Page 45 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

The sound of Saint’s footsteps disappeared behind me, and when I was certain we were alone, I made eye contact with Elena. “I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “For?”

“I’m sorry that this is hard for you.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Saint.” I leaned back in my chair. “You’ve taken care of him for so long, and now with me being here—”

“Don’t be silly.” She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “If anything, I’m relieved. As my nephew said, now I can travel the world with peace of mind, knowing Marcello is taken care of.”

“I don’t buy it. You’re practically like a mother to him, Elena.”

“Nonsense. I merely did what I knew my sister would have wanted.”

I crossed my arms. “He told me.”

Her eyes widened.

“He told me about his mother, and the reason he hates his father so much.”

There was no mistaking the surprised look in every line on her face. “You had a little heart-to-heart, then.”

I nodded, and Elena turned her head to the side, gazing out over the deck.

“Do you believe it?”

She looked in my direction. “Believe what?”

“That his mother didn’t commit suicide? That his father killed her?”

She eased her chair back a little and crossed her legs with her palms on her lap. “It’s not about what I believe. It’s about what I know. And what I know is that my sister was not the type of person to commit suicide. She was not the type of mother who would leave her son alone in this world. She loved Marcello too much.”

“So, you do believe his father had something to do with it?”

Her silent gaze intensified, our topic of conversation weighing heavily between us. “If I didn’t believe his father had something to do with it, I wouldn’t have helped Marcello kidnap you.”

Her words stung, and I got the feeling it was meant to—especially since it was paired with an animosity I had never felt from her before.

I shifted in my seat. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You are questioning it…aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know you, Mila. When you don’t understand something, it consumes you. Take your love for my nephew as an example. How many conversations did we have in the past about your feelings for him? You didn’t understand how you could love him after what he did to you, and it drove you crazy. And now,” she lifted her shoulders, “ever since he put that ring on your finger and you accepted that you cannot change how you feel for him, you and I haven’t had a meaningful conversation since.”

“That is not—”

She held up her hand. “It’s okay, Mila. I know what it feels like to be in love. Nothing and no one else matters. The entire world can come crashing down around you, and you wouldn’t care. My point is, if you accepted what he told you about his mother’s death, you wouldn’t have brought it up now. You wouldn’t have felt the need to discuss it.”

I scoffed and looked the other way. “That is not true. I was merely trying to put you at ease because I could see the hurt in your eyes when Saint said you didn’t have to stick around here. If anyone knows my husband’s lack of choosing the right words with the right amount of tact, it’s me.”

Elena snorted with a smirk, and she leaned her head to the side. “Suddenly you’re referring to him as your husband in such a loving tone, when a week ago you sat on my bed resenting him for lying to you.”

Dumbfounded and confused by her reaction, I gaped at her in surprise. “I’m sorry if you feel hurt or offended, Elena. But you need to know I would never even attempt to take your place in Saint’s life. Yes, we are in love, and we are going to have a family of our own. But you are just as much a part of this family as we are.”

“Do not patronize me, Mila.” She stood from her chair and straightened the fabric of her burgundy silk blouse. “It’s not the first time a man I love rejects me when he finds another to cling to.”

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