Page 116 of Picture Perfect

"Then don't jump yet," he says softly, understanding in his gaze. "Just take a step. We'll be right there with you."

I nod, my breath catching in my throat as I meet his unwavering stare. Terrified to give in, terrified not to—I stand on the precipice, with Dre offering his hand, asking me to trust in something I've never had before.

"Okay," I finally say. "One step." And for the first time in a long time, the darkness doesn't feel quite so all-consuming.

Chapter fifty-two

Saint

I’m reeling. Fucking reeling. I can’t even hear the words tumbling out of Gen’s mouth as she walks beside me. William was in Princess's room after dark, long after dark. And when Dre went back last night it was clear it wasn't some clandestine meeting of minds. The thought coils in my stomach, tight and cold.

"Saint, are you even listening?" Gen nudges me, her wide eyes searching my face.

"Sorry, just got a lot on my mind," I mutter, scanning the sea of students for that familiar flash of blonde hair and the piercing green eyes that seem to see right through me.

I’m fucking addicted to this girl. My protective instinct is in overdrive. But, I know if we ride in without a plan, we’ll only make things worse for her. She’s only seventeen and her parents still have rights–even if they don’t fucking deserve them.

My heart stops in my chest as I finally catch a glimpse of her. She’s standing by her locker with a textbook clutched to her chest like a shield. She's always braced for battle, this girl. I had always thought it was because she thought she was better than everyone else, but how fucking wrong I’d been.

The steel in her gaze could cut through armor, and it's enough to keep my questions locked up tight behind my teeth. I can't risk her walls going back up; not now when she's finally letting us see a glimpse of what lies beneath the ice.

"Hey, Princess," I say, forcing casualness into my tone as we stop beside her.

"Morning," she replies, her lips twitching up in the ghost of a smile. That smile does strange things to me, twists my insides in a way I'm still trying to figure out.

"Is everything okay?" I venture, hoping my concern doesn't come off as prying.

"Of course," she says, but there's a sharpness to her words, a reminder that she's more fortress than sanctuary. A clear warning that if I ask the questions I want she'll cut out my tongue without hesitation.

I nod, swallowing the interrogation that's itching to break free. Not here. Not now. She's a fortress under siege, and trust is the drawbridge I'm trying to lower.

Her glacial reception over the last week has thawed some. I don't want to push too far too fast.

I notice how she relaxes ever so slightly when Dre joins us, slinging an arm around her shoulders. There's warmth there, something that might look like ease if I didn't know better. But Chess gets nothing but a frosty nod, and I can't help but wonder what he's done to earn such a chilly reception from our Nordic beauty. I make a mental note to corner Chess later.

"Something up with you and Princess?" I murmur to him under the guise of checking my phone.

"I have absolutely no idea," Chess sounds defeated, his hazel eyes darting to Princess before fixing on me, a silent challenge in their depths.

"Well figure it out," I shoot back, feeling protective instincts flare up.

He gives a curt nod, understanding the unspoken agreement between us. With confirmation, I return my attention back to my girl—our girl. I hope.

I brush a stray lock of blonde hair from Princess's face, feeling the silken threads slide between my fingers. Her green eyes, usually as guarded as a vault, soften for a moment as I lean in. I cup her cheek, a gesture that feels more intimate than I'm likely allowed with her, and press my lips to hers. The taste of her, something like wild berries and rebellion, floods my senses, leaving me craving more.

"Morning, Princess," I murmur against her lips, pulling back just enough to see her reaction.

"Morning, Saint," she whispers back, her voice a melody over the cacophony of locker slams and idle chatter.

The others throw their greetings into the mix, but they sound distant, secondary to the static charge between us. Gen's laughter rings out, Dre's deep voice follows, but it's background noise. Princess's gaze holds mine, and I'm lost in the emerald depths.

"Breakfast?" I ask, offering up the brown bag I brought for her. It's a small gesture, but everything with her feels significant.

"Thanks." Her lips curve into a smile that could thaw glaciers—the same ones she still keeps around her heart. She leans in for another kiss, a thank you that ignites something in my chest. My hand finds the small of her back, pulling her closer, and I deepen the kiss, drawing the sweetness of her into me.

Around us, the whispers crescendo like we're the main act in a sideshow they can't get enough of. Let them watch. Let them whisper.

"Can't get enough of you," I confess, my voice low, for her ears only.

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