Page 79 of Deal with the Devil
The interior of the theater is breathtaking, a cathedral of velvet and gold. From our seats in the balcony box, the view is panoramic, offering a full view of the stage and the orchestra pit.
Il Diavolo sits beside me, his posture composed but far from indifferent. There’s a quiet intensity to the way he leans forward, his gaze fixed so completely on the stage I can almost feel the concentration radiating from him.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone so absorbed by a performance before, his attention held by the music and storyline unfolding below us.
The opera we’re seeing is calledLa Traviata, and it’s known for its beautiful music and compelling storytelling.
The soprano on stage flaunts the strength of her voice, hitting notes that are impressive and sorrowful all at once. Though I can’t follow every lyric, I recognize the levity in the way her body bends with the crescendo, in the tightening grip of the conductor’s hand.
I glance uncertainly at Il Diavolo out of the corner of my eye and murmur quietly enough not to disturb anyone else nearby.
“I don’t really understand what’s happening.”
He inclines his head toward me. “She’s leaving him. Not because she wants to, but because she believes it will protect his family’s name. She thinks if she sacrifices herself, he’ll be free.”
I watch him closely, studying the angles of his jaw, half hidden behind the devil’s mask he’s wearing. I recognize him even with the mask disguising his face.
It’s the face of the man I’ve fallen in love with; the same man who broke my heart months ago but not for the reasons I initially thought.
He was trying to protect me from himself.
Yet the man sitting beside me now isn’t the same. He’s the devil. My captor, currently so engrossed by an opera that he’s leaning forward in his seat as if concerned he’ll blink and miss a crucial moment.
“She’s in love with him,” he adds of the female character, Violetta. “She will sacrifice everything.”
He doesn’t sound like a captor speaking to his captive. It’s a confusing blurring of the lines that leaves me once again questioning what’s happening.
Not only does the man have the face of Rafael, but at times he conjures feelings inside me that he shouldn’t…
I turn back to the stage, watching as Violetta steps further away from the man reaching for her. The music swells with sorrow as she denies him, doing what she believes is best.
We sit close enough I can feel his body heat. Our arms graze each other on the arm rest of our seats. I shift to move away, but then his pinky finger crooks mine, if only briefly. Possibly the smallest, most fleeting gesture imaginable, yet it draws a fast thump of my heart anyway.
I drop my hand into my lap and keep my gaze set on the stage for the rest of the show, cheeks flushed hot.
This man next to me isnotRafael.
He’s not Rafael. He’s not Rafael.
I repeat this in my head over and over and over again.
He looks like him. Sometimes he sounds like him. There are many other similarities at times, but in no way, shape, or form is he the man I had fallen in love with.
He’s not the man I was in a relationship with.
When the final curtain falls and the audience erupts into applause, Il Diavolo rises without a word. He offers his arm as if it’s simply expected, and I take it because we’re in a crowded theater. The world rushes back in—applause, laughter, the rustle of expensive fabrics as the theater begins to stir with life once more. His security team surrounds us as we make our way toward the exit.
It’s my first real time in public in weeks. I should feel more overstimulated than I do, suddenly surrounded by dozens of strangers and loud noises.
But instead, I feel strangely shielded, like nothing could reach me while I’m with him. It’s how I used to feel whenever I was with Rafael…
And that is what frightens me more than anything else.
Because I know who this man is. I know what he’s done. I know how many times he’s made me cry, scream, break. Yet here I am, walking beside him with sapphires around my throat and a twisted sense of fondness developing deep inside that I can’t seem to eradicate.
What is wrong with me if I’m developing feelings for my captor?
If I’m having feelings for the same man who is keeping the man I love away from me?
