The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(67)

“In this hotel?” I ask. “Let me reiterate: this wouldn’t count as living off the land.”

She laughs. “Fuck off. I meant in Paris. I could be, like, a barista maybe. I think I could do that. I’d get fired for having an attitude back home, but here I’d fit right in.”

I press my lips to the top of her head. “What about me? What would I do?”

She taps her lower lip, thinking. “You’re…hmmm. You work as a gravedigger.”

“A gravedigger? That’s the best you can do?”

“Regular nine-to-five job and it would keep you in shape. I’d need a lot of attention when I get home from the coffee shop. Foot massages and such.”

“I’ll check to see if anyone’s hiring before I leave,” I say and then regret it. I’ve referenced leaving and though her smile holds, I feel the way it turns a little jagged. I fly out tonight. It was the best I could do, but it’s not enough for either of us.

“We can actually go outside the room, you know,” she says. “If I’m all bundled up and not wearing makeup, no one will bug us. Just please don’t say you want to go to the Louvre. You know how I feel about smart people shit.”

I laugh, running a finger down her sternum. “Yes, I remember. For a girl who can recite criminal statutes on demand, you’re weirdly opposed to letting anyone think you’re smart. But don’t worry. I have other ideas.”

I lean over, pressing a kiss to the space between her ribs.

She purrs, arching toward me. “I think I know what your ideas are. I’m fine with staying in if you are.”

I lower myself on top of her. “Don’t worry. It’s not sex. Well, it is, obviously,” I say as I reach for a condom. “But it’s not only that.”





38





DREW





In the afternoon, the snow stops suddenly. “This is my plan,” says Josh, holding my coat for me. “We are going to walk.”

I raise a brow. “Just walk?”

His mouth twitches. “Just walk.”

Outside, the world is strangely silent and peaceful, the roads mostly empty. We buy cheap gloves and hats at a kiosk and then he links his fingers through mine and pulls me close. When we kiss, our breath hovers between us like a small white cloud.

We head over toward Île Saint-Louis, an island that sits right in the center of the Seine, just past Notre Dame. He pulls me inside a café and we order chocolat chaud—hot chocolate, but nothing like the drink I know from home. This is thick, velvety, bittersweet. Something you sip. Maybe an acquired taste but on this weird, offbeat day, it feels right.

We sit with our drinks on a bench he’s cleared for us. The sun’s dying rays descend upon the Seine, painting it in splashes of orange and crimson and gold. My arm rests against his and I let my head lean on his shoulder. If it weren’t for his looming departure, I’d be so weightless right now I doubt gravity would keep me on this bench.

“I’d do anything to feel this free all the time,” I tell him.

His lips press to the top of my head. “You don’t need to do anything to feel this free, though.”

He’s right. This outing has barely cost us a penny—we could easily afford it in my barista/gravedigger fantasy—and I’ve never been happier. I certainly wouldn’t need more, but I doubt it would hold up if he wasn’t here with me.

“I’m not sure my mother has ever had a moment this peaceful,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. He’s already told me she’s probably got two years left, maybe three. It weighs on him, that ticking clock. He wants to fill it with all the things she won’t have, and it’s too late for some of them. “If she did, the shit my dad’s done has tainted it by now.”

“Why does she stay with him?” I ask.

“Because of us,” he says. “I found out when I was a teenager and it was already old news to her at that point. She was willing to pretend things were fine, for our sake, so we’d feel like one big happy family.”

She just didn’t realize what a strain it would be on her oldest son. Or what a strain she puts on him now, with that all-encompassing love of hers, and the way he struggles to live up to it. I might be the one wrong thing, the one deceitful thing, he’s ever done.

When dusk falls, we link hands again and head toward the hotel. “How long do you have?” I ask. My voice sounds small and childlike. I wish he could stay. I just want one more day with him. It seems like so little to ask and yet I know it’s impossible for either of us.

His hand tightens around mine. “A few hours.”

We stop at a bar on the way back to the hotel. He orders us mussels and frites and two glasses of red wine.

“I could listen to you speak French all day,” I tell him.

He grins. “If you worked at Dooha, you probably would. I promise it wouldn’t seem so exciting then.”

“Pretend I’m your nurse,” I say, tipping my head up and closing my eyes. “Say something.”

“Je pense qu’il y a une hémorragie interne.” His voice is soft as velvet. My nipples tighten under four layers of clothing.

“That sounded sexy,” I tell him. “What was it?”