Page 63 of The Saint

“I’m talking now, and you’re going to fucking listen.”

Jesus, that felt like a slap across the face. He’d never spoken to me like that before. If this was restraint, I hated to picture how he spoke to men before he slit their throats.

“I’ve already compromised with you. I’m willing to have these kids that I don’t want if it’s whatyouwant. Now, it’syourturn to compromise. It’s called diplomacy, negotiation, being a fucking adult. You have these kids and I continue my work, or you don’t have these kids and I continue my work. Those are your options.” He abruptly left the table and walked behind me, probably heading to the bedroom.

I stayed in my chair because I was too scared to move. I’d never seen him like this before. Never had him talk down to me. Never seen him attempt to restrain all the rage that was reserved justfor me. He’d talked about ripping off my wedding dress, and then mere moments afterward, it was as if he hated me.

He came back a minute later, dressed in his street clothes like he intended to walk out.

I didn’t stop him. Didn’t ask him to stay.

When he walked out, he slammed the door—and he’d never done that either.

When midnight arrived and he didn’t come home, I knew he wouldn’t be back for the rest of the night.

I lay in bed, constantly on the verge of tears, hating how distant I felt from him.

I looked at his location often, something I never did, wanting to know where he was because the paranoia had set in.

But Bastien wouldn’t do that.

His dot stayed inside a bar for a couple hours, like he needed some time alone to cool off. Then he moved to different locations across Paris, perhaps meeting with his other partners.

I lay there, unable to sleep, having the shakes because I was that scared.

Scared that he might leave me. That I’d crossed the line with what I said. That I’d forever changed the dynamic of the best relationship of my life.

I knew Bastien wouldn’t call or text. He’d stay out until morning. Maybe not even come home then. I could tell that was howpissed off he was. But I knew he would ever ignore my calls or texts, no matter how much he might want to.

So, I called him, blanketed in the glow from the lit-up screen.

It barely rang once before he picked up. There were voices in the background, and then they started to recede, like he was walking away to another part of the building or perhaps to the sidewalk outside. He didn’t say anything, like he knew I was okay because he’d been checking my location the way I’d been checking his.

I didn’t know what to say, how to start. So I said the only thing that I could, the only thing that made sense. “I love you.” I wished he were home, but I didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want him there if he didn’t want to be.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, let the silence sink between us like an anchor out to sea.

I was scared he wouldn’t say it back.

He let out a quiet breath, and it wasn’t clear if it was a sigh of annoyance or simply a calming breath. Or perhaps he’d been smoking when I called, and the cigar still hung between his lips. “I love you, sweetheart. Always.”

I was on the couch when he walked inside.

It was four in the morning. I’d gotten so tired of trying to sleep with this anxiety in my heart that I just showered and got ready like it was morning and then sat on the couch in front of the fire, wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants.

He stopped and stared at me, like he hadn’t expected me to be there.

I didn’t look directly at him, like my stare would chase him away again.

He ran his fingers through his hair then moved into the armchair, crossing one ankle on the opposite knee.

I hated this. How distant he felt. How strained our relationship had become. It was a strange situation because an apology didn’t feel necessary from either of us. No one had really done anything wrong, but the conversation had imploded our relationship, nonetheless. “I want to have children with you.”

He shifted his gaze and looked at me, like that wasn’t what he expected me to say.

I could picture a little boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Picture my heart a mess on the floor at the sight of him. Watching him grow into a man and leave the house would be so bittersweet. “But I can’t do that if you’re in this business. Not after what happened to me. Because if what happened to me happened to them…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, not when just the thought would kill me.

He looked away again, like he’d just stepped into the ring for another round.

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