Page 97 of Deal with the Devil
I ignore how conflicting this makes me feel, like I’m experiencing things I shouldn’t.
Rafaelis the man I had a relationship with;he’sthe man I’m in love with.
Il Diavolo is… he’s…
I can’t even complete the thought before the performance swells to its climax and then the final curtain falls.
The audience leaps to their feet in thunderous ovation. Il Diavolo’s up before I am, applauding the cast as they take their bows.
We clap until our palms sting.
After the opera, we don’t head straight for the car.
Instead, Il Diavolo motions to the limo driver and lets him know to circle the block a few times. We’re going to be going for a walk, crossing over to the park grounds near the theater.
The night is crisp but not cold, with a breeze that comes and goes. The park is one of the biggest in Newport, with rows upon rows of hedges and wrought-iron gates at the entrance.
At this time, it’s mostly empty, except for the occasional straggler.
In the middle of the grounds, a massive golden fountain gleams against the dark plum backdrop of night. It sprays crystal clear water, the bottom of its basin full of all the coins people toss in after making wishes.
We walk slowly, taking our time as we pass through.
“Did you like the show?”
I turn toward him, lifting an incredulous brow. “Are you kidding? I loved it.”
He gives a nod, the edges of his mouth lifting. I can tell from the edges of his mask, spotting the telltale signs in his profile.
“I’ve always liked stuff like that,” I say, holding my clutch to my chest. “Back in college, I’d try to see at least one Broadway show every season. That’s all I could afford back then, but I made it count. Split tickets with Jayla or some other friends, sat way up in the mezzanine. We didn’t care.”
“That’s good,” he says after a moment. “It’s good to come from humble beginnings. It makes you appreciate what you have more.”
“You came from humble beginnings too—youandRafael both.”
“That’s true, dolcezza,” he admits, drawing a deeper breath. “But he’s never been proud of where we come from.”
It’s true Rafael always seemed to shy away from discussing his past. I had considered the reasons why, concluding it must’ve had to do with his impoverished beginnings.
As Rafael Calderone, he seemed determined to prove he was wealthy and established. More than once I could tell he was genuinely trying to impress me by spoiling me. The entire vacation to Sicily and the various shopping trips have begun to feel that way in hindsight.
But the more Il Diavolo discusses their childhood, the more I’m wondering if maybe it’s even more than that. Maybe Rafael never wanted to discuss his past because of the ugliness that went beyond his poor beginnings. Could that be why his psyche split in two in the first place?
The wind blows past us, so brisk and cool it sends a ripple through me. I shudder and drift even closer to Il Diavolo as if to absorb his body heat.
“What did you mean the other day? You said there’s a reason Rafael’s drawn to me. Thatyou’redrawn to me. You said you had a connection to me for a reason. What did you mean? Is it because I grew up without my biological parents? Because I didn’t have money? Is that the reason?”
“It’s not my place to tell you,” he says after some thought.
I stop walking under one of the many lamplights we’ve passed, turning to face him.
“You’ve made it your place to tell me other things. You brought me to that room—the one Rafael has of me. You showed me the photographs, the newspaper clippings, all of it. You made sure I saw what he’d hidden. All the surveillance he’d been doing.”
He’s stopped too, sighing as he reluctantly listens to the accusations.
“This is different. You have been under enough stress lately.”
“Enough stress? What could you possibly say that would make me any more stressed?”
