June
Days slip past. Rafe comes and goes, but he always ends up in our bed at night, his
arms wrapping around my body, his mouth against my neck. I never thought I’d get
used to his touch like this, as if I’d never lived without it before.
Marnie improves. Slowly but surely, the nurses help her heal. She still can’t get
around very well, but Rafe makes sure she has whatever she needs.
“I’m surprised, you know.” Marnie sits out in the sun on a back balcony one
morning about a week after she moved in. The construction on the mansion is
finished, all the visible signs of the attack are now gone, exc ept there are still dozens
of armed guards wandering the grounds. I watch one as he makes his way along his
planned route, pausing to check his phone, which I know is technically against the
rules.
“About what?”
“Your husband.”
I lift my coffee to my lips and blow on it. I try not to show the complicated nest of
emotions that flutters through my chest every time she refers to Rafe as your
husband. “He’s a man of mystery.”
“Did you know that he shows up at my room every morning to see how I’m
feeling?”
That gets my attention. “Really?”
“Eight every morning, there’s a knock at my door. It’s too early, but he’s sweet
about it. He stands there all serious and gruff and is like, how is the staff treating
you? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? No, you’re good?
Wonderful, farewell. I swear, it’s adorable, like he’s trying to learn how to be
human.”
I laugh despite myself. “That pretty much describes him perfectly.”
“At first, I found him hard to handle. But I don’t know. These last few days...” She
trails off, gazing over the wall out toward the pine barrens.
“Are you falling for my man, Marnie? Because I’ll throw you over this bannister if
you are.”
She snorts. “Please. With my track record? I’m done with men.”
“Ah, come on. You’re young and vibrant. You have a lot left to give.”
She gestures at herself. “When you meet a handsome, decent man interested in a
crippled divorcee, you give me a shout.”
“Marnie—“
“No, don’t start, I’m not trying to be all self-pitying. Stop sidetracking me. I want
to say, Rafe seems like he really cares about you and it’s winning me over.”
I open my mouth to tell her me too but stop myself, because I’m not sure that’s
true.
How could it be, realistically? He forced me into this marriage. He kidnapped me
and dragged me here. And yes, he did it to protect me—I believe that now, I’ve seen
the aftermath first hand—but he still did it.
Rafe’s difficult. He’s controlling and closed-off. I have to dig hard to get
underneath the surface, and even then, sometimes it’s like all I find is more granite
beneath that cold upper layer.
So why would I feel anything for him at all?
“He’s good with Hattie,” I say, brushing my hair back from my face. A cool breeze
flutters nearby trees. “It’s like they speak the same language. I don’t know, it’s
weird.”
“Almost as if they’re father and daughter?”
“He wasn’t part of her life for years.”
“True, but he had his reasons, right?”
I give her a sharp look. “Did he put you up to this?”
“Absolutely not.” She holds up her hands defensively. “I swear. I’ve just been stuck
in this place and I’ve had a lot of time to think, and if you look past all the mafia
stuff—“
“Which isn’t easy,” I grumble.
“—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 de ep 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 de eply 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?”
“Because you do.” She goes back to coloring. “It’s okay. I hate Princess
Slimecorn.”
“No, hold on a second. I don’t hate Rafe.” The words slide quickly out so smoothly
that I’m shocked at how easy it is to say. When I first came here, I thought I did
despise him.
“Okay,” she says, still finishing up her rendition of what I’m thinking is a bed of
some sort, though it has crab legs and a unicorn horn.
“No, really. I don’t hate Rafe at all.”
“I like Daddy Rafey.”
She normally says only Rafey and this daddy thing is new.
But it’s not wrong. He is her father.
“I do too, honey.”
“He’s scary.” She smiles to herself. “I like it.”
I do too. “Rafe cares about you a lot, you know. He always has. It’s sometimes hard
for him to show it—“
“I know. He shows. I don’t need hugs. You give me hugs.”
I hardly know what’s happening. My heart’s racing and a lump forms in my throat.
“Do you want hugs from Rafe?”
“That’d be okay.”
“Do you want me to tell him that?”
“Okay.”
“Alright honey, I will.” I lean down and kiss her hair. “I love you, sweetie.”
“Okay. Mom, can I have apples?”
“Sure. I’ll tell Byron.” I wipe my eyes and stand. Priya’s coming back. “Honey, I
really do like Rafe. I like him a lot. I’m happy we got married.”
“Good. Me too.”
Priya stops a few feet away, hands folded in front of her. “Thanks for taking over.
Everything okay?”
