Page 58 of A Deal with the Devil

I have no idea what the one thing was that went wrong, but it also doesn’t matter. This bitch was never the right person for him. Never. “Maybe you just weren’t someone he felt he could turn to.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re delusional if you think he’s going to choose you.”

I laugh. She is jealous and so painfully obvious about it. “What’s worse, Ella? Knowing you made a poor choice, or knowing that every person here thinks Hayes dodged a bullet when you left?”

I grab the scotch from her hand and leave her standing there, red-faced and tight-lipped, and return to the table, where Hayes now waits.

He rises, and because I know Ella is still watching, I reach up and make a show of running my fingers through his hair. His eyes go hooded and feral as he observes me, swallowing as his gaze lands on my lips. “You’re extremely committed to this role,” he says hoarsely. His hands, already on my hips, tighten.

“Ella’s watching,” I tell him.

He pulls my palm to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to it before he pulls me down to the chair beside his. “I told you I wasn’t trying to make her jealous.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, “but I am. Because she sucks. I can’t imagine why you ever proposed to her.”

He prods his cheek with his tongue. “I never actually proposed,” he admits reluctantly. “She pulled me into a jewelry store one day and told me it was time. After staying together so long, it seemed like the right thing to do. In retrospect, I think she hoped getting engaged would change me in a way it didn’t—the whole thing about making me love her as much as I love myself.”

His voice is flat and factual, as if he’s accepted her ugly, bitter take on what went wrong. “Hayes, you sound as if you believe her, and you shouldn’t.”

He shrugs. “A part of me was relieved when she left, which seems to support her point.”

Before I can argue, Hudson appears, begging him to go into the trampoline with her. His smile makes my heart ache for him. His own child with Ella might have looked just the same. He must, occasionally, think about it too.

He rises. “Come on,” he says, holding out a hand for me.

“You don’t seriously expect me to jump in this dress?”

There’s a filthy smile on his face. “I’m commanding you to jump in that dress.”

I should ignore him, but I follow them to the trampoline. I have to hitch my dress up to nearly my crotch in order to climb the ladder after them.

“My plan is working swimmingly so far,” he says, his voice low and dirty.

“Enjoy the view while you can, big boy.” With a chuckle, he holds out his hand to help me balance as I climb in.

My foot sinks into the floor of the trampoline and I fall forward, into his chest.

He catches me easily. I allow myself a quick inhale—he smells like soap and clean air and him, and I want to huff him like glue. I force myself to step away, and we begin to jump in a circle, higher and higher.

In another life, he’d have been a good father, and kids would give him some of that meaning he seems to lack. Maybe he’d have gotten into a different job, or at least not allowed the one he has to take over his life. I wonder if it’s still possible for him, somehow.

Hudson falls, and I trip gracelessly in an effort to avoid landing on her. We all end up on our backs laughing and he swings her high in the air overhead. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look quite so peaceful as he does now: smiling wide, his body loose and relaxed.

When we depart the trampoline, he lifts me so I don’t have to descend the ladder—large hands spanning my waist as he lowers me lightly in front of him, sliding me down his body as he does. The contact is not obvious to onlookers, but has us both sucking in a breath. My feet are on the ground but his hands linger, his gaze drifting over my face. It no longer feels as he’s playing a part, and I know I’m not. Nothing feels more natural than my hand in his, my head pressing to his shoulder. And I wonder if we are both getting a little lost in playing this role.

I go inside, to a bathroom that’s larger than my apartment, wondering how I’ll stand to return to a world where his hand isn’t on the small of my back or his arm isn’t around my waist. I wish I could hoard all these moments and somehow savor them throughout the year.

As I exit, I come face-to-face with his father. I don’t think he was waiting for me, but his timing here is odd and there’s something eager in his eyes.

“So, you and my son,” he says, his voice a little too jovial.

I smile stiffly, unsure where this is heading. Hayes seems to have forgiven his father, but I have not. Because who does that? He’s a good-looking man with plenty of money. He could easily have found a woman other than his son’s fiancée.

“Yes,” I reply.

“I’m glad he’s finally found someone,” he says, and then he sighs. “He and Ella...I guess he told you.”

“He did,” I say, my voice flat. If he’s looking for a pat on the shoulder, I hope he’s not holding his breath.