrations against my clit. The difference between those and the ones occurring inside me and against my G-spot fills my vision with tears, and I come ten seconds later.

My vision goes completely black as I screw my eyes shut and tumble into an orgasmic haze that wipes my brain of any coherent thought. I can hardly make out Rafael grunting before a shout makes my speaker crackle. It sends another wave of pleasure through me that has my toes curling and my muscles spasming, all thanks to the vibrations that haven’t stopped despite both of us coming.

We may be an ocean apart, but Rafael won’t let me forget about him. Not for a single second of a single day, and it makes me appreciate his love even more.

The next few days go by too quickly, with Cole, his team, and me bouncing between a few cities in France. While the first two weeks were fun and novel, I’m starting to feel incredibly homesick, and not even Rafael’s third and fourth gifts of strawberry-lemon fizzy drinks and a pair of fuzzy socks Nico picked out for me can cheer me up.

I confessed as much to Rafael last night. He did his best to make me feel better, but it didn’t stop me from looking up flights later that night after we hung up.

When I get to my hotel room after a long day spent at the concert venue, bouncing song ideas off Cole before he went onstage, all I want to do is take a shower, crawl into bed, and call Rafael.

A large white box with the same pink ribbon as my other presents makes me pause. The box is nearly as tall as Nico, although it isn’t too heavy. “What in the world could it be?” I grab the note attached to the ribbon.

Rafael’s Relationship Rule Book

Rule Number 5:

Home is where the heart is.

Home is wherever YOUR heart is.

I reach for the end of the ribbon and yank until it pools on the hotel room carpet. I’m antsy as I rip at the paper to reveal an unmarked brown box.

I place the box on the edge of my bed and tear into the protective tape with the sharp end of my tweezers, which takes me far too long. By the time I open the box, I’m sweating and winded.

“No way.” I pull out a white guitar that is identical to the one Astrid had during her time with the Treble Makers. It looks exactly like the one I commented on, although the black embroidered guitar strap is different from Astrid’s and has a unique pattern of hibiscus flowers with stems in the shape of music notes.

It may be the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.

I’m so distracted by taking in all the little details that I nearly miss the note Rafael tucked between the strings and the fretboard.

Play for me tonight?

-Your Prom King

The note slips from my fingers and falls to the floor at the sound of heavy knocking on my door.

I don’t check the peephole before opening the door.

“Surprise!” Nico runs directly at me and throws his arms around my waist while my mom, Burt, Willow, and Rafael hang out in the hall.

Tears spring to my eyes. “You’re really here?” I answer my own question by pulling Mom and Willow into a group hug.

“We heard you were missing us.” Burt wraps an arm around Rafael’s shoulder, despite hardly reaching it, and pulls him against his side. Rafael’s cheeks turn pink, and I’m a goner as I let go of my mom and Willow to wrap my arms around him.

“Thank you.”

He kisses the top of my head. “You may not be able to come home yet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bring home to you.”

One day, I’ll marry this man, and no one will stop me.

Not even him.