Not worldly at all in terms of his crazy-ass lifestyle.
When Simon opened the car door at the house, he took one look and spoke in a whisper. “Henny called wanting to know your plans.”
“If Nicole doesn’t wake up, I’ll come up to the house,” Rafe murmured, sliding out of the car carefully. “Let them know.”
Simon nodded and quickly moved to open the front door.
Rafe stood for a moment in the entrance hall, waited for the door to be shut behind him, then took the stairs at a leisurely pace in order not to jar his sleeping beauty. The bedroom had been put to rights in their absence and, pulling back the duvet on the freshly made bed, he lay Nicole down gently, tucked her in, and watched her sleep with a slight air of wonder.
Having a woman in his bed was extraordinary. He couldn’t have imagined the likelihood for a decade at least. Yet he felt no trepidation or disquiet; he felt instead a strange content. More: a feeling of peace. And he carefully stored the feeling away against the cold reality that would reclaim him soon enough.
He knew better than to believe in miracles.
A last look, then he walked to the balcony doors, quietly opened one, walked outside, and closed the door behind him. The night sky was brilliant with stars as he walked well away from the door, sat on one of the chaises, took out his phone, and called his cousin Jack.
Jack and Fiona had gone to his villa in Ibiza. He’d received a text after they arrived. This time of year it was nonstop partying on Ibiza; no one slept until morning.
When Jack picked up, Rafe said as loudly as he dared, “I need to talk to Fiona. Go somewhere quiet so I can hear her.” The DJ music in the background was ear-splitting. “I’ll wait.” He thought about saying, “Call me back,” but didn’t know whether Jack was in any shape to remember a message.
He was getting worried by the time Fiona finally got on the phone. It was quiet, though; no club noise. They must have walked out on the beach.
“I thought I’d check in,” Rafe said politely. “See how things are going. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“How could I not? Everything’s sooo perfect. Your villa, Jack, the crowds of celebrities, even the weather is unbelievable—”
“Glad to hear it,” Rafe interrupted when she stopped to take a breath. Drunken women liked to talk and he still had calls to make. “I was wondering if you could help me with a couple of questions about Nicole?”
“Is she okay?” Fiona’s panic-stricken voice catapulted upward.
“No worries. She’s fine. She’s sleeping now,” Rafe replied, calm and soothing.
“Thank God.” Fiona’s relief vibrated through the phone. “I could just picture myself calling her mother with bad news. Nicole likes to take chances. Sometimes they backfire—nothing big ever, but well… occasionally things have gotten dicey.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Anyway, thank goodness she’s okay. And no wonder she’s tired. She was out last night till morning.”
He really didn’t need that reminder. Tamping down his surge of anger, he returned to the business at hand. “I was wondering if you knew where Nicole bought her silver dress? We had an accident at the club. I’m going to have to replace it.”
“If you spilled a drink on it, don’t worry. It’s cleans up easily. That’s why she likes it. It’s perfect for someone who can travel anywhere with only a backpack. I think her mother set that standard. Nicole learned about minimum wardrobes from her, although they definitely never bonded on yoga. Did she mention her mother does yoga at sunrise? Oh shit, you asked me something, didn’t you?”
“I need the name of the store where Nicole bought the dress.” He spoke very slowly so he wouldn’t overwhelm her alcohol-soaked brain. “There’s a tear in the skirt. It can’t be fixed.”
“Oh hell, it was a gift too. As for the shop’s—”
“A gift from whom?” Rafe’s voice was suddenly tight with fury. “If you happen to know,” he quickly amended in a normal tone.
Fiona was several drinks beyond deciphering emotional nuances; Rafe’s displeasure went unnoticed. “Her uncle gave her the dress. I think he owns the store or part of it. I know he owns a hotel in Rome because we stayed there. Anyway, we came to Monaco after a few days of sightseeing in Rome.”
“The name of the shop?” Rafe gave himself points for polite forbearance.
“Lemme think. It had an Italian name, of course. Which is a problem when you don’t speak Italian. Hey, hey, good news, I remember the location because I handed over the address to the taxi driver. It was on the Piazza Capranica. Wait, some of the name is coming back to me too. It starts with a D. Do you ever do that—run through the alphabet when—”