Page 118 of Picture Perfect

"Princess..." My name for her comes out half-breath, half-disbelief. "You won't regret it." The promise falls from my lips before I can think better of it, raw and unguarded.

Her gaze holds mine, a silent question lingering in the depths of her eyes. I step forward, closing the distance between us until I can almost feel the heat of her skin. Even though this isn't real, even though there's a web of lies we're weaving around ourselves, I want her—more than I've been willing to admit.

"Saint?" She tilts her head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious gesture that draws my focus to the delicate curve of her neck.

"Whatever this means for us," I say, my voice low, intimate even in the empty room, "I'm here for you. We all are." I know she's much closer with Dre and Chess, their bonds forged through shared darkness and understanding, but this—this is something different. And I'm determined to make it count.

"Thank you," she murmurs, stepping into the space I've held open for her. There's a trust there, hard-earned and fragile, that fills me with a fierce protectiveness.

Whatever comes next, I'll stand by her. I'll fight for her. And I'll make damn sure she never regrets saying yes.

The silence between us stretches, electric and thick with unspoken promises. Princess's eyes are steady on mine, the green of them like new leaves against the stormy grey of uncertainty. She bites her lip, a tell that she's wrestling with words.

"Saint, if we're doing this... I have stipulations." Her voice is firm, brokering no argument, and I respect her all the more for it.

"Okay." I nod because it's Princess, and whatever she needs, I'm in. "Talk to me."

She hesitates, then straightens her shoulders. "I want everything clear. Written down. A contract—"

"Of course." The agreement tumbles from me without a second thought. Not about control; it's about understanding, mutual respect. "We'll draft it together. Whatever terms you need."

"Freedom," she says, "that's what this should be about. Not being bound by someone else's expectations or rules."

"Exactly." I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers, a tangible sign of solidarity. "This isn't about claiming you or putting you in a box, Princess. It's about giving you space... space to breathe, to be yourself, to feel safe, to build a life and a future."

Her grip tightens, and something shifts in her expression—a wall coming down, a step toward trusting me. "And comfortable?" There's an edge of hope there, a flicker of desire for something better than what she's known.

"Especially comfortable." I squeeze her hand back. "You set your lines, and I swear, they'll be honored. No one's going to force you into anything. This is your show, Princess. We're just living in it."

"Thank you, Saint," she whispers, a wisp of a smile gracing her lips. "For understanding, for... this."

"Always." And I mean it, every word. Whatever Princess wants, whatever makes her feel secure in this messed-up world we're navigating—I'll make it happen. Because even though I didn't see it coming, she's become the unexpected center of everything, and I'll guard that fiercely.

Chapter fifty-three

Addy

The final bell's shrill ring still echoes in my ears as I shuffle through the crowded hallways, my backpack heavy on one shoulder. Saint is by my side, a constant presence I’m starting to grow used to.

Dangerous.

"Come on," he says, his voice low and steady. "Dre's waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" I repeat, surprised. My heart skips a beat at the mention of his name.

"Yep. Wants to take you home himself." Saint's dark curls bob slightly as he leads me towards the exit, his face unreadable. There's a protective edge to him, as if he's ready to shield me from anything, but it's not his protection I'm wondering about right now—it's Dre's intentions.

We push through the double doors and step outside, and there he is leaning against his motorcycle like some brooding hero straight out of a dark romance novel. His blonde hair brushes his shoulders, tattoos peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves. He's the embodiment of every reckless dream I've ever had, yet the vulnerability that flashes in his gaze makes him real.

"Hey," he calls out, lifting an extra helmet in his hand. A cocky smile plays on his lips, but as our eyes lock, I catch something else—a flicker of doubt.

"Hi," I respond, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrays me, quivering just slightly.

He steps forward, closing the gap between us, and hands me the helmet. I take it, our fingers brushing, and the simple touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. His smile widens, but that glint is still in his eye—he's putting on a show, acting unflappable, but the concern is still there. Will I accept this ride from him? Will I accept him?

As I step closer, the distance between us evaporates under the intensity of Dre's gaze. He reaches out, and his arm slips around my lower back with an unexpected tenderness. The world seems to hold its breath as he draws me in, and his lips brush against mine in a kiss that is paradoxically soft and powerful.

"Are you willing to take a chance with me?" His voice is low, almost vulnerable, despite the confidence that usually clings to him like a second skin. "I want to show you something."

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