Promise Me This; Never Let Go

Tonight was one of those nights. It was our date night. Isn't it silly that a married couple had scheduled dates? It is to me. Then again, Rafael does have his job to worry about. It may not seem like it, but tennis was an all-around year type of thing. Everyone knows about the major tournaments: the Australian Open, the French Open, the US Open, and Wimbledon. However, besides these four tournaments, there were smaller side tournaments. In other words, he never got a break. I guess these date nights are important to him then. He gets to relax and enjoy a meal with me.

"Belleza, are you ready?" he asked from the door.

I walked out the bathroom with my eggplant colored clutch in hand. There's one thing I have to confirm about our date nights. We always went somewhere fancy. The fame and riches sunk into Rafael's brain and he swears that he should only have fine dining. The days of cheeseburgers and fries were long gone.

I adjusted the end of my dress, feeling it was a bit too short for my liking. Rafael bought it for me and wanted me to wear it specifically for tonight. It was the same color as my clutch. As for him, he was wearing a blue buttoned down shirt, black slacks, and black dress shoes. I wasn't lying when I said he took this seriously.

Once we walked outside of the hotel, a taxicab was already waiting. I slid into the back, hearing the back of my dress swish against the leather seats. The driver asked us our location in one of those Brooklyn accents. Rafael said the name of a Japanese restaurant that I remember vaguely hearing about a few months ago.

Upon arrival, the waiter sat us immediately. Well, that was no surprise. We went through the first half of our dinner without saying a word to each other. I was playing with my phone, and so was he. The tension at our table was horrific. I was surprised the waiter didn't feel it too when he gave us our food.

After a few minutes into our entrées, waiters and waitresses made a mad dash to the door. Rafael and I shared a look of curiosity and confusion before we turned our attention to the front door. I gasped at the scene.

Outside were dozens of photographers waving at us—actually Rafael—while snapping pictures. After much coaxing and a threat to call the police, the paparazzi eventually walked away. The owner of the restaurant then proceeded to walk to our table and apologize about the media attention. Rafael smiled and waved it off, claiming it wasn't a big deal.

Then, the silence came back. I sighed, forking at my food. I lost my appetite since the start of this dinner. It felt like one of those off days I often had.

From my expert photographer eyes, I noticed that a few of the paparazzi resurfaced. They weren't near the restaurant, but hiding behind cars. They were very forceful tonight, something that hasn't happened before.

I fidgeted in my seat. They were making so nervous and self-conscious. "Rafael," I sighed, placing my fork on top of my plate, "can we leave?"

"Why?"

"I can see them and they're making me uncomfortable."

"No. I want to eat my meal and then we shall leave."

I know this bitch did not just talk me down like I was a child. I opened my mouth to make a nasty statement, but stopped myself. 'Don't want to embarrass him.'

Dear god, Matt was right! What happened to me? Whenever someone tried to take control of me, I attack, but as of yet…I let Rafael treat me like shit without noticing it until now. I am so blind.

I'll tell you one thing though, as soon as he finished and paid, I walked briskly out the door. I hailed a cab and sat inside, waiting for him. I gave him the cold shoulder the entire ride there, but it wasn't like he was attempting to make conversation to begin with. I really could not wait for this night to be over.

I threw my clutch onto the bed and kicked my heels off when I was in clear access of our hotel room. The anger radiating off me was almost toxic, that much I knew. If Matt knew of how Rafael treated me, he would punch the man in the nose. Or, since he wasn't in the same place with us, he would egg me on to punch my own husband in the nose. Either way, Rafael knew I was angry as hell.

He locked the door and called my name. I pretended I didn't hear him as I changed into a tank top and shorts. He tried to call me once again after he was in his own sleepwear. Again, I ignored the asshole.

I guess I lose when he grabbed my waist and pulled me towards his body. "Belleza, I am sorry for how I acted tonight," he sighed, resting his chin on the top of my head. "I wanted to enjoy our dinner. I didn't want the photographers to think they won."

Bullshit Rafael.

Still, I let him hold me and carry me to the bed. We lay down, kissed in a soft manner, and cuddled.

I laid there for hours, listening to his steady breathing. He was already asleep, and I couldn't. I wanted to text Matt just so I could talk to him, but he was probably asleep at this hour too.

Instead, I decided to turn on my laptop. I picked it up from the coffee table and carried it over with me out to the balcony. There wasn't any work I needed to finish or anything I needed to look up on the Internet. I just…I need more time to myself. With my daily meetings with Matt and Rafael's suddenly recent clinginess, I felt like I needed air to breathe.

Sighing and shaking my head, I opened a window and typed in links to random celebrity media websites. With the first two websites that loaded, I found pictures of Rafael and me at the restaurant from earlier tonight. I looked extremely depressed. The press would have a field day.

I grabbed my cell phone from inside my pocket and went to my Address Book. With one call, these pictures would disappear. It is very useful to have connections for times like these.

Usually, I could call a friend and he could get the pictures off the net in less than an hour. But tonight, I exited from the window and powered my laptop down. Oops.