Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Tell me what you’re doing here, Amal. Why Scotland?”
Well, I knew I’d have to answer at some point. “I don’t know,” I start and it’s not completely a lie. “My mother was from here.”
His eyebrows furrow as he studies me. I keep talking but I can’t tell him much more than that. I’m too ashamed.
“The diary. My mom’s diary. I found it after everything. When we were leaving the house, I was packing things up and I found it.” I don’t mention why she left Scotland. The truth of it makes me feel a little sick.
“So you’re looking for family?”
I shrug a shoulder and put food into my mouth to buy a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe I want to know why she was the way she was. Maybe I want to know why she died the way she did.”
He studies me. Don’t make me say it, I think. I beg. Don’t make me say the words out loud.
“Those names in your notebook?” he asks. Does he know she took her own life? Is that why he’s not pushing?
“Connections I’d made through diary entries,” I say, that part being true.
“What was your plan then? If you found family.”
“If my mother’s family is here, if they’d be willing to take Daniel, I could bring him here. He could forget all about Malek. He’s young enough. And Cassian wouldn’t have to hurt him. He’d never have to see him again.”
“Cassian isn’t going to hurt Daniel.”
“Not yet. Not while he’s young. But later, you don’t know. And there’s another reason. I’m not entirely stupid, Jet. I want to erase Malek’s existence from my brother’s memory. I don’t want him growing up thinking he’s a monster.”
“Do you think you’re a monster then?”
I don’t expect that question. Not at all. And certainly not as casually as it’s asked.
When I don’t answer, he leans toward me. “Because you decide who you are, Amal. The blood in your veins doesn’t define you. Your choices do. Your actions do.”
He says it with such conviction, such fierce belief, that all I can do is listen. It takes everything in me to keep my eyes from filling with tears. I don’t want to show Jet how this upsets me because he doesn’t know the half of it.
The monster within the monster.
“Do you like being called the Devil?” I ask without consciously thinking of the question but wanting to know. Because I have a feeling he embraces it. He’s at home in his skin.
“First of all, I don’t think you’re stupid,” Jet says, choosing to focus on that part of what I said rather than any other. “Reckless but not stupid.”
A waiter interrupts to deliver my mussels and as soon as I smell the garlic and wine sauce, I’m hungry again and I start to eat.
“Good?” Jet asks as I lick sauce off my finger.
I nod, my mouth full. “You want one?”
“No, you enjoy them.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen before shifting his attention back to me. “And I’ve never thought about it. Being called the Devil. Now that I do, I suppose I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. They can all fuck off.”
“How easy it must be to be able to live that way.”
“It’s a choice to not care. You can make the same choice.”
“My options are different.”
“You’re my wife. No one can touch you.”
“Why did you marry me? If Cassian didn’t sanction it, he’s going to be pissed. Not to mention you having saddled yourself with, well, me. Especially considering what Malek did.” I point to his scar but I don’t have to. “He almost killed you. All of you.”
“I don’t care who your father is. You’re not him.”
“Don’t call him my father.”
“Either way, you’re not him.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Why, though? You could have just followed orders and taken me back. Why not do that?”
He sips his wine. The waiter comes to clear away my starter before setting down our steaks.
“Why, Jet?”
Jet reaches across the table to touch my wedding band before sitting back again, fingers playing absently with the ring while he studies me intently.
“You were right a few months ago. At my house.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did want you to see my scars. The ink. I wanted you to see me, Amal. You’re the only one I want to show myself to.”
A beat passes and it’s like it’s just me and him in this dining room. Like no one else is here in the world with us.
My chest aches at this revelation. This confession. It hurts for him and in some way, I feel closer than ever to him for saying it. For wanting me to be the one who saw him. I know how much the truth takes. I know what it costs to be seen. To want it. To say the words aloud.