Page 20 of No Saint

Once it’s secured, I glance at the mirror they’d set up. I didn’t recognize myself, not with the exhaustion lining my eyes and the serious need to wash my hair, but the dress was stunning.

“Okay, so,” I say to the woman, “I want this here opened,” I tell her, dragging my finger down the middle of my chest, “Down to the naval in a deep plunge, the sleeves and back are fine. And then with the skirt, cut it on both sides to the hips.”

Her eyes widen, “This is a twenty-thousand-dollar designer dress!”

“So?”

“Mr Saint was very clear–”

“WellMr Saintisn’t the bride, is he?” I snap, “He doesn’t get to decide what I wear. Can you do it or not?”

“Well of course,” she sputters, “But he said…”

“Forget what he said, this is what I want.”

She nods.

“Thank you.”

I stand for the next few hours as they tug and pull and pin the dress, fitting it to my body, making the markings for the new design on the dress and once they’re done, and I am once again dressed in my own clothes I feel just a tiny bit triumphant even if all else was out of my control.

I was marrying him, and I’d keep my son, but I didn’t need to make his life easy.

I’m ushered out and taken back to my room as the seamstress and her team are leaving, thankful there was no time for her to talk to anyone. She had my dress, hidden because apparently traditions were important, even in forced marriages, and the design. It would be delivered in the morning.

The guards take me to the same floor I’d been staying on but don’t guide me in the same direction, instead, we turn left at the top of the stairs and follow a narrow hall around until suddenly the wall in front of me becomes clear. Glass. Looking directly out over the sea. The sun was setting, the horizon set ablaze in oranges and pinks while sea birds coasted across the top of the water in search of their next meal.

Boats lazily bobbed in the water, some pleasure vessels, others the shipping vessels that dock down at the marina.

My legs carry me numbly to a door which they open for me and then usher me inside, “Your son will be brought up to you soon.” Is all they say before they abruptly shut the door.

The lock is loud as it clicks into place.

One wall of the room, much like that of the one beyond the door, is glass, gracing me with the same view, the other three were simply painted white with subtle pieces of art hanging from them. There were two further doors leading elsewhere.

It was simple luxury, plush white carpet with a deep grey fur rug at the foot of a large queen sized bed, made up with deep grey silk sheets and pillows. The dressers didn’t hold any ornaments or trinkets on top but there was a mirror and some basic toiletries. More than I had in the other room.

My feet sink into the carpet as I make my way through the room, fingers trailing over furniture I’d never even dreamed of affording, before I reach the first door and open it. A closet, mostly empty save for a few dresses, still with tags and a couple of pairs of shoes. I close that door and go to the next, opening it up to find a huge bathroom, complete with a clawfoot tub big enough to seat six and a waterfall shower against one wall. It was all grey and white marble with gold veins that shimmered in the bright lighting. Towels sat in a cubby in the wall and more toiletries had been left on the counter.

I spot a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste and run my tongue across my teeth, cringing at the texture I feel against them. I rip the brush from the packet and begin to scrub, the minty toothpaste burning my tongue, but I do it once more anyway for good measure.

Once that’s done, I strip and climb into the shower, the water hot against my skin. It was good to shower, to feel clean after God knows how many days had passed. I thoroughly wash my hair with shampoo that smells like mango, and scrub my skin with soap until my fingers prune before I climb out and wrap myself into a fluffy towel.

For just a minute,just a minute, I let myself soak in the opulence I’d never been granted, in the luxury of the towel against my skin, the sweet and yet soft fragrances that fill the bathroom air. I’d never had it before, I was allowed to enjoy it.

I comb out my wet hair before I leave the bathroom, stepping into the bedroom.

The sun was on its last stretch, the sky dusty but the water resembling a raging fire as the sun kisses the surface.

We were on top of the city here. Glancing at the door, I listen out for any sounds of someone approaching before I head to the windows to get a better look.

Below, the sprawling lawn seemed to stretch on, surrounded by a thick boarder of trees. A round courtyard sat to the front of the house, a few shiny and expensive looking cars parked there with a fountain that spat crystal clear water into the sky before it cascades back down into a pool. The drive was long and at the end was at least a ten-foot gate, maybe higher but I couldn’t judge it from this distance. And then beyond, seemingly a million miles from where I stand sits the city where I grew up.

Where I fought and suffered, cried and screamed. Where I met Lucas Saint and had my son. It was right there, right in front of me. The past. The present. The future.

It was everything I’d ever known and all that I hated.

My stepfather was in that city somewhere and the only saving grace being here, is being hidden from him.

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