Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
E MERALD
The house is dark when I tiptoe inside. I make it up the stairs and pause, listening. No movement. Not a sound.
I groan yet again as I think what a scene I caused by running out of my own wedding. I know it was extremely unfair to Saint, and I feel terrible about it. I really should have told him about the baby before the wedding. He deserved that.
A wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of a girl’s life, and the very last thing I ever expected to hear was being called a slut as I stood before the altar. And with everything else that has been going on, hearing that insult was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I still can’t believe that I actually ran out of there. Dear God, why does everything in my life always turn into one big mess ?
I quickly make my way to the guest room I’ve been using to store my spare stuff. Flicking the light on, my heart swoops into my stomach, and sweat breaks out over the back of my neck.
Saint doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t acknowledge I’m even in the room.
My pulse beats wildly in my head like a marching band. Thump. Thump. Thump.
But it’s not Saint’s presence that’s sent a chill down my spine.
It’s what he holds in his hand.
I swallow hard.
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me that we’re having a baby?”
“You…weren't supposed to find out like this.”
“Were you going to tell me, Emerald?”
I blink, my eyes glued to the onesie clutched in his hand. My voice is lodged into my throat.
“Or were you just planning on leaving me at the alter and disappearing again so that you didn’t have to tell me that you’re pregnant?”
“I’m sorry, Saint,” I whisper. “You didn’t deserve to find out about the baby in this way. I know we should have had this conversation before the wedding. I really am sorry.” And I genuinely feel awful about my actions. Standing up there at that altar, staring across from him, something just snapped. Ria’s sneering words and every single whisper that’s followed me around over the years stabbed at me further and further. And I realized what a mess I’m in, having a baby with a man who doesn’t even love me…
I thought what I had with Saint could be real.
But I’ve been lying to myself.
Saint said himself that he’s not capable of what I need. He’s not built for that kind of thing—opening up, letting someone in, loving them. He’s not someone who can ever give me that. And I thought I was okay with that. I thought it didn’t matter because what he gave me was enough. But I was wrong .
I open and close my mouth, trying to find the right words.
His head turns to me, and I see that infuriating expression on his face. That mask of indifference that claws at my insides.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he grits out. He stands, tossing the onesie onto the bed.
“I needed time to process…”
His laugh is hard. Bitter and cold. “Why didn’t you tell me, Emerald?” he repeats, enunciating each word carefully.
“Would it have mattered?”
“And what the hell was up with Jaspar? Stopping the wedding and calling me a cereal thief like that?”
I close my eyes briefly, suddenly remembering what was far from Jaspar’s finest moment. “Oh God, now everyone's going to think that my thieving ways have rubbed off on you, Saint,” I groan.
“I don't care what anyone thinks,” he clips.
I shake my head. “This baby doesn’t stand a chance. Not with us as parents.”
He blinks at me, and for a split second, I see something flicker across his face. Not anger, not rage, not disappointment. Something like…hurt. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Saint. With a thieving gold digger for a mother and a lying assassin for a father, this kid is doomed to be just as messed up as we are,” I wail. The words spill from me before I can stop them. Because they’re true. Saint and I are both messed up in a big way, and I can’t believe we’re bringing a baby into this world.
“Being a kleptomaniac isn't a hereditary condition,” he says dryly before his gaze softens ever so slightly. “And I keep telling you, life isn't so black and white. You have to stop thinking in such absolutes. When I look at you, all I see is how intelligent and caring you are.”
I shake my head.
“Em, the baby will be strong like you, ruthless like me, and smart like both of us.”
“If it's a girl, she might not be ruthless.”
“If it's a girl, she can be compassionate like you.”
I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “Just look at how I’ve done with Milena, for Christ’s sake. If that’s not proof that I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what is.”
“That’s why you ran?”
“No.”
His eyes harden again. “Don’t lie to me, Emerald.”
“You said yourself that you can’t offer me what I need, so why do you care if I ran or not? We both know this was just some…some mistake. Something we took too far.”
He steps closer, and I step back.
“Why did you run, Emerald?”
The soft edge of his demand is laced with something I don’t want to face right now, I don’t want to acknowledge. “Stop pretending you care, Saint.” My arms cross over my chest. “I don’t belong here with you. And you don’t belong with me either.”
I stare at him as my chest labors. The words that have been burning inside me these last few weeks have come surging to the surface.
Saint stares at me, but I shake my head. His jaw tightens, and he just stares, his dark eyes stormy and unreadable.
For a moment, I brace myself, waiting for him to fire back.
To show some kind of emotion that’ll crack all the walls between us.
To show me he can love me .
My stomach twists, and I wrap my arms around myself, barely holding in all the emotions that are fighting to burst out of me. I search for something to keep myself grounded, but I can’t fight it. The sight of that tiny onesie on the bed does the opposite, sending a wave of nausea through me. I should say something. Reach out to him—do anything—to break this tension. But the longer the silence stretches between us, the smaller and smaller I feel.
“I need to get some air,” I mutter. The words are hollow even to my ears, brittle and fragile as they tumble out.
I don’t know if he hears me, if he registers what I say. Or if he even cares. I don’t wait for his protest. I don’t wait for him to say anything.
I tell myself it’s for the best, that leaving now spares us both the crash and burn that awaits us down the road.
With every step down the hall, the ache in my chest grows more and more until it’s a crushing weight.
I pause just a moment, and my vision blurs with tears. Maybe, I think hopelessly, he’ll call me back. Ask me to stay. Tell me I’m wrong about us. About this baby. That it’s all worth fighting for.
But I know Saint.
And I know he’s never going to come for me.
And I know he’s never going to love me .
The air around me remains resolutely silent. And biting down on my lip as it quivers, I quickly make my way down the stairs.
I swear I hear a single footstep above me, a near imperceptible creak of the wood floor.
But then…
Nothing.