Page 130 of Picture Perfect

"Out?" I echo, puzzled. My mind races—what could he possibly mean?

"Shopping," he clarifies, watching me closely for a reaction. "My future wife deserves a wardrobe that fits her perfectly. Clothes that make her feel comfortable, confident." The corners of his mouth twitch upward in a rare, soft smile.

"Saint, that's... it's too much," I protest, even as warmth blooms in my chest at the thought of such indulgence.

"Nothing's too much for you," he counters without hesitation, his fingers reaching out to trace the edge of my jaw. "You'll need to get used to it."

His declaration settles around us, a promise woven from the threads of new beginnings and a shared future. But that's not what this is.

"Saint, I—I don't have the money for new clothes," I stammer, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and lingering disbelief. The idea of a shopping spree feels like another world—one that's always been beyond my grasp. "The Winthrops don't—"

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that echoes around the sparse bedroom. "Princess, you really think I'd let you pay?" he asks, his eyes alight with something fierce yet tender. "This is on me, okay? You don't need to worry about money again."

A knot forms in my throat as I process his words. "But that's not—I don't want—"

"Listen," Saint cuts in, his voice low but firm. "Mason is setting you up with an allowance. A card too, tied to an account just for you." His hand reaches out, fingertips grazing my arm in a rare display of open affection. "You deserve financial freedom, Princess. It's yours. Nonnegotiable."

The gravity of what he's offering—the security, the care—it's overwhelming. My heart thrums with a confusing cocktail of emotions. Gratitude swells within me, potent and raw. Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that tastes of promises and uncharted futures.

It's gentler than with Chess, less intense than with Dre, but it's undeniably real. As I pull back, our breaths mingling, I search Saint's eyes. "Thank you," I whisper, meaning every syllable.

His arms encircle me, strong and sure. "Anything for you," he murmurs into my hair. And in that moment, wrapped in the safety of his embrace, I allow myself the luxury of believing him.

??????

The moment Saint and I step through the school doors, the air feels charged, electric with whispers and pointed stares. I tighten my grip on his hand, trying not to let the nerves show. A flash of silver on my finger catches the fluorescent light, and a murmur ripples through the crowd like wildfire.

"Is that—" someone begins.

"Did they just—"

"Hey, Addy, let me see the rock!"

Saint's arm is an unyielding band around my waist, steering me through the throng of bodies and buzzing speculation. I can almost feel the weight of their eyes, heavy with curiosity and envy.

"Congrats, Addy," a girl from my English class says, her smile a little too wide as she cranes her neck for a better look at the ring. "You're one lucky girl."

"Thanks, Kelsey," I manage, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. Lucky. Is that what this is?

We finally reach my locker, and Saint leans against the one next to it, watching the hallway traffic with a hawk's gaze. He's a sentinel amidst the chaos, dark curls framing his face like a shadow.

"Try to ignore them," he murmurs, his voice a low timbre only I can hear. "It's just noise."

But it's hard to ignore when you're the center of attention. Every time the locker door clicks shut, another classmate appears, each interaction a variation of the last.

"Wow, Addy, so it's true then?" a guy from my history class asks, leaning against the locker row. "You and Saint?"

"Seems like it," I reply, keeping my response neutral.

"Can I see the ring?" another chimes in, and I offer a brief glimpse before tucking my hand away, self-conscious.

"Saint's a catch, Winthrop," a voice from the back calls out, followed by a chorus of agreement.

"Enough," Saint growls, his protective nature slipping out. The crowd dissipates, but their words linger like an echo in my ears.

By the time I take my seat in Mrs. Larkin's biology class, the buzz hasn't died down. Even now, heads turn, eyes glancing at my hand resting on the desk. The ring feels heavier than before, a symbol of something I'm still trying to comprehend.

"Addy, everyone's talking about it," whispers Sarah, who sits beside me, her intrigue barely contained. "You and Saint? That's huge."

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