“Sofia.”
His deep, low voice made a command out of my name. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, keeping my hands on the doorknob at my back.
He walked over to my desk and picked up the small snow globe. It was a Christmas motif. A family around a tree: mother, father and two little girls, all holding hands, forming a complete circle.
“Late in the year for this, isn’t it?”
I went to him to take it from his hands. When my fingers brushed against his, a spark of electricity jolted through me. I gasped, for a moment frozen. Blinking a few times, I finally found my voice. “That’s not yours.” I took the globe and set it down.
He smiled, moving a little to the side, blocking me between himself and the desk. He stood too close, his body too big. He used up too much of the oxygen, so all I could do was suck in gulps of air.
“But you are.”
His gaze searched my face, settled on my mouth.
“Mine, I mean.”
My skin prickled, every nerve ending alive, my body at attention. “Why?” I asked, unable to look away from him. His eyes, they held so much that I wanted to know, in spite of the warnings going off in my brain.
“Restitution.” His gaze remained steady, watching me process.
But he and my grandfather spoke in riddles, giving me bits and pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t put together without more information.
He stood so close. I picked up the scent of aftershave, alluring and treacherous and very, very wrong. Like him.
He smiled with one side of his mouth, and I flinched when he raised a hand. But he gave me a small shake of his head before tucking the hair that had come loose of its clip behind my ear.
“Soft Sofia. Pretty Sofia.”
He leaned in close, his chest touching mine, making me gasp. He inhaled deeply.
“Sweet, innocent Sofia.”
I shuddered, my nipples tightening, brushing against his hard chest. He stepped back, his gaze falling to the dark peaks I know he saw pressing against my white uniform blouse. I blinked, looking anywhere but at him, feeling too hot, sweat gathering under my arms, beading across my forehead. He was the opposite, collected and relaxed and fully in control of himself, of his body, while mine betrayed me, feeling things I’d never felt with anyone before.
I knew he was twenty-four years old. He was experienced. He was also a criminal, like his father. But one so charming, he’d fooled Sister Amelia into letting him into my bedroom.
“Boys aren’t allowed in this building,” I said stupidly, forcing myself to look up at him.
At that, his smile widened, reaching his eyes, as if he were suddenly, terribly amused.
“I’m not a boy.”
No. No, he was not.
He stepped back, but barely. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No,” I answered too quickly.
He reached to either side of me and placed his hands over mine. I realized I was white-knuckling the edge of the desk.
“No. Not at all,” he said.
I broke eye contact, and he took two steps away. When I looked up, he was reaching into his pocket to take out an envelope.
“I actually came to give you something.”
“What?”
He held it out.
“I don’t expect your grandfather to have been forthcoming, considering. Although you probably know that, given the fact he raised you.”
“He didn’t raise me.” Marjorie had.
He gestured for me to take the envelope. I did.
“What is this?”
He studied me. “Truth.”
A shudder ran through me. I glanced down at the envelope in my hand.
“He won’t miss me, if that’s what you think. You won’t hurt him by taking me.”
He studied me but didn’t reply to my comment. Instead, he reached out and took my hand, startling me. His eyes held mine, that smile remaining on his face as he twisted my class ring off my finger.
I shook myself out of my stupor. “That’s mine!”
He slipped it onto his pinky. It went about halfway down.
“I need it to be sure your wedding ring fits.”
Wedding ring. We were going to be married. Me to him. Him to me.
Every hair on my body stood on end at the thought of what he’d expect from me.
“I’ll be here to take you home with me after your graduation.” Raphael turned and walked to the door. “Make sure you’re ready.”
“It’s not home. Not for me.”
“And your grandfather’s house is?” he asked with barely a glance in my direction.
“Can’t you forget what he owes you? What, you think I should repay?”
He turned to me.
“Forget the debt,” I added in a near whisper.
His eyes darkened. “Sadly, forgiveness must precede forgetting, and unfortunately for you, neither is an option.”
His gaze flitted over me once more.
“You should eat. You’re too skinny.” He disappeared out the door.
I dropped onto my bed, clutching the envelope he’d given me, my heart pounding. Footsteps and laughter broke into the quiet, and Cathy and Mary pushed the bedroom door open.