Page 13 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

“Saint—”

But then I heard it. The sound of a heart beating. Fast, yet rhythmical. Soft, yet loud enough to drown out every thought.

I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath while my own heart tried to leap from my chest. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard, and it touched my very essence, reaching to the deepest depths of my soul. It was a pulse. A thud. A melody. I knew it was a heartbeat, but to me it was music that sang to my blood—gentle enough to soothe, yet strong enough to crack me wide open. It was the sound of a life growing inside me. The echo of something beautiful that Saint and I created among all the ugliness that surrounded us.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I opened my eyes, my mind, body, and soul already lost to the tiny heartbeat that filled the air around us with so much hope.

“That’s a strong heartbeat,” I heard the doctor say, but I was frozen when I looked at Saint, the exquisite blue in his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as the sound of the life we created surrounded us.

This feeling that swept through me, tilting my entire world off its axis, was right there, reflecting in Saint’s eyes. Just like mine, his life had changed within a single heartbeat.

Dr. Pritchard removed the probe from my stomach, and the sound was gone. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Saint’s lips parted, and he placed his elbows on his knees with his fists touching his chin. I watched him as he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen with the frozen image of our baby.

All the emotions I felt, he seemed to feel too. It was all there in every line on his face. His expression spoke volumes without him uttering a single word.

I sat up straight and brushed my curls back. “Every ounce of ugliness just got wiped clean by a single heartbeat,” I whispered, and Saint merely clutched his fists tighter in front of his face. His silence was crushing, and I hated it.

“Saint—”

“We’re going to have a baby,” he said softly as if it had only dawned on him now.

“I know.” I wiped at my tears. “I can’t believe it. I mean…I saw the image, heard the heartbeat. But it feels so surreal.”

He stood, tension rolling off him in waves. “We’re going to have a baby.” His voice was full of disbelief. “We’re having a baby.”

Something was wrong. I could feel the weight of it sinking deep into my gut, but I couldn’t speak. The moment was heavy—laden with too many emotions words would never do justice to.

Saint glanced at me from the side, and what I saw took my breath away.

Pain. So much pain. It was there swirling in his eyes like a whirlpool of regret.

“I’m sorry, Mila.”

I stood and reached for his arm, but he stepped away. “Saint, what are you—”

“I’m sorry I did this to you.”

“No, don’t say—” But he stormed out of the bedroom before I could stop him. Frozen to the spot, I stared at the empty doorway and clutched my belly as if it was possible to draw comfort from my unborn child. The dark sense of foreboding crept in, drowning every emotion I felt while listening to the little heartbeat that changed my life within a second.

Saint apologized.

My husband apologized after he had told me he would never apologize. He had already done it once and vowed he would never do it again. But now…he did, and I had no idea what that meant, or what he was even apologizing for, and it scared me. There was nothing I feared more than uncertainty when it came to Saint. During the months I had been with him, I had gotten to know his ways, learned to read his actions and let them guide my next move. But the Saint who just turned his back on me, the man who just left me standing in the bedroom alone, I didn’t know him. I had never seen him before and had no idea what to expect from him. I had no idea where we would go from here.

Confused and filled to brim with stirring emotions that crippled me, I sat down on the bed and stared into open space. I could still hear that little heartbeat—the sound of change and hope, but also the daunting realization that I was going to be a mother after I had to grow up without one. What kind of mother would I be? How would I know if I could be a mother when I had nothing to compare it to?

That was when it dawned on me. Saint had to have felt it too, wondering how he could be a good father when he hated his own so much. His expression before he left wasn’t that of anger or resentment. It was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of having a child when his own childhood still haunted him.

The look in his eyes was that of a man who had come face to face with his own weakness after he had spent his entire life building a fortress of strength around him.

“Mrs. Russo?”

I looked up at James standing by the door. “Yes.”

“Mr. Russo asked me to give you this.” He walked over and handed me a piece of paper.

“Thank you.”

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