Page 3 of The Saint

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I want you to eat.” He snaked his hand up my shirt and lightly grazed my side and stomach with his fingers, his touch warm like summer sunshine. “I know it’s hard, but it’ll help.” He lay there and stared at me, his blue eyes gentler than they’d ever been. His stare usually had an intensity that never faded, only grew with the duration of his gaze. But now, it was softer than a silky rose petal.

We lay together in silence, just looking at each other, the night deepening out the window.

A while later, his phone vibrated with a message. He checked it before he returned it to the nightstand. “Breakfast is served.”

I already knew before Gerard texted—because I could smell it. I could smell the melted butter on the fluffy pancakes, the crisp applewood-smoked bacon, the scrambled eggs covered in gooey cheese. “I guess I’m a little hungry.”

Normally, he would smile at that, but his mouth remained hard in a near-grimace. “Attagirl.” He left the bed and put on his gray sweatpants, his ass tight in the fabric, his junk slightly outlined in the front.

If this were yesterday, I’d be jumping him, but today, I felt nothing.

We sat at the dining table where the food was covered with silver domes. Gerard had brought coffee even though it was seven in the evening, prime dinnertime. Bastien removed his cover and showed the T-bone steak and scrambled eggs. Instead of having coffee or juice, he poured himself a scotch.

I had blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs with cheese and a couple slices of bacon, my favorite meal. The steam from the food hit me in the face the second I removed the lid, and the smell incited my appetite.

I could tell Bastien wasn’t as hungry as he usually was because he didn’t inhale his food like a bear. He took bites here and there, focusing on his drink more than the meal. His eyes drifted out the window often, his mind somewhere else. He hadn’t died by drowning, but he was clearly fucked up by what happened too. Maybe he felt responsible for what had gone down. Maybe he just felt like shit about it.

“Are you okay?”

His gaze flicked back to me, his eyes wounded in pain. “No.”

I echoed his words back to him. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

His eyes drifted away again, rejecting my affection. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

“Hard not to.”

He continued to stare out the window, half of his food still on his plate, which was a first. His broad shoulders were sunken under an invisible weight, and his eyes lacked their usual shine, even when the glow of the city reflected in them like Christmas lights.

“So…what happened?”

He took a heavy breath, his chest rising when I broached the topic. “Long story. The Aristocrats demanded that Adrien stop his business because it’s an insult to the French people. I relayed that message to Adrien—more than once—but he chose to ignore it. Oscar and the Aristocrats have always respected the Fifth Republic and agreed with its politics because it protected the longevity and high status of the French empire. So, I expected this behavior from him the least.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? I could have talked to Adrien.”

“Separation of church and state.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know you want no association with my criminal activities,” he said. “I did what I could to keep Adrien alive since I knew you wouldn’t want him killed, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“That doesn’t sound like him. To just disregard a threat like that.”

He was quiet for a while. “I think he was too depressed to see reason. That business was all he had left.”

Because I’d left him. I felt a twinge of guilt, but it was very brief. “I never want to see him again.” I’d already said that straight to Adrien’s face, but I said it again because I meant it. Adrien panicked, and if Bastien weren’t in my life, that panic wouldhave gotten me killed. “If he hadn’t cheated on me, I would be dead right now.”

Bastien didn’t disagree with that and continued to look out the window as if he hadn’t heard me. “You can talk about it…if you want.” He still wouldn’t look at me, like he carried the burden of shame for a crime he didn’t commit.

I wouldn’t put Bastien through that. What he had witnessed was already eating him alive. “It’s okay.”

“I know some good people if you want a professional.”

“You have a therapist?”

“No,” he said. “But I know all the good ones.”