Page 44 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“No, it’s not. It’s the place I was born. The place my parents lived their pampered life while I was being beaten and abused by people who only kept me so they could get their monthly check from the government.”

I squared my shoulders and widened my stance while I watched her. “You haven’t asked me about them.”

“Who? My parents?” She let out a mocking snort. “I actually don’t care. I couldn’t care less. I just want this all to be over so I can get back to my life in New York and forget all about this goddamn nightmare.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And forget about me?” I had no idea why that bothered me, why I’d care if she remembered me or not after all this was over.

Her eyes found mine, the yellow and red hues of sunset falling perfectly on her forest irises, gold rings illuminated around her pupils. “Honestly,” her face hardened, “right now, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do if it meant I could forget you even existed.”

It stung. True as fuck, it stung and left a heavy weight inside my chest. It felt familiar, yet unnerving because I couldn’t place it. I couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was, and it pissed me off. This entire conversation was pissing me off.

I loosened my tie and opened the top button of my dress shirt. “Well, that’s unfortunate for you because for the next six months you’ll be reminded of my existence every second of every minute of every goddamn day.” I slanted my head, glaring in her direction as my ears burned hot. “And since you’ll be needing my help and money to fulfill your little humanitarian dream by playing Mother Theresa with the hopes of getting rid of your own demons, myexistenceisn’t something you’ll ever be able to forget.” I took a breath, and my nostrils flared, my fists balled at my sides. It wasn’t like me to lose my cool over something as trivial as a stupid, mediocre woman’s opinion about me. But it wasn’t so much her words as it was the look in her eyes that struck me. It wasn’t hate, or anger, or dislike, but rather sorrow, pain, as if she was heartbroken over the idea that a man like me could still breathe.

Fuck that. I had worked too hard, spent too many hours of my life putting this plan together so I could get what I really wanted—and that wasn’t her. What I really wanted wasn’t the woman who stood in front of me with her tempting curves and wild curls. She was just a means to an end. That was it.

I glanced at my wristwatch. “You need to get ready. My captain will perform the ceremony tonight, and—”

“Tonight?” There was no mistaking the fear in her eyes, the panic that swirled in her irises. I loved watching her squirm, loved how easy it was to play with her, to mindfuck her. I was a cruel bastard and never claimed otherwise, and while Milana Katarina Torres was mine, I’d play with her until she broke.

“One of the staff will show you to your room.” I buttoned my suit jacket and turned my back on her. “The ceremony takes place at midnight.”

17

Mila

It was such a sham.A mockery of something that was supposed to be sacred and beautiful. Not only was I marrying a man I couldn’t stand, but he also chose to make an entire show of it too.

I eased my hands down the front of the dress. Elena couldn’t stop talking about the Oscar de la Renta design ever since I walked in. I could have said I hated the dress, that it wasn’t my style. But I’d be lying. The dress was perfect, a simple yet elegant design I would have chosen myself. It was a strapless, nude illusion dress, the dainty, sheer overlay embroidered with delicate, leafy branches to add a touch a romance. The neckline dipped low between my breasts, and the fabric of the overlay felt like silk against my skin. There was a subtle flare that started at the top of my hips, the leaf embellishment traveling down the subtle creases. The nude shade melted against the color of my skin, and if all this was real and I was marrying the man I loved, it would have been my dream wedding dress. But it wasn’t. None of this was real, or romantic.

“I don’t understand why I need to wear a wedding dress.”

Elena eased the zipper closed behind my back. “Photographs will be taken to release to the press once news breaks about your marriage.”

My heart flipped inside my chest as I jerked around. “What?”

Elena seemed surprised. “Once Marcello introduces his new wife as Milana Katarina Torres, there will be a media frenzy around you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because he’s like goddamn royalty around here.”

“No.” Elena moved to stand in front of me. “Not because of who he is, but because of who you are. The Torres family are just as wealthy and powerful as the Russos, and everyone knew about the Torres baby girl who died at birth.” She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “To the public, it will be as if you have returned from the dead.”

Elena’s words slammed into me like a wrecking ball, air rushing out of my lungs. Never did it cross my mind what the world would think, or how people would react when they found out who I was. Saint had told me that my family was one of Italy’s wealthiest, but it never occurred to me that my true identity would shake the lives of others.

“Does my mother know I’m here? That I’m with Saint?” I kept my voice soft in fear it might crack if I tried to speak any louder.

Elena shook her head. “No one knows. But soon everyone will.” She handed me a bouquet, and I stared at the soft pink flowers. “Peonies. Or as some call it, the rose without thorns.”

“It’s beautiful.” I brought them up to my nose, inhaling the soft, floral scent. Tears started to burn, and my heart ached because of what was about to happen. Every girl dreamt about her wedding day—the dress, the flowers, the music. It was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives—except for me, it wasn’t.

Elena stayed two feet behind me as I made my way to the deck. With every step I took I had to clench my jaw tighter, fight harder to keep the tears from falling. It was impossible to square my shoulders as the weight of what was about to happen crushed me little by little. The voices in my head screamed at me to run, but the sound of yacht engines and splashing water warned me that there was nowhere to run. There was no escape. Not for me.

One step at a time, I could feel my life crack, splintering into pieces, and soon there would be nothing left of the person I once was.

When we arrived on the deck, Saint and James were waiting for us on the open flydeck. I paused when Saint looked in my direction, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. I couldn’t get myself to move. The grave uncertainty of my fate was sinking in, and it threatened to pull me down with it. Pieces of me were breaking, and there was no hope of anyone picking it up and putting it back together. I’d be broken and scarred for the rest of my life—even after Saint would let me go. I felt in the pit of my stomach how I’d never be the same again. Nothing would.

“Come,” Elena urged, placing a hand on my elbow. The closer I came to him, the brighter the moon shined over the open water in the distance, ripples shimmering under the breeze. The sky was clear, stars twinkling, little lights decorating the black night sky. It would have been the perfect romantic night if there weren’t so many cruel intentions infecting it with ugliness.

Saint stood next to who I presumed to be the captain, wearing a black tuxedo, bowtie, and face shaved clean. From the outside, this would have seemed like a picture-perfect moment in time, the moment when a man welcomed his new bride to his side, staring at her with loving eyes and promises of a prosperous future. But it wasn’t that. It was everything but that.

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