Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO KNEW THEIR BEDTIME STORIES
The first thing Rafe did after they entered the private elevator was remove his jacket.
Not for Audrey.
For Owen.
The little boy was shivering beneath the aggressive blast of air-conditioning.
Rafe held out the jacket.
“Permission?”
Owen considered him seriously.
“It's very big.”
“I've been told.”
“Will I disappear inside it?”
“Entirely possible.”
Owen accepted the jacket.
It swallowed him to his knees.
Rosie giggled.
For the first time since the ballroom, Audrey felt herself breathe.
Rafe pressed the button for the service-level garage.
“Your sitter?”
“Waiting near the employee entrance,” Audrey answered. “I texted her.”
“Good. We'll speak with her before making any changes.”
Audrey looked at him.
“You're not actually taking us to your house.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Where would you prefer to go?”
“Our apartment.”
“Then that's where we're going.”
She studied his profile.
“You made a fairly dramatic announcement downstairs.”
“I noticed.”
“You canceled a major signing.”
“I postponed a signing. The legal distinction is important.”
“Rafe.”
He turned.
“Grant grabbed you. Rosie was frightened. Owen is still shaking. I'm not discussing contracts before the children are safe.”
Audrey looked down.
Owen had wrapped himself in the jacket and was inspecting its pockets.
Rosie was leaning against Rafe's leg as though she had done it a thousand times.
In truth, she'd known him only eight months.
Eight months since Audrey had accepted the position of senior guest-relations coordinator at the Halston Grand.
Eight months since Rafe had walked into the employee dining room and found her sitting on the floor beside a crying housekeeper, translating a hospital discharge form into Spanish.
Eight months since he'd asked why a senior coordinator was doing someone else's paperwork.
Audrey had looked up and said, “Because she needs help and I can read.”
He had stared.
Then he'd asked for her name.
The twins met him six weeks later at the hotel's children's holiday party.
Rosie had demanded that the enormous, intimidating owner judge a gingerbread-house competition.
Rafe had awarded first prize to a lopsided house because Owen explained that its crooked chimney allowed Santa to escape during emergencies.
He had never missed a children's event at the hotel afterward.
Audrey had told herself that meant nothing.
Now, standing beside him in the elevator, she wasn't so sure.
Her babysitter, twenty-three-year-old nursing student Hannah Ortiz, was waiting near the garage.
When she saw Audrey's face, she hurried forward.
“What happened?”
“Grant,” Audrey said.
Hannah's expression changed.
“The Grant?”
Audrey nodded.
Hannah looked toward Rafe.
He introduced himself politely, then asked whether she was comfortable going home or wanted a car arranged.
She chose the car.
Rafe's driver took Hannah first, while another vehicle brought Audrey and the children to their Brooklyn apartment.
During the ride, Rosie fell asleep against Audrey.
Owen stayed awake.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Was that man our father?”
The question landed in the quiet car.
Audrey looked toward Rafe.
He deliberately turned toward the window.
Giving her privacy.
“Yes,” she said gently. “His name is Grant.”
Owen frowned.
“Why didn't he know us?”
Audrey felt her throat close.
“Because he made choices that kept him away.”
“Bad choices?”
“Yes.”
Owen thought about that.
“Can grown-ups fix bad choices?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does that mean he can come live with us?”
“No, sweetheart.”
Owen nodded.
Then looked at Rafe.
“Can Rafe?”
Audrey almost choked.
Rafe turned slowly.
“That's a question for your mother.”
Rosie, apparently not asleep after all, murmured, “He'd need a bigger bed.”
Audrey laughed despite everything.
Rafe looked solemn.
“I'll take that under advisement.”
At the apartment, Rafe carried the sleeping Rosie upstairs while Audrey held Owen's hand.
Their building was old but clean.
The elevator frequently failed.
The hallway smelled of someone's cooking.
Rafe said nothing about any of it.
Inside, Rosie immediately woke and demanded her stuffed rabbit.
Owen required the dinosaur blanket.
Rafe found both after receiving extremely detailed instructions.
Audrey watched from the doorway as the feared man who controlled half a dozen luxury hotels knelt beside a child's bed and listened to a five-year-old explain why dinosaurs needed bedtime stories.
Then Owen asked him to read.
Rafe looked toward Audrey.
She nodded.
He opened the book.
And began.
His voice was deep and patient.
When he reached the part where a baby triceratops became separated from its mother, Owen interrupted.
“Does she find him?”
Rafe turned the page.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
Rafe hesitated.
Then said, “In this story, she does.”
Audrey looked away.
It was such a small thing.
He had refused to promise what he couldn't control.
When the twins finally slept, Audrey found Rafe standing in her kitchen.
He had rolled up his sleeves.
A pot of water was heating on the stove.
She stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Making pasta.”
“You don't cook.”
“I own restaurants.”
“That's not the same thing.”
“No,” he admitted. “But I've observed the process.”
She laughed.
Then stopped.
Because suddenly the evening caught up with her.
Grant.
Celeste.
The children.
The ballroom.
The six years she'd spent pretending the past couldn't find her.
Her hands began trembling.
Rafe turned off the stove.
“Audrey?”
She shook her head.
“I'm fine.”
He didn't believe her.
But he didn't touch her without asking.
“Would you like me to stay?”
She stared at him.
Then whispered, “Just until I stop shaking.”
Rafe pulled out a chair.
May you like
“Then I'll stay.”
And he did.
