Page 54 of The Fall of Sin (The Sins of Saint 2)

I balked. “What does that even mean?”

He straightened his bowtie and glanced down at me. “It means you stay by my side at all times. At all. Times, Mila. Understand?”

My heart was racing so fast, and I was overwhelmed with what we just walked through. It left no place for defiance or questioning. Not tonight.

I nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.”

He was about to lead us through another set of doors when I pulled back. “Saint? What if I can’t do this?” Insecurities flooded me with sudden crashing waves, and nausea squeezed my lungs. “What if I can’t play the part of the perfect Russo wife? What if these people don’t like me? What if I don’t fit in?”

“Hush, Mila.” He moved up close, his broad shoulders and large frame towering over me like a mighty frame of protection. I leaned into his touch as he cupped my cheek. “As my wife, every person in this goddamn room will respect you. If they don’t, they will have me to deal with.” He let go of my hand and cupped my other cheek, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You are my wife. My queen. Walk at my side with the fire I know burns inside you and make them fall at your fucking feet.”

Chills erupted across my skin, yet his words gave me renewed confidence that had me squaring my shoulders. “Okay.”

He held out his arm, and I hooked my hand around his elbow. Without another single word, he led the way across the threshold and into a new world.

I sucked in a breath as I stared at the room before us. Even to the untrained eye like mine, it was obvious the theme of the evening was gold and white, a fantasy land of crystal and glass. Round tables tastefully decorated with starched white tablecloths and rich gold napkins adorned the overall design. Glass vases stood in the center of each table, filled with white roses and lilies to compliment the elegant feel with its delicate floral scent. Candles flickered with a golden hue that created a sea of twinkling lights. Tiered chandeliers hung from the scalloped ceiling, the crystal teardrops creating a gallery of prisms.

It was a fairy tale within a world decked with riches, enjoyed by men in tuxedos and women dressed in elegant gowns and priceless jewelry. As Saint led us to the edge of the staircase, about to descend, all eyes settled on us, our presence known to everyone in the room.

“Remember to breathe, Mila,” Saint murmured close to my ear and squeezed my hand between his elbow and side—a little nudge of reassurance.

I inhaled deeply and tried to steel myself against the unfamiliar stares that lingered on us.

With every step we took down the stairs, I was once again reminded of Saint’s unquestionable sovereignty and influence. He demanded respect simply by walking into a room, his presence strong enough to reach every corner of the space.

As we took the final stair, James stepped in next to Saint and whispered something to him. Saint merely nodded as he perused the crowd.

I leaned in. “Everything okay?”

“Your brother is here.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about my brother being there, but it was distinctly clear how Saint felt about it just by the hard tone of his voice. “Is this the part where you tell me to trust you again?”

Saint turned to face me, his eyes devoid of amusement. “Just do as I said.”

“Stay at your side. I know.”

For what seemed like hours, Saint led me around the room, introducing me to everyone as he greeted the guests. I played my part. Smiled when it was appropriate and showed a keen interest in mundane conversations.

Saint didn’t let go of my hand once, and every now and then he’d squeeze lightly, a silent reminder that no matter how engrossed he was in a conversation, I was still on his mind. In his thoughts.

The orchestra played its magical tunes of delicate strings and melodic notes, and while I stood at Saint’s side, I noticed all the envious stares of men and lustful leers from women.

Almost every woman leaned in slightly more than was deemed appropriate with air kisses and greetings. Some would go as far as placing their hands on his arm, finding any subtle way to touch my husband. It irked me how they blatantly seemed to ignore my existence at his side, flirting with my husband with their seductive laughs and hidden sexual innuendos.

Saint stepped to the side and gently pulled me closer. “How are you holding up?”

“I’d be holding up much better if every woman in the room wasn’t flirting with my husband.”

He snickered. “Your jealousy has no merit, Mila. None of these women come close to you.”

“Yeah, well, tell them that. They don’t even notice me.”

He touched my cheek. “Then make them notice you.”

“Hello, Saint.”

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