The cloyingly sweet smell of fresh flowers filled your nostrils and it made you sick to your stomach. You hated fresh flowers. They were already dying when you received them. You didn’t see the point. And today they were just a reminder of death and loss. Between the flowers and all the people packed into your house, you wanted to run away screaming.

Your mother was in her element. The way she so easily interacted with memorial guests just bothered you. It seemed so fake. You hadn’t seen her even shed a tear since that day in the hospital when your father passed away.

You, on the other hand, had cried constantly. You weren’t certain if you had any tears left to cry now. That day is still so vivid in your mind. Holding his hand, watching him slowly slip away, noting how he didn’t look like the dad you remembered. And then what he’d asked if you. That haunted you every minute because you didn’t think it was something you could do.

You glance over to where Rafe is talking with one of your relatives and you sigh. Your dad’s last words to you had been about him. He’d spoken of Rafe’s anger issues, his unpredictability and how he wanted better for you. He begged you to move on. And you’d said yes, because how can you deny a dying man?

Rafe notices your eyes on him, and he makes his way over, resting his hand on your hip and pulling you closer. He presses a soft kiss against your lips.

“A lot of people loved your dad, baby. He was a great man” he murmurs, and you nod. You swallow, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“He didn’t want us to be together” you say softly, tears already pricking at the back of your eyes. If you honoured your father, loving Rafe wasn’t the right thing to do. But how could you ever change the way you feel?

“What?” Rafe reels back like the words physically hurt him. His grip on your hip tightens, and he turns you to face him. “What the hell do you mean?”