Page 110 of Married to the Devil

“He married me, remember?”

“Broken clocks are right twice a day.”

“Marnie.”

“Okay, okay, I’m just pissed, that’s all. This place is so boring without you guys. At least Birdie came back to work. And the physical therapist…”

“What about him?”

“The guy’s hot as hell. I don’t mind when he tries to stretch me out. Honestly, I wish he’d stretch more than my muscles…”

“Marnie!”

I feel unmoored as the days crawl past. It’s like I’m slipping down a vast ravine, tumbling over and over, but I don’t seem to be going anywhere. I should be falling—I should be hurting—and instead I’m only trapped.

Rafe makes it feel better. When he’s around my shoulders can ease and my jaw unclenches. I feel safe, but only when he’s in the house.

Which is less often right now.

About a week after Nunzio’s attack, I come downstairs to find Rafe in the kitchen with Hattie. I pause, quietly watching, as my massive, tattooed, scarred, terrifying husband whistles and cooks her pancakes. She keeps asking him questions about which ponies he likes best, which unicorns would win in a fight, and he dutifully answers. He’s always wrong, but he never loses patience.

It’s perfection. For a brief moment, I can forget the pain we’ve gone through lately.

Rafe even laughs like Hattie does. Her head bobs side to side when she cackles, and Rafe does that too. They have so many matching mannerisms and it shocks me, how alike they are. How much they seem to love being around each other.

This is what I’ve always wanted.

Hattie’s happy. Her father’s here and taking care of her. Even back before Rafe came storming into our life again, I had daydreams about this. What it might be like if things had been different.

If we’d been married.

Now I’m the monster’s wife, and that’s not even the worst part.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at us all morning?” Rafe says it casually without looking in my direction.

But I grin sheepishly. Hattie waves at me. “Hi, Mommy.”

“Good morning, bug.” I walk over and kiss her hair. “What’s Rafey making today?”

“Banana pancakes.”

“You like those now?”

She makes a face. “Only because he made them.”

God, if my heart could swell, it sure as hell would.

“Good morning to you too,” I say, going over to kiss my big husband on his neck. “How’d you sleep?”

“Bad and never enough.” He tugs me against his side and bends down to kiss my ear. “How about her?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Better last night, but still not great.”

He nods grimly. “We’ll deal with it.”

“I know. We will.”

He pauses to kiss me. His taste is comfort with a sharp side of excitement.