Chapter 2 The Secret Identity #2
“Yeah, I love it.” Of course, no man given the choice of red or black went for the red… except for one, actually. The man standing in the back of the room dressed in a scarlet suit—bordering on ridiculous but somehow working for him.
He’s taller than most people around him, and he glances around like he’s fully aware of the attention he’s drawing and reveling in it.
Once the red light hits his face, I freeze.
The sharp lines of his suit contrast with his unruly dark hair, which looks as if someone tried to tame it with gel before it rebelliously resumed its windswept state.
His black mask has faint silver accents along the edges that catch the dim light, and his mouth curves in a faint, almost lazy smile as he talks to a woman.
I’ll never forget that smile.
“Do you see that?”
“That guy?” She looks over casually. “Oh, I see him. Definitely.”
“No, I mean… don’t you recognize him?”
“Did I sleep with him?” She squints. “Did you sleep with him?”
“No—”
“Then I don’t care.”
“It’s Rafael,” I insist. “Gray?”
“Shut your mouth hole.” Paige gasps, whacking my arm. “No freaking way. He’s back?”
Well, apparently so. And he looks plenty chummy with the woman holding his arm, leaning in close. A breathtaking blonde with flowing hair that cascades down her back, framing a face that could belong in a magazine. Just his type.
“Are you sure? I mean, how can you even recognize him? He’s wearing a mask, and we haven’t seen him in…”
“Five years,” I say, a little more sharply than I intended.
Paige studies me with blatant curiosity. “That long, huh? Since the, uh…”
“The Incident,” I confirm.
“Are you okay?”
Of course I’m okay. So the boy next door is back—except he’s a man next door now. We barely interacted when he lived here; we likely won’t interact more now that he’s back. “He must be here for his dad’s funeral.”
“Could be. He hasn’t been back once—I honestly thought he was in prison.”
Prison? “Why would you think that?”
“Because of the way he left?” She scoffs. “And everything he did while he lived here?”
Sure, Rafael Gray was anything but a golden boy.
Fights, smoking, underage drinking, driving without a license—since he’s been able to walk, he’s been making bad choices.
But I always had a feeling that it wasn’t his fault—that John Gray had something to do with why his mother had left them.
With why Rafael looked so miserable. Seeing him miss Christmases and birthdays for five years straight confirmed my suspicions.
“Anyway,” Paige says, smacking her lips, “does anyone look good?”
Oh God. “I agreed I would wear the dress. Didn’t say I would actually mingle.”
“It’s implied, Scarlett.”
“My very first case of miscommunication.”
She grabs my arm, her face suddenly serious. “Find someone you like for some horizontal gymnastics, or I swear to God…”
“You know, you’re basically asking for me to get murdered,” I say, crossing my arms. “ ‘Meet a stranger! Let your guard down!’ Next thing you know, I’m a case on Dateline.”
She blinks, her eyes narrowing in that terrifying way that always makes me fold.
“Fine.”
“Great!” She hesitates. “And if that someone were Rafael Gray—”
“It’s not.”
“But if you wanted to—”
“I don’t.”
She rolls her eyes, waving me off. “Have fun, Scarlett.”
Why does that sound like a warning?
My palms are suddenly clammy. I look weird just standing here. Maybe I should spend some money I don’t have on a drink I don’t even want.
A group of masked women rush past me, forcing me to press against the wall. Relieved, I draw a deep breath. Some people don’t like to be in the background. Wall holders. Supporting cast. Luckily for me, that is where I thrive.
“I only wish I’d brought my book,” I say, my words getting lost in the crowd.
Unable to do much else, I people-watch. Or, rather, Rafael-watch. He’s still with that same woman, standing closer than I’d feel comfortable with. Even when he was a nineteen-year-old kid and lived here, he got around, so it shouldn’t surprise me that he’s still a flirt.
For some reason, it does.
I guess I imagined that he’d left for some tragic reason, and I just kept picturing him being miserable since.
Not that I pictured him often—only as much as the average person wonders about someone who mysteriously vanished.
His departure was just… sudden. And surprising.
And the talk of the town, I’m sure, though at eighteen I wasn’t privy to adults’ gossip.
Suddenly, as if he knows I’m watching, he glances over and catches my eye.
Fucking busted.
I whip my head around, heartbeat rising, then decide that’s probably not enough and walk past a wall of people until I’m on the other side of the room, awkwardly hovering next to the small alcoves.
But I look even more out of place here, so I dive into the crowd again, coming out at the bar. I watch over my shoulder and make sure Rafael is nowhere nearby. When I don’t see him anywhere, I exhale.
This is stupid, right? This town is too small to allow for avoiding people, and I’m sure The Incident is not at the forefront of his thoughts, especially with his father’s passing.
I check my phone, deciding two hours is a perfectly acceptable amount of time to spend here before going home. A long, excruciating amount of time, but at least Paige won’t be complaining.
One hour and fifty-three minutes left.
One hour and forty-eight minutes.
One hour and forty-four.
I tuck the phone away and turn around, then stop dead in my tracks, my heart giving a startled thump as I find myself face-to-face with him.
Up close, he’s even more of a presence, tall and broad-shouldered, the deep red of his suit catching flecks of light that make it shimmer.
It’s perfectly tailored, fitting him like it was made for his body alone, the fabric stretching just slightly over his chest and shoulders.
I can see now that the suit jacket has faint patterns woven into it, subtle swirls that seem to shift as he moves.
His eyes, framed by the mask, are as piercing and intense as they were five years ago. They’re an unsettling shade of gray, stormy and unreadable, and his jawline is sharp and severe, with a faint shadow of stubble. A small silver nose ring catches the light—subtle, but impossible to miss.
He looks like the devil.
He is the devil.
The devil is standing in front of me.