Raphael's POV
I told her on a Wednesday evening.
We'd had dinner at her flat, her cooking this time, something with pasta that she'd made with that efficiency she brought to everything, refusing my offer to help with a look that suggested my presence near her hob was not a risk she was prepared to take.
I'd sat on the counter and watched her instead.
She'd pretended not to notice.
She was a terrible liar about small things. Excellent about large ones. But when she was pretending not to notice me watching her, the corner of her mouth did a specific thing. A slight smile that she desperately tried to suppress and I'd learned to read it the way you learned to read someone when you'd been paying close attention for long enough.
Afterward we moved to the couch with wine and the comfortabl
