Page 29 of The Devil's Den

She likes me. It’s a relief to hear her say that. For so long, I thought she’d never see me that way. Sure, we’re friends, but I’m the boy locked away in her basement, and she’s the daughter of the man holding the key.

We’re complete opposites in that way, but we’re also the same in the ways that count. We like the same jokes, have the same wishes for what our life will look like when we’re out of here, and most importantly, we like spending time together.

I often wonder if we’d be friends had we attended the same school. Would she give a boy like me a chance? Would she be shy the way she is now? I bet all the guys would follow her around, desperate for even a bit of her attention.

I can’t believe her asshole of a father won’t let her go to school. That’s got to be against some kind of law.

“What do we do now?” she asks, her gaze dancing between the floor and me.

“Get married?” I tease with a smirk.

“I’m serious.” She giggles, swatting me lightly on the chest.

“I don’t know, Aida. We just exist. Here. In this basement. Dreaming of another life.”

Her eyes bore into mine, glistening with tears as she forces a smile. “I’d never want to exist with anyone but you.”

“I wish I could give you more.” My voice is steady, yet there’s a tiny crack in it.

She gives my hand a squeeze. “You’ve given me enough.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s true.”

Her eyes dance between me and her fingers playing on her lap. “You…um…you can give me something else.”

“What’s that?” I sit up straighter, wanting to give her everything.

“I’ve never…” Her voice is a barely there whisper.

“Never what?”

“Never kissed anyone.”

My pulse quickens. “Do you want to kiss me, Aida?” I breathe.

“Yes.” She nods, her gaze tucked into mine.

Slowly, with a soft exhale, I lean into her, and I do.

I kiss her.

CHAPTERELEVEN

AIDA

I replayour first kiss time and time again, even though we’ve had many in the months since then, shared whenever we’re together. And sometimes, in those brief moments, it feels as though we’re normal. Like I’m a girl who met a boy she’s crazy about. But then I remember where we are, like the storm chasing away the sun, and it hurts so bad.

And sure, I wish Matteo didn’t have to be here at all, but if he had to be anywhere else of my dad’s choosing, I’m glad it’s with me. At least he has Ms. Greco and me looking out for him. And today, I plan to make it special for him, because it’s not any ordinary day.

My father has never celebrated my birthday. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. If it weren’t for Ms. Greco, it’d be just like any other day.

When I was little, maybe seven or eight, before Matteo, I had asked him if I had a birthday. Everyone in my family was celebrating them, and it made me wonder why I wasn’t.

He told me I was born on March third and that was the end of the conversation. I always just assumed he didn’t want it celebrated because that’s the day Mom died. I get it. I accepted it.

But Ms. Greco hasn’t. Every year, she’d get me a cupcake and we’d sing happy birthday when Dad wasn’t home. It was nice to have at least one person care. She’d also sneak me a gift.

This year, she got me winter boots and a bunch of books. Last year for my fourteenth birthday, she got me a diary. I never had one before, but it’s been fun to keep my thoughts in one place, locked with a key so that no one can read what’s inside.

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