“Totally fine. Me and Hattie were just chatting.” I hurry from the room before she
realizes how emotionally devastated I feel. I have to pause in the hallway and pull
myself together.
Hattie really likes Rafe. That girl is falling for her father way faster than I ever
imagined. She’s always been slightly standoffish and shy with adults she doesn’t
know, but she took to Rafe like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like she’s his daughter.
I can’t ke ep pretending. It’s killing me, acting like things aren’t vastly different,
like Rafe and Hattie haven’t de eply bonded, like he’s not taking a
position in our lives that I never wanted or thought could even happen.
I wasn’t lying to her when I said I like Rafe a lot.
I like the way he touches me. The way he holds me, kisses me, whispers in my ear.
I like how protective he is, how much he cares about Hattie, how far he’ll go to
provide. He took Marnie in without question. He found Priya to help Hattie deal with
her trauma.
Emotions don’t come naturally to him, but he’s trying anyway.
That says so much about what kind of man he is.
I make my way to the kitchen. Byron’s busy helping the food shipment get
unloaded so I figure I’ll find and slice Hattie’s apples myself. There was a time when I
did all my own cooking and cleaning; pretty sure I can still take care of myself.
But when I get there, Nunzio’s voice echoes through the mostly empty space.
“—gonna miss the good old days, right, pal?”
He doesn’t sound happy. I pause, not sure why, and peer around the corner.
Byron’s standing with him, the pair of them sharing a bottle of wine, drinking
straight from the neck.
“I think you romanticize the old days too much,” Byron says, swirling the bottle.
“And this stuff is so bad I wouldn’t cook with it.”
Nunzio laughs and snatches it away. “You’re such a fucking prick. But I’m being
serious. Life was good around here. Boring, but easy. Shit ran like clockwork. Until
the bitch showed up.”
“I’m not sure how any of this is June’s fault.”
My chest heaves. I’m the bitch? I’m tempted to storm out there, but
embarrassment and fear ke ep me in place.
“I admit, boss was losing his shit even before she came around.” Nunzio swigs
from the bottle and gestures with it violently. “Pretty sure he’s got a few screws
loose, you know what I mean? But throwing the girl in the mix and now all this is a
pain in the ass.”
“You work too hard.” Byron takes the wine from him. “Maybe you should take a
break.”
“And who’s going to pay my father’s medical bills?” His voice is low and
thoughtful. “That man gave his life to the Corvinos, and now look at him.”
“Old age happens to everyone.”
“They’re trying to push him out. You know that, right?”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You’re such a pussy, Byron, I’m fucking serious here. Rafe’s making changes to
this place.”
“It’s not my problem.” Byron st eps away when Nunzio tries to take the alcohol
again. “And we’re done unloading. You should get back to work.”
“Since when did you get a spine?” Nunzio st eps forward and grabs Byron by the
hair. I open my mouth to say something—
Until Byron viciously kisses Nunzio.
Their embrace lasts a long moment, the two men violently making out, before
Byron shoves him away. “We’re not doing this right now.”
“Tell that to your hard dick.”
“Fuck off.” Byron sounds happy though. “Seriously, I’m sorry about your dad, but
you know it isn’t Rafe’s fault, and it’s not June’s either. She barely knows what’s
going on around here.”
Nunzio turns away and his voice gets serious. “You barely know too, you idiot. No,
shut up and listen. You might have to make a choice sometime soon. You might have
to decide if you believe your shit and think Rafe and his bitch wife are decent people,
or if protecting them isn’t worth getting yourself killed. I hope you make the right
call.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Means what I said.” Nunzio brushes himself down. “You kiss like a slut. I love it.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Nunzio laughs, dodging a slap from Byron, and stalks out of the kitchen.
I back away once he’s gone, heart racing, head trying to make sense of what I just
heard.
Byron and Nunzio are a thing? I had no clue. I’ve never even seen them together
before, though that’s probably the point. I doubt being gay is highly acc epted in a
super macho mafia family.
That’s not what bothers me.
No, it’s what Nunzio said about making a choice.
How is it going to get Byron killed?
And what does he even mean?
I’m de eply bothered as I wander back to where Priya and Hattie are sitting.
“Mommy, apples?”
“Sorry, baby, I’ll get them in a bit.” I sit down at the table. “Mind if I join you?”
“By all means.” Priya smiles kindly. “Everything okay?”
“Totally fine. Just in the mood to draw a picture.”
Hattie nods seriously. “Unicorns,” she says, pointing at the crayons. “Lots of
unicorns.”