Page 55 of Raphael

“You don’t strike me as the kitchen type,” I mused out loud. “Did you wake up hours ago to slave over the stove?”

Another breath of amusement left him and his gaze sparked. “No, Beatrice did. My cook.”

As if on cue, a woman with midnight dark hair sauntered into the kitchen and my jaw just about dropped. That couldn’t be the cook. This had to be a model or some hotness Raphael was dating.

“Ah, there she is.” Raphael threw a fleeting glance the woman’s way before returning his eyes to me. “Good morning, Beatrice.”

“Good morning, Señor.” Her dark eyes watched me curiously. “Señora.”

“Breakfast smells delicious,” I praised. My eyes shifted between Raphael and her, wondering if the two had something going on. I couldn’t imagine anyone being able to resist her. She was gorgeous.

I watched as Beatrice moved around the kitchen, confidently. Like she owned the place. And all the while, Raphael’s eyes remained on me while he leaned against the doorframe.

Beatrice set the table and set out a plate full of pastries and something that looked like tacos.

“Umm, can I help you with anything?” I offered. She was in the midst of wiping down the kitchen surfaces.

She waved her hand. “Please sit.”

My eyes flickered to Raphael, unsure if I was supposed to sit here or somewhere else to eat.

“I’ll join you.” Raphael took three steps and found himself at the table, then pulled out a chair for me.

Once seated, Beatrice put a cup of coffee in front of Raphael and in front of me. “With French vanilla, just the way you like it,” she commented, her smile genuine.

I blinked confused. “How did you know?”

Her face paled a bit and she threw a worried gaze Raphael’s way.

“It’s okay, Beatrice,” he assured her, then his eyes locked on me. “I have given everyone on the island information about you and Gabriel on an as needed basis. Beatrice knows the foods and drinks you like so she can prepare meals you will enjoy.”

“Oh.” Slightly overboard, but thoughtful.I think. “And how do you know what we like or don’t like?”

“Our mutual friend,” he remarked mysteriously.

I cocked my eyebrow. “Nico Morrelli?” I asked hesitantly. Not that I thought of him as a friend. More like an acquaintance.

He nodded. “He has a way of digging up information on people. Detailed reports are his specialty.”

“That’s some detailed report,” I grumbled.

“You have no idea.”

Deciding not to comment on it, I dug into the pastry and glanced at the clock as I chewed. Gabriel liked to sleep in, so it’d be another few hours before we saw his face. It might give me some time to get some work done. I had three articles to edit before they were due to print. One of them focused on the South American Cartels, including the one belonging to Raphael Santos.

Another reason why marrying Raphael was a bad idea. However, I’d come to the conclusion he might be my best avenue. He’d protect Gabriel. Except that I had a hard time saying that final ‘yes’ out loud.

For a while, I kept my eyes on my plate as I ate, Raphael seated directly across me.

“How long are they staying here?” Beatrice suddenly asked, switching to Spanish. I didn’t move a muscle, determined not to let on I could understand her. I took French and Greek in school, but since Gabriel had Spanish since Kindergarten, I studied it with him. He was a natural, I tried hard to keep up.

“As long as they need to,” he replied in Spanish too.

“I understand we want the little boy to stay here, but why does she have to stay?” Her tone turned whiny and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something snappy.

“She’s his mother.” Raphael’s tone was clear. He wouldn’t tolerate being questioned.

“I can’t believe she slept with the old man,” Beatrice snickered, again in Spanish. “Probably a gold digger. No principles. One of those whores that like to spread her legs for anyone with money.”