Page 72 of Made for Saints

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Just tired. That’s all.”

Her grip didn’t loosen, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not fine. You’ve barely touched your drink, and you’ve been acting weird ever since Dante dropped you off at the bridal shower.”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat at her words. “What are you talking about?” I said, too quickly, too defensively.

Adrianna tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “You tell me. Why are you suddenly asking about him? Does this have something to do with why he brought you there? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know there’s more to it.”

I hesitated, my throat tightening. The weight of her words hung between us, and I could see the concern in her eyes, but also the curiosity. She wasn’t going to let this go.

“Adrianna…” I started, my voice trailing off. I couldn’t tell her everything, not here, not now. Not when I didn’t even fully understand it myself.

“Just tell me,” she said softly, her voice shifting, her grip on my arm firm but not forceful. “What’s going on?”

I sighed, my shoulders sagging in defeat. “We kissed,” I admitted, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. They hung in the air between us, heavy and charged.

Adrianna’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. “You what?”

I swallowed hard, looking away as heat rushed to my cheeks. “It just...happened.”

Twice.

But I wasn't about to open that can of worms.

She leaned back slightly, letting go of my arm as she processed what I’d just said. “Okay,” she said slowly, drawing out the word. “So, you kissed him. And now you’re asking me about rumors that he let some woman die? Emilia, what’s going on here?”

“It’s not what you think,” I said quickly, my voice sharp.

“Then what is it?” Adrianna pressed, her tone more serious now. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re getting involved with him. Dante Conti, Emilia. Dante. You know who he is. What he is.”

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to steady the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “I’m not involved with him,” I said finally, my voice quieter. “It was just two kisses. That’s all.”

"Two?!" She was practically screaming. "Cazzo! Emilia! Oh mio dio. Il diavlo?" She asked cringing now.

I had broken my best friend. She was stunned into italian. Adrianna studied me for a moment, her expression softening slightly. “And?”

“And nothing,” I said firmly, though the words felt hollow.

She didn’t look convinced. “Look, I’m not judging you. I just...I don’t want you to get hurt. You know what people say about him. If half of it’s true…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “Just be careful, okay?”

I nodded, forcing a tight smile. “I will. I promise.”

But even as I said it, I could feel the lie beneath the words. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just one or two kisses. Not really. It wasn’t just a fleeting moment, something I couldbrush off or forget. It was a crack in the wall I’d built around myself, and I wasn’t sure if I could repair it—or if I even wanted to.

Adrianna sighed, leaning back against her stool and shaking her head slightly. “You always have to make things complicated, don’t you?” she said, her tone lightening just enough to make me smile faintly.

“Guess I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” I replied, though my voice lacked the usual humor.

She looked at me seriously now. "Okay, so how was it?"

We both locked eyes and burst out laughing. Because of course what would your best friend do after she learned you were kissing the devil?

Chapter 25

Emilia

The spoon clinked softly against the ceramic bowl as I scooped up another bite of cereal, the faint crunch barely audible over the dramatic music blaring from the TV. I was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked under me, the other dangling off the edge. My hair was an unwashed mess, twisted into a bun that leaned precariously to one side, and my oversized sweatshirt—one I’d stolen from my brother Tony years ago—hung off my shoulder. It was the kind of day that demanded no effort, no expectations. A day to simply exist.

The women ofThe Real Housewives of Salt Lake Citywere mid-screaming match, their perfectly manicured hands waving in the air as accusations flew back and forth like confetti. I wasn’t sure who was in the wrong, but honestly, did it even matter? The drama was delicious, the kind of train wreck you couldn’t look away from. I shoved another spoonful of cereal into my mouth, my eyes glued to the screen.

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