Page 49 of Gilded Saint

When I approached Leo in the shower, I didn’t anticipate he would ask me to join him in bed afterward. I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps I expected nothing because I didn’t think it through. I acted on instinct and determination.

“Who was your first?”

His question is so unexpected, I doubt he actually said it. But when his eyelids flutter open, I’m met with serious, dark eyes.

“His name was Jules. What about you? Who was your first?”

His lips contort, lightening his intensity. “I’m asking the questions.”

“You don’t want to talk about your first?” Surely, he’s not like the Italian men I grew up with, believing only the woman’s first matters. But then again, I know nothing about him. Not really.

“It was a long time ago. What happened to Jules?”

“The relationship ran its course.”

“I meant how did he die?”

“He’s alive.” He’s alive because I ended things with him, but it wasn’t an epic tragedy.

“You said ‘was.’”

“When?”

“You said his name was Jules.”

“Oh, no…I suppose I used the wrong tense. He’s still alive and well in Paris. He’s a sculptor. We met at university.” My fingers trace the crisp, smooth sheets. “Why?”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes…I think.” He shifts the pillows and lies down on his side, so we’re facing one another on an equal plane.

He traces my cheek with his index finger, the touch soft, his expression thoughtful. “Why didn’t you marry him?”

“That would’ve never been an option.” He pulls his hand back and mirrors my position in the bed, hands near his face.

“Your father?”

“Jules was an artist, like me. He was my rebellion. It was selfish of me to be with him.” I hate admitting that out loud.

“Why?”

“I believed my father would never force me into an arranged marriage, but losing my virginity was a precaution, just in case. As it turns out, it wasn’t the power play I assumed.” I focus my gaze on his chest and the rhythmic rise and fall. “I cared about Jules. And that’s why I ended things with him. My father never found out about him, but if he had…well, it would be risky.” I sigh with the weight of the truth.

“It’s confusing, isn’t it? When we have different objectives?”

I’m not sure I understand.

“You wanted a life on your terms, but in the end, you cared about him and valued his life above yours. It must’ve been a confusing time for you.”

I think back to those days that were up and down like a rollercoaster. At the peak, I thrilled to the freedom, and in the trough, terror haunted me. “If father found out, I would’ve been pulled out of university. He wasn’t Italian, and he wasn’t a member of the Lupi Grigi—or any family, for that matter—so no, there was no future.” I was selfish, there’s truly no other way to explain it. I’m lucky Jules escaped unscathed. Or at least, Scarlet says I am.

“I’m not Italian.” I meet his thoughtful gaze. Is the syndicate’s world different than ours?

“You’re a part of the syndicate. My father respects the syndicate.”

“I’m American.”

“Yes, you are.” I reach out and finger the curls on his chest. He grasps my wrist and presses his lips to my pulse point.

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