the monk's proposal

Evie had accepted long ago the truth of things.

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Her attraction to Rafe had always surpassed her attraction to Eric. It went deeper; to the core of something fearsome and elemental. Her guilt had travelled every step of the way with it, and then it had hunkered down and never left.

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She felt guilt for succumbing to the allure of the handsome, reserved stranger next door. For her deepest, darkest desire to put herself in Rafe's way so he would notice her. To begin ... something ... with him. Had she been inside a confession box the truth would have been stated more plainly.

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She'd fallen for Rafael Dubois the moment she'd laid eyes on him.

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She had yearned to be in his bed, and at his breakfast table. Yet throughout his friendship with Eric, Rafe had had very little to say to her. A polite and reserved ‘Good morning; Good evening’ conversation – or some message for Eric – was all he'd ever spared her.

Try as she might, she could never elicit a deeper discourse with him. All her sexy outfits and new hair-dos had been wasted. And if Eric had ever invited Rafe to their home, she wasn't to know. As far as Evie was aware, Rafe had never stepped foot inside their house while she and Eric were living together.

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This admission of her true feelings at long last was debilitating. The shame of her lust, as she'd considered it to be then, had always torn at her. Now it seemed she was being punished for having once more stepped outside the boundaries of acceptable social behaviour.

The things she had done with this man. Had let him do to her ... 

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 Trepidation threaded her voice as Rafe straightened up from the bed. ‘Rafe, do you know why – why Eric left?’

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He looked at her, apparently assessing her condition before he answered. ‘Get some rest. We'll talk later.’

 

                                                                                                        

“Later” took three hours. Evie forced herself to take a nap, to go through the routine of having rested long enough to present a clear-eyed persona. They were standing in the living room when she asked the question again. ‘Nfaela.’

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His head dipped slightly. ‘Evangeline.’

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‘Do … do you know why Eric left?’

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Rafe gave his answer unhesitatingly. ‘Yes.’

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She'd fooled herself she'd be ready. But his response was a complete sucker punch. She looked up at him through hurt, shocked eyes. ‘Yet you never said a word!’

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‘I didn't want to hurt your feelings.’

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‘And now?’  Her tone was heavy with irony.

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‘I'd like to think I'm helping ease the pain of his departure.’

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She ignored that. ‘Tell me why Eric left. What did he say to you?’

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‘That's not something I can discuss with you.’

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‘With who then? Maiou?’ She could hear her heart beating in the walls again.

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‘As I've said, I wouldn't want you to be hurt.’

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‘Allow me to be the judge of that. What did Eric tell you when he left? Where is he now?’

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Standing there in army green camouflage pants and black t-shirt, Rafe seemed to be gearing up for some kind of military strike. But his look was sympathetic when he answered, ‘He said he'd realised he liked men. As to his whereabouts, he's here; in London.’

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Evie rejected his first statement outright. ‘I don't believe a word you're saying! How would you know this?’

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‘With regard to his preference for men, he made several passes at me. With regard to his whereabouts, I spoke to him last week.’

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‘What ... why ...?’ Evie felt for the arm of the sofa and dropped into it. Rafe's words didn't make any sense. Eric had married her, and she was a woman. They'd shared a bed together; had had marital relations. They'd had – dammit – sex.

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She couldn't fathom Rafe's claims. Was he saying that Eric had been using her all this time? Seeking escape from a marriage his family would have foisted on him? 

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As her fears built, Evie threw them all into anger against the man facing her. She couldn't accept she'd been married to a man who'd never been attracted to her or to anyone of her sex. ‘Eric wouldn't have made a pass at you! If anything, it was most likely the other way round! What did you do to him?’

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 ‘I showed him who he truly was.’

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‘You mean you groomed him?’

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‘Groomed? No, Eric had already found his own suit. He simply put it on.’

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‘So he made a pass at you. I'm sure he wasn’t the first or last man to do so.’

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Rafe shrugged. ‘That's true.’

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His casual acknowledgement angered her even more.

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‘So do you usually rebuff men who make a pass at you?’

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‘Naturally. Why waste their time?’

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Evie knew this herself. Men circled Rafe when they were out together. A few, assuming she was his 'gayfriend' – Geeta's pun for a straight female friend – would make blatant passes at him as soon as he stepped a few feet away from her. Some had even approached her to put a word in for them. With gentle directness, his response to all those expressing  interest was the same. ‘I'm heterosexual.’

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Her fear still required an outlet. ‘Well, you certainly wasted Eric's time.’

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When Rafe maintained a stoic silence, a creeping suspicion began to crawl up Evie's spine. ‘Did – did you accept Eric's advances once he'd ... put on his suit, as you say?’

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‘No.’

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‘So what happened?’

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Another careless shrug. ‘He asked me why I didn't want him.’

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‘And you said ...’

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‘I wanted you.’