Rafe frowns at me.
“Boys,” Rafe says, not looking at them. “Go play in the living room.”
Ian opens his mouth – full of pancakes – to protest, but Rafe interrupts.
“Take your food,” he says, his voice low and dismissive, “try eating them off the floor like a puppy. No forks, not hands.” The boys, sufficiently distracted and eager for this weird new experience, grab their plates and head off.
I watch them go and then return my eyes to Rafe, who leans forward onto the table.
“There’s more to this,” he says, looking between Victor and I and tapping the table with his index finger, “more than you two are letting on. And I want to know what it is.”
“Honestly,” I say, looking up at Victor for confirmation. He nods along with me. “Honestly, Rafe,” I say, looking at him with wide eyes, “we re
