Page 129 of Picture Perfect

Chapter fifty-seven

Addy

The sun hasn't even climbed halfway up the sky, but my room is already drenched in a soft glow that seems to wrap around me like a warm embrace. I'm twisting my blonde hair into a complicated braid when I catch Saint's reflection in the mirror. His dark curls are a stark contrast against the white pillowcase, and his eyes, usually so guarded and calculating, rest on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Morning," I murmur, not quite meeting his gaze as I fumble with a few stray strands. The air between us is thick with something unspoken, a tension that's both unnerving and electric.

"Morning," he echoes, and there's a rasp in his voice that suggests he's not just sleepy. He props himself up on one elbow, the sheets slipping to reveal the defined lines of his chest. It's a sight that would have made the old Addy blush, but I've learned to steel myself against such distractions.

"School's gonna be the same circus it always is," I say, trying to sound casual as I grab an outfit from my closet. "We should get going soon."

He doesn't respond immediately, and I'm about to turn away when I finally catch his eye in the mirror. There's something different about him this morning—something vulnerable. It catches me off guard, makes my heart skip a beat in a way I'm not ready to analyze just yet.

He's sitting on the edge of my bed now, fiddling with something in his hands. His muscular frame was on full display as he sits there in nothing but black boxer briefs that are enough to make me drool. It's unfair how hot he is. How hot all three of them are.

I can't resist tracing the intricate designs of his tattoos with my eyes.

"Princess." Saint's voice breaks the silence, and his eyes lock onto mine in the mirror. His voice is low, almost reverent, and I freeze. "I have something for you."

Puzzled, I pivot to face him fully. "For me?" My voice sounds skeptical even to my own ears. We're not some lovey-dovey couple; we're two people who understand each other's shadows better than anyone else could.

"Yeah." Saint pushes off the bed and pads over to where I'm standing. I'm hit with the faint scent of his cologne, a mix of wood and spice that somehow always seems to linger in the air long after he's gone.

He looks down at whatever he's been fiddling with in his hands, and I find myself holding my breath. Saint isn't the type to do things by halves—if he's decided to give me something, it won't be insignificant. The fact that he seems hesitant only makes me more nervous.

His hand comes up, closed around something small, and my pulse races.

"Saint, what is this about?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Just... hold out your hand, Princess," he says, and there's an edge of something like excitement in his tone.

Hesitantly, I extend my hand toward him, palm up, and watch as he gently places a small object in the center of it. His fingers brush against mine, and I'm acutely aware of the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his touch. Whatever he's given me remains hidden in the curl of my fingers, a secret waiting to be revealed.

I unfurl my fingers, the cool metal weight resting against my skin. My breath hitches as I glimpse the ring—a delicate band of white gold, intricately designed with a subtle elegance that speaks volumes. The metal is warm against my skin, a stark contrast to the icy anticipation coursing through my veins. The centerpiece is a stone of such clarity it could be a fragment of the sky itself, held aloft by a crown of intricate filigree.

"Saint..." I begin, but words fail me. Even the air feels thicker, charged with an energy that wasn't present before this small, impossibly beautiful object made its appearance.

"Princess," he says, his voice low and steady, "my uncle... He's finalized things with your father. You know what this means?"

My gaze tears away from the ring to meet his dark eyes. They hold a gravity I've never seen in him before, a solemnity that roots me to the spot. "It means we're betrothed, doesn't it?" My throat tightens around the words, making them sound more like a confession than a question.

"Officially announced." There's no mistaking the pride in his tone, even as it sends a tremor of apprehension through me. This is real, happening, and every choice leading up to this moment settles around my shoulders like a mantle.

"Officially..." I echo faintly, rolling the word around in my mouth, tasting its finality.

"Look, I know this isn't how you dreamed it would go down. This isn't exactly a traditional courtship and it's not like you chose me, not really." He steps closer, reaches out to tilt my chin up so I'm looking at him again. "But I want you to have everything you deserve, Princess. Starting with this ring."

The simple act of eye contact breaks the spell the ring has cast over me. Saint's presence, his warmth, becomes the anchor in a suddenly shifting world. I slip the ring onto my finger, where it belongs—where he believes it belongs—and something akin to resolve steadies my heart.

Saint leans against the doorframe, watching me as I try to make sense of this new reality.

"Saint, you didn't have to get me a ring," I say, turning to face him fully. The diamond sparkles on my finger, a beacon of commitment and unexpected affection.

He pushes away from the frame, stepping into the light. "I did," he insists, his voice carrying the firmness I've come to associate with his brand of care. "This might not be a traditional courtship, Princess, but you're still getting the best. That's non-negotiable." His eyes hold mine, unyielding yet vulnerable in a way that only I get to see.

"Thank you..." I trail off, unsure how to express the complexities of gratitude mixed with apprehension. He nods, as if he understands every unsaid word lurking beneath the surface.

"Get ready for more surprises," he says after a pause, a hint of something like excitement lacing his tone. "We're going out after school."

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