Page 50 of The Devil

A waiter interrupts to deliver my mussels and as soon as I smell the garlic and wine sauce, I’m hungry again and I start to eat.

“Good?” Jet asks as I lick sauce off my finger.

I nod, my mouth full. “You want one?”

“No, you enjoy them.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen before shifting his attention back to me. “And I’ve never thought about it. Being called the Devil. Now that I do, I suppose I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. They can all fuck off.”

“How easy it must be to be able to live that way.”

“It’s a choice to not care. You can make the same choice.”

“My options are different.”

“You’re my wife. No one can touch you.”

“Why did you marry me? If Cassian didn’t sanction it, he’s going to be pissed. Not to mention you having saddled yourself with, well, me. Especially considering what Malek did.” I point to his scar but I don’t have to. “He almost killed you. All of you.”

“I don’t care who your father is. You’re not him.”

“Don’t call him my father.”

“Either way, you’re not him.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Why, though? You could have just followed orders and taken me back. Why not do that?”

He sips his wine. The waiter comes to clear away my starter before setting down our steaks.

“Why, Jet?”

Jet reaches across the table to touch my wedding band before sitting back again, fingers playing absently with the ring while he studies me intently.

“You were right a few months ago. At my house.”

“What do you mean?”

“I did want you to see my scars. The ink. I wanted you to see me, Amal. You’re the only one I want to show myself to.”

A beat passes and it’s like it’s just me and him in this dining room. Like no one else is here in the world with us.

My chest aches at this revelation. This confession. It hurts for him and in some way, I feel closer than ever to him for saying it. For wanting me to be the one who saw him. I know how much the truth takes. I know what it costs to be seen. To want it. To say the words aloud.

I wish I were as courageous as him.

“Why?” I ask, my voice not sounding quite like me.

“Maybe because we’re both damaged. Maybe because we know what it is to be on the outside looking in.” He pauses, considering his words, careful with them and what he says next has every hair on my body standing on end for the truth of it. For the raw vulnerability in speaking the words aloud. “Because we both know what it’s like to be unwanted.”

15

JET

Ifeel a sensation I’ve managed to keep tamped down for so long, I’d almost thought I was over it. Almost thought it was in the past.

My phone pings with a message again. This time, its Malcom, not Sev whose been texting me nonstop demanding to know my whereabouts. Demanding my return.

Instead of texting, I pick up the phone and call him. “What is it?” I ask because he wouldn’t be disturbing me if it wasn’t important.

Amal picks up her knife and fork and begins to eat, very openly listening.