Page 43 of Married to the Devil

But it’s a sickness and I have to get myself under control.

“Marnie,” she says, blurting the name out. Her cheeks are flushed pink. “Is she still alive?”

I nod slowly. “She’s lucky. The doctors say she’ll recover.”

June lets out a sharp sob, leaning forward. I step into her reflexively, offering her support. She accepts it without seeming to realize what she’s doing. The relief is physical, her shoulders shaking, and I rub her back.

“I’ve been… so worried…” She looks at me, eyes damp and tears on her cheeks. “How bad?”

“She’ll have trouble walking.”

“Can I see her?”

“Not yet.”

“She’s in danger though. Someone tried to kill her.”

I’d considered that already, which is why I have two men watching over her at all times. “We’ll handle Marnie after she has had more time to heal. For now, she’s where she has to be.”

June nods, wiping her face. “I still don’t understand why they would do that to her.”

Because of me. That’s why.

Anyone important to me burns.

I’ve learned that lesson the hard way too many times over the years.

I leave her in the closet. I’m a fucking mess. I storm through the halls and pause outside our daughter’s bedroom door, peering in at Hattie sitting in bed watching a TV I set up on her bureau, humming to herself. A plush pony is in her lap and she’s transfixed by the cartoon.

Something in me softens at the sight of my daughter, so calm and happy.

That’s why I’m doing all this.

I force myself away before Hattie notices me.

I’m not ready to talk to her, not yet, and there’s so much work to do.

13

JUNE

Ishould be thrilled to have a closet filled with high-end designer clothes.

But nothing feels right.

Probably because it’s not my stuff.

Guilt hangs in my chest. Whenever I start to feel bad for myself, I remember Marnie’s lying in a hospital somewhere. It’s like an anchor’s been lifted from around my ankles knowing she’s okay, but I can’t forgive myself for what happened to her.

For now, I have to focus.

Once Rafe is gone, I find a Gucci duffle bag and pack it with essentials, anything that might survive a hike through the barrens. When that’s done, I leave it hidden under the mess I made. I doubt Rafe will clean this up anytime soon.

He’ll think I’m being stubborn and a pain in his ass, which is exactly what I want.

Then I pick up Hattie and take her down for dinner. Byron’s still busily cooking and seems delighted that we want to eat in the kitchen. He talks about cooking at high-end restaurants all over Paris and does silly impressions of loud, annoying French people for Hattie, who loves it. The food’s incredible too, and by the time I take my daughter back up for bed, I’m feeling full and satisfied, almost lulled to complacency.

Hattie goes down easily. I slip into the main bedroom, find something to wear, and steal back into the hall. I’m walking toward the bathroom when I feel him behind me.