Page 51 of Married to the Devil

Devlin comes over a few minutes later. “Good kid. I like her.”

“Then find the people who tried to take her away.”

His expression sharpens. That manic smile of his turns to a savage excitement. “We’re going to make them scream, brother.”

I glance at June, talking to Marnie and crying with happiness, and over to Hattie, still drawing.

“Damn right we will.”

16

JUNE

Glimpses of humanity. That’s all I get from Rafe. Moments where he seems like a normal person: smiling at Hattie, holding the door for me, offering to bring coffee in the morning.

But most of the time it’s like he’s dead inside.

There’s a coldness to him. He keeps himself physically distant, even though I can still feel the tension between us. The sharpness of my desire for him is painful some nights when we’re lying in bed side by side, struggling to pretend like I’m alone and there isn’t some massive, beautiful monster at my back.

He’s hyper-focused on his job and his family. There’s not a moment when he isn’t thinking about work, planning, texting, emailing, talking. And his time is sacred. There’s a steady stream of communications, visitors, meetings, and decisions that he has to make. I’m barely aware of a tenth of whatever he’s doing at any given hour.

There’s a reason he’s up before dawn every morning.

It’s the only time he has where he’s not being constantly bothered.

Which is why it’s so special when he chooses to sit in the kitchen with Hattie after his workouts every day instead of getting more quiet time to himself.

A week passes like that. I live with him in a strange limbo. Every time I start to think this is normal⁠—

I’m reminded that we’re in a prison.

“Mommy, what are you doing?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” Two. Three. Four.

“You’re counting. Six. Twelve. Eighty-one!”

“Sweetie, please stop.”

“I can count higher than you!”

“It’s not a competition.” Five. Six. Is that another one? Seven. God, seven?!

“And now you look unhappy.”

I tug Hattie toward me and hug her tight, making her squeal and wriggle, before she escapes and returns to chalking up Rafe’s driveway while a guard watches nearby.

“Mommy’s totally fine,” I lie and take the opportunity to crane my neck, groaning when I find another camera.

That’s eight of them watching the front of the house.

Plus five on each side and at least six in the back, though there are probably more.

I know what Rafe would say if I asked him about them. He’d try to spin it like they’re for my protection. Without the cameras, how can he make sure I’m safe at all times?

But keeping me safe sounds a lot like keeping me locked up.

As more time passes, I feel myself starting to acclimate to my current circumstances. Because the truth is we’re comfortable here. It’s like living in a five-star hotel except I’m the only guest and the staff is obsessed with making me happy and meeting my daughter’s every need.