Page 79 of Married to the Devil

“—I think what you find is a man who is torn by his loyalties, but who really does care about you and Hattie.”

I know she’s right. That’s been obvious to me for some time. Rafe went through something terrible when he was young and it scarred him. Literally, the burn scars, but also deep in his heart. He grew up raising his younger siblings in a nightmarish, violent world, forced to become the head of his family’s crime syndicate while mourning the loss of his sister and his parents.

That deeply affected him. It changed him in ways I’ll never know, but I get the sense that Rafe was more of a playboy and much less serious than he is now.

The fire forced him to grow. But it also left him bruised.

So does that excuse kidnapping me? Forcing me to be his wife?

Maybe crime is just his love language.

I change the subject because talking about Rafe makes me too uncomfortable. Marnie drops it but I can tell this isn’t the last I’ll hear of her feelings on the matter. That’s one of her best traits: she’s ruthlessly honest and she never lets things pass if she thinks they’re important.

After I get Marnie back to her room for her first check-in with Birdie, I head down to find Hattie. She’s with the new nanny, who also happens to be a childhood psychologist specializing in art therapy. I can only imagine how much money Rafe is paying her to watch over Hattie exclusively, but that says a lot about how much he cares for our daughter.

There it is again.

Our daughter.

“There you two are,” I say when I spot them. Hattie and the nanny, a woman in her early thirties named Priya Raval. “How are things going?”

“Oh, lovely as always, right, Hattie?” Priya beams at my daughter and nudges her gently. “Say hello, dear.”

“Hi, Mommy.” Hattie barely looks up from her drawing.

“What’s that?” I come over to take a look.

“We’re having free draw time.” Priya stands and stretches. “Would you mind sitting with her for a few minutes? I could use a quick bathroom break.”

“Of course, please go ahead.” I take her seat when she’s gone and lean down to study the paper in front of Hattie.

There are several different drawings. They’re all in crayon. I expect ponies, unicorns, laser beams, spaceships, that sort of thing, but instead they show the same scene.

It’s a room, a big one, with different furniture in each version. At one end is a woman that looks like me and at the other is what’s clearly supposed to be Rafe. She drew him with all black and he’s got big muscular arms, which is funny, but a strange sinking stone rolls around in my stomach.

Each picture is the same. Me at one end, Rafe at the other, with plenty of space between us.

“Hattie, what’s going on with this?” I lift up one picture and point at it. “That’s me and that’s Rafe, right?”

“Mommy and Rafey,” she confirms, not looking up from her latest work. Another variation on the theme.

“What are we doing?”

“Standing.” She looks up and wrinkles her nose. “Duh.”

“Hattie, that isn’t nice. Please don’t talk to me that way.”

“Sorry.” She colors some more.

“Do you know why Mommy and Rafey aren’t standing next to each other?”

“Not really.”

“Is this about how you feel? About Mommy and Rafey?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” She stops and looks at me. There’s no anger in her face. She isn’t remotely upset. There’s only that simple, childish matter-of-factness, like life is simple and obvious. “You hate Daddy Rafey.”

I sit back in surprise. It feels like getting slapped. “Why do you think that?”