Page 107 of Gilded Saint

“You’re scaring me.”

My gaze roams the ceiling. This is not how it was supposed to happen. “I’m so sorry, Willow.”

“For what? Because I’m with you? Don’t be.”

She crawls next to me.

“Don’t think you want to do that. I smell.”

“You think I care about that?”

“You’ve showered. You’re ready for bed.” You’re young and innocent, and unless I figure something out, your family is lost to you.

She palms my jaw, forcing me to look at her. Apparently, that’s not enough because she pushes aside the comforter, tugs on her nightgown, lifting it over her knees. I don’t know what she’s doing. Hell, I don’t know what I’m doing. With the silk higher, she slings a leg over mine, so she’s straddling my legs.

“What’s wrong? You look like someone died.”

“Someone did die. You. Willow Gagliano died today.”

“And Leo Sullivan died too?”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was not the plan.”

“You don’t want me with you? Is that what you’re upset about?”

“Willow…your family—” She doesn’t get it. How can she? I didn’t either.

She pinches my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. I don’t want to look at her, though. Not when I failed.

“Listen to me. I love you. I’m where I want to be. If my choice is to live in a world without you or live in a world with you, I choose you. Every time. I choose you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Perché? Why do you say that? Because I’m young? Get that out of your head. I’ve got an old soul, and you rescued me from a cruel world. I fell in love with the man who cares when there’s nothing in it for him. I fell in love with the man who might not always do right, but who always tries.” She flattens her palm over my sternum. “I fell in love with the man who gave me wings.”

“Hate to tell you, but I don’t see any wings.” In fact, I see a prison sentence she doesn’t yet perceive but will one day.

“You believed in my painting. In my art. You believed I could make it on my own.”

“And you would have if?—”

“I still can. You strengthen me. And wherever we’re going, you’ll still do that. The man I fell in love with didn’t die. He’s still right here, no?”

The room blurs, and I have to look away from her innocence. Jesus. My throat clenches and emotion wells up. I don’t handle it well when things do not go according to plan.

“What’s your name?” Her eyes narrow. “Can you tell me? Or will we be using aliases? The ones in the duffels?”

I lift her palm from my heart and press it against my cheek, then press my lips into her palm.

“You really want to stay with me? Even if it means never seeing your family again? Your friends? You might not be able to paint. We’ll meet with relocation experts, but they may say painting is too identifiable.” It probably is.

“Do you not listen? I want to be with you. With my husband.” The curves of her lips curl into a teasing smile. “Yes, this began as an arrangement. But things change.” In a softer, tentative voice, she adds, “It is real to me. We’re real to me.”

I press my forehead to hers. My eyes burn with love for this woman. Once again, something that was not my intention. Another plan gone sideways.

“We can make it legal when we’re Stateside.”What am I saying? She has choices.“If you want. You’re young. If you want to date…we can do that too. You have options. There’s no rush. You can build the life you want. It’s all up to you.”

What I don’t repeat is that she shouldn’t have to build a new life. She should have the life I planned for her. The safe one. In London. Pursuing her career with her family by her side.

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