Page 67 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“You okay?” He didn’t look at me, as if his question made him uncomfortable.

“Do you care?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him ball his fists, and I let out a breath.

“I’m fine,” I answered as coolly and calmly as I could.

“Good. Just…” He paused and rubbed his palms together. “Just…stay close.” He got up and walked off to join James, leaving me wondering if what he just said was meant to appease me. If it was his way of saying he’d protect me.

Probably not.

“It’s okay to be nervous, Mila.”

I glanced at Elena.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve dreamed about this day all your life. But not quite like this.” She shot me a reassuring smile. “So, it’s okay to feel emotional.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. But I knew if I had to start talking about everything, my walls would crumble. and I’d turn into a crying mess.

There was no way of telling how long our trip was to the mainland. To me, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like seconds. My mind was a minefield, and I couldn’t control the thoughts that speared into my head. All my life, I had never felt this nervous. My insides were being twisted inside out, and I had to remind myself to breathe. Saint’s presence, and the weight of so many unanswered questions, unmet desires lay heavily in the air around us. It was laden with tension, as if it could snap and break at any second.

As the mainland came into view and the charter boat moved into the port, James stepped in next to me, tall and threatening. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Saint standing behind us, his gaze hot on my skin. Our eyes met, but his expression was stone. It gave me nothing. No insight into what he was feeling or thinking. It felt as if there was no gravity keeping me in place, and I was drifting without direction when it came to him.

“Welcome to Rome, Mrs. Russo.”

Surprised, since James hardly ever spoke to me, I looked at him. “Thanks, James.”

The marina was packed with luxury yachts, expensive-looking catamarans and cuddy cabin boats. People were buzzing around, everyone enjoying the sun and the sea. For a moment, I was overwhelmed by it all. It was beautiful—even more so than I imagined. Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed much time to soak it all in, to see everything there was to see.

James rushed me across the dock, my heels clicking in quick succession. One would have thought since my identity was about to be revealed anyway, they’d worry less about keeping me hidden. But it was the exact opposite.

We approached a waiting limo, and James stood to the side, allowing Elena and me to get in first. Saint and James got in, and the door slammed shut. Elena sat beside me while Saint took a seat across from me. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention out the window. I hated how he could ignore me so easily, especially since it was so difficult for me to try to do the same. In fact, it was impossible.

I cleared my throat. “Where did we meet?”

“What?” he snapped, as if the sound of my voice annoyed him.

“If anyone asks, where did we meet?”

He scoffed. “Believe me, no one will ask.”

“Why not?”

“Because once they find out who you really are, no one will fucking care.” There was a sharp edge in his voice. The way he spat out his words was almost as if he was telling mehedidn’t care.

“What I think my nephew is trying to say,” Elena started, “is that everyone will be shocked to find out about you and your marriage to Marcello. No one will be bothered with futile little details as to where you two met.”

Elena’s bid to lessen the harshness of Saint’s voice failed. It already sliced deep, pierced my flesh and hurt my soul. If this was what Stockholm Syndrome felt like, it was far worse than I ever imagined.

“We’re here.” Saint straightened the lapels of his jacket when the car came to a stop.

Me? I had the sudden urge to vomit all over the expensive Jimmy Choo shoes Elena made me wear.

“James. Aunt Elena, give Mila and me a few seconds.” Our eyes met, and my heart hiccupped inside my chest.

“Of course.” Elena climbed out of the limo, and James followed, the slam of the door signaling that we were alone.

I wiped sweaty palms down my pencil skirt. “I’m okay,” I started, “in case that’s what you want to know.”

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