Chapter 11: I'm Not Leaving

"I am not going to Winnie's," I said.

"It's a doorman building."

"I know what it is. I'm still not going."

We were back in the penthouse.

Rafe had packed my small blue suitcase himself while I stood in the hall and watched him do it.

Now he stood at the foot of the bed holding it closed with both hands.

I walked past him and unzipped it.

I took out the first pile of clothes and put them back in the drawer.

"Justine."

"You decided for me once," I said. "You told everyone I wasn't your type, and I spent fifteen years believing it. You don't get to decide again."

"That was to keep you alive."

"I know that now. It was still your decision, and I'm taking this one."

I took out the second pile.

He caught my wrist.

"Someone cut a cable over your head," he said. "Twice. Whoever it is knows where you sleep, where you work, where you stand."

"And they know where you stand, too."

"I can look after myself."

"So can I."

"You're a pharmacist."

"I'm a pharmacist who cornered your cousin in front of three hundred donors and just got a housekeeper fired over a roll of tape."

His mouth twitched.

"That's true."

"If I go to Winnie's, you're alone here with nobody watching your back, and I'm somewhere I can't help. That's the worst version of both."

"Better than the one where you're hurt."

"I'd rather be hurt next to you than safe without you."

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