Page 74 of Married to the Devil

“Just a second ago.” I walk to his desk and place the plate down. “I got you some—“ I awkwardly tilt the tea mug and spill some on the fine mahogany.

For a beat, I think he might be angry. This desk is clearly worth a fortune. It’s lacquered, perfectly shiny, with intricate carvings and raven motifs. It wouldn’t be out of place in a museum.

But he only grunts and moves his papers before they get wet.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it.” He walks to a drink cart and comes back with a bar towel.

“Oh god, I messed it up. I can be such an idiot⁠—“

“June.” He wipes the spilled tea and puts a hand on my hip. “It’s fine. Really. It isn’t a big deal.”

I blow out a breath and realize I’m on edge. I don’t even know why. Before, near Marnie, I felt good, but standing in here, it’s like all that tension comes creeping back.

“You’ve been in here all morning. I figured you’d be hungry.”

He puts the towel away and returns to his place, dragging the plate over. “You’re right, I haven’t eaten. I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I can be observant sometimes.”

He stares at the grilled cheese like he’s never seen it before, lifts it to his mouth, and takes a bite.

I wonder if Byron screwed me as he chews and swallows. Rafe’s face doesn’t show any emotion as he takes a second bite, and a third, and a fourth before the slightest hint of a smile cracks the corner of his lips.

“My mother used to make this,” he says at a whisper. “Back when I was little. It’s my comfort food.”

Warmth floods my chest, battling away some of the fear I’ve been holding on to. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

“I know.” He takes another, slower bite, and drinks his tea.

“You can if you want to.” I look down at my lap. “I understand wanting to keep it to yourself though.”

“Is that what you do?”

I shift in my chair, wringing my hands. “My parents died when I was young too. Well, my dad did, and my mom ran out on me. I was raised by my grandmother.”

“Harriet,” he says.

“I named Hattie after her. She was perfect. Everything I needed. Too old to really raise me actively, but patient, kind, and loving. I learned how to handle myself and everyone around me because Grandma couldn’t always be there to do everything, but she was amazing. And the day Hattie was born—“ I stop myself, tears filling my eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” He stands and comes around the desk, sinking into the chair beside mine. He reaches across and takes my hands into his. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I forget she’s gone. That’s crazy, right? It’s been over five years. But some days I think to myself, wow, I haven’t talked to Grandma in a while, I should call her. And my heart breaks all over again knowing I never can.”

His thumb grazes over my knuckles. “That hurt doesn’t go away. It changes, or it did for me. I don’t think about playing with Leanna anymore. I don’t wonder what she’s doing. But I do imagine who she might have become if she had been allowed to grow up.”

“That’s how I feel too. I wonder what Grandma would’ve thought about Hattie.”

“She would’ve been proud. Our daughter’s a good girl. Clever. Strong. Imaginative.”

For the first time in a while, I don’t feel the urge to correct him. Instead, I tug him closer. “I’m sorry you lost your parents and your sister. How old was she?”

“Too young.” The pain in his voice is raw and sharp. “She was the youngest. I sometimes think if I had been faster… if I had been more engaged…”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes close and he sighs. “I wasn’t home when it happened.”