Page 77 of Vicious Saint
Pathetic.
The annoyance of it all results in menot-so-discreetlyflipping off Saint’s creepy great uncle Magnus when I catch him staring at my tits. The same guy, mind you, I caught lurking outside the women’s bathroom at the rehearsal dinner.
I inhale, his sneer and the pearl clutching gasps in the room like a breath of fresh air, feeling slightly better about the sudden lack of control over my life. That is, until a set of fiendish eyes crawl up my skin all the way from the altar.
Given both the priest and groom prefer holy sacraments over sins, it’s safe to assume the latter is coming from no other than…the best man.
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I decide the right course of action is to meet Saint dead in the eyes, immediately rattled by their vibrance as always.
From halfway across the church, I kid you not.
What kind of bullshit is this?
How the freak is green supposed to compete with…I don’t know…the fucking sky?
As if his eye color isn’t enough to have me question my life choices, Saint’s hair appears like dark silk on his head. He stands stoic next to his father in a sharp black tuxedo, imported from Italy, of course, with both hands behind his back and an upward tilted chin.
Everything about this guy exudes raw, sexual magnetism, like carbon does energy. In other words…everything I hate in a sworn enemy soon-to-be stepbrother.
As if Saint can read my thoughts, he winks at me, an act that can easily be mistaken as playful. But I know a threat when I see one—and his is loud and clear.
Another. Game. On.
The realization is enough to chink my armor and leave me stumbling in these five inch murder heels.
Which I do, without an ounce of grace.
I catch my balance quickly, though, in spite of the throbbing in my ankle, and swallow the harsh taste of embarrassment on my tongue as I straighten my shoulders.
I will kill him in his sleep.
Problem solved. The end.
Our gazes unlock the second I reach the altar, bowing my head slightly in respect before making my way to the left, where Theory is slowly following behind in a jade gown.
“I can’t get over how hot you look,” she whispers as she passes, popping the gum in her mouth before settling at my side. Looking over at me with a much more genuine undertone thanSaint’s, she adds, “No wonder big bro’s got such a hard-on for ya.”
Pretty sure “big bro’s” got a hard-on for everyone.
It’s the animosity he lacks.
“I highly doubt that,” I whisper through the corner of my mouth, shifting my weight off my sore ankle. “It's pretty clear we hate each other.”
Shushes from some old ladies in the first pew have me clamping my mouth shut.
Not Theory, of course, because she tells the hags, “Don’t worry about noise because you’ll hear enough silence when you’re dead.”
My mouth drops open as she shrugs, ignoring Vic’s scolding from the other side of the altar.
Fuck, do I likeherholy spirit.
“So, are we besties yet, Hen?” Theory returns to chewing her gum, curling one of her tinseled braids around her finger.
Given how bridesmaid duties have given me the chance to get to know her…I would say I’m not far off from at least considering her a friend.
Theory is sweet and spicy, all in one.
Not much different than her brother.
