Page 21 of The Saint

“I’ll handle it, like I always do,” he said calmly. “Don’t waste another minute worrying about it.”

“Do you have a plan? Are you going to kill them first?”

He smirked. “That sounds like the opposite ofnotworrying.”

I appreciated the fact that he tried to shield me from sources of nightmares and shadows of anxiety, but he was the single most important person in my life, and the idea of losing him scared the shit out of me. “I fucking love you, so how am I not supposed to worry?” I raised my voice more than I should, but my frustration got the best of me.

His smile was brighter than the sun on a summer day. He relaxed in the chair, arms across his chest, staring me down with blue eyes that were both soft and amused at the same time.

His mood had completely changed, and I didn’t know why. “What?”

“How many times are you going to tell me you love me before you realize what you’re saying?” He cocked his head, that smile still wide on his mouth.

A tornado of anxiety burst in my chest and turned every organ and bone upside down. Fear hit me like a ton of bricks because I was scared. I’d gone to sleep one night, and then I woke up to a whole new life, a life I hadn’t wanted. But the roots I’d planted were too deep to run. My addiction to this man was so strong that a detox would kill me. It had all happened so fast, and it wasn’t until that very moment that I’d stopped to take a breath and accept this reality. It had always felt temporary, a moment in time that I should treasure before it was gone, but now, I knew this was it.

This was forever.

“I—I forgot I have a doctor’s appointment.” I grabbed my book and stuffed it into my bag, feeling his hard stare on my face. “I’ll see you later.” I left my chair and slid between our table and our neighbor’s before I passed behind him.

He didn’t order me to sit down. Didn’t force me to face the conversation like a man.

He just let me go.

I went across town to Mason Louvard to get one of their famous crookies, a chocolate chip cookie baked into a croissant, my go-to when I wanted to eat my feelings. But there weren’t enough crookies in the world to make this unease go away.

I sat at a table alone, my coffee sitting in front of me even though I’d had enough caffeine for the day. It was the only time I missed my old apartment, so I could have somewhere to go alone. But now, I lived with Bastien, so he’d be there waiting for me when I walked inside, prepared to finish the conversation once I was ready to have it.

Would I ever be ready to have it?

How had this happened?

How had it happened so fast?

The divorce papers had just gone through, and now I was living a whole new life with someone else. I was back in a position I didn’t want to be in, not when I hadn’t had enough time to heal and let go of the past.

But I must be ready…if I was the first one to say it.

It’d been hours, and Bastien hadn’t tried to call or text. He gave me space, even though it must have been hard for him. It must have hurt him to watch me run away…again. Just when I thought about him, he texted me.I have stuff to do, so the house is yours. I’ll be home in the morning.He didn’t want me out in the city, sitting alone in cafés while I tried to juggle my feelings.

I texted him back right away.Please don’t go. I’ll head home now.

His three dots didn’t appear. I had no idea if he was mad or not. It was hard to tell through a text. Now that I had debit cards and credit cards with no limits, I paid for a cab when I normally would have walked. Having unlimited funds made life easier, saved me time, made everything more convenient.

When I returned home, the gate immediately opened for me as if the guards had been expecting me to show up. I took the elevator to the top floor, my heart dancing in my throat, and then I approached the double doors that led to the primary bedroom—the suite I shared with him.

I was scared, scared of something that had already happened, something that had already come true. I stared at the door handle made out of gold before I turned it and stepped inside.

Bastien was in one of the armchairs in the living room, shirtless and barefoot, his knees wide apart as he sat in his gray sweatpants. His elbow was propped on the armrest, his fingers against his temple, and he stared at me with an empty look.

He showed no anger. No resentment. Nothing at all.

I moved to the end of the couch, the spot closest to the armchair, feeling his stare follow me then burn into my cheek.

The fireplace was cold because it was a warm day, the sun coming through the open curtains. It was almost five now, so the sun would be going down soon. I focused on the fireplace because it was so hard to look at him.

“Sweetheart.”

I blinked once or twice before I found the strength to meet his stare head on. When my eyes locked on his piercing blue eyes, I felt a rush of adrenaline.

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