62. Saint
Chapter sixty-two
Saint
" C ome on, Princess, let's make it look good," I whisper, tucking a stray blonde lock behind her ear. My fingers linger against the smooth skin of her neck, and I can't help but marvel at how real this feels. How real she feels.
Her green eyes meet mine, and there's that spark—that electric charge that's been building between us since we first collided in this messed-up universe.
"Saint, you know we have to—" she starts, but I press a finger to her lips.
"Shh, I know. But just for a second, let me pretend." The words tumble out before I can stop them. And damn, if pretending with her isn't the sweetest torture.
"Okay, lovebirds, time to make your grand entrance!" Gen's voice slices through our moment, laced with excitement and just a hint of command. She's the planner, the strategist among us, and right now, she's calling the shots.
"Alone?" I frown, thrown off by the sudden shift in plans.
"Yep," Gen nods, her gaze flitting between Princess and me. "It's more dramatic that way. Trust me."
Mason offers me a knowing smirk and clasps my shoulder, while Dre gives me a nod, his ice-blue eyes reflecting understanding beyond his years. Chess, mischievous as ever, winks at Princess before joining the others. And just like that, they vanish into the throng inside, leaving us alone in the quiet corridor.
"Ready?" I ask, even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. Ready to face a room full of sharks pretending to be socialites. Ready for their fake smiles and judgmental whispers.
"I hope so," Princess replies, her voice steady as a drumbeat, and I admire her courage. In another life, she'd be a warrior queen, leading armies into battle with nothing but her will and her wits.
"Good," I say, my hand finding hers, squeezing gently. "Because after tonight, they'll all know that Adelaide Winthrop belongs with Barrett Saint. Engagement or not, you're mine."
I mean it, every damn word. Whatever game we're playing, whatever lies we're weaving, the truth is simple—I can't keep my hands off her, and I don't want to try.
The hush of the corridor wraps around us like a blanket, Princess's hand trembling slightly in mine. Her skin is a contrast against my darker tones, her blonde hair a halo under the dim lights. I can feel the thrum of her pulse, the nervous energy that she tries to mask with a smile that doesn't quite reach those guarded green eyes.
"Scared?" I whisper as we stand on the precipice, the muted sounds of the party filtering through the grand doors.
"Terrified," she admits, a breathless laugh escaping her. "But not of them." She squares her shoulders, facing me. "Of how much I want this... with you."
I step closer, and the world narrows down to just us. "I've got you," I say, and it's a vow. My thumb brushes over her knuckles, and I can't help but pull her in for a brief, fierce hug. "We're in this together."
She nods against my chest, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. "Together," she echoes, and there's strength woven into the word—a promise.
"Let's show them who we are," I murmur into her hair before stepping back, my gaze locking with hers. There's a fire there now, one that matches my own.
"Let's."
And then, the moment shatters with our names booming through the speakers, echoing off the marble and crystal of the ballroom. The doors swing open, and we step forward into the lion's den.
"Adelaide Winthrop and Barrett Saint!"
A sea of faces turns our way, eyes wide and lips curled into practiced smiles. Cameras flash, blinding and relentless. Princess stiffens beside me, a deer in headlights, but I'm quick to slide an arm around her waist, pulling her close.
"Keep looking at me," I tell her, my voice low but firm. "Ignore them."
"Easy for you to say," Princess murmurs back, but she follows my lead, her gaze locked with mine as we descend the staircase.
The crowd parts for us, a river flowing around two stones too stubborn to be washed away. Whispers brush our ears, some tinged with envy, others with malice, but they can't touch us—not here, not now.
"Remember," I lean down to whisper in her ear as we reach the bottom step, "you're a goddamn queen."
Her lips twitch, the shadow of nerves chased away by a spark of defiance. "And you're my king."
"Damn right."
We glide into the throng, and I can feel the weight of every look, every judgment, every hidden dagger. But they don't matter. Because tonight, Princess shines brighter than all their cold, hard jewels—and I'll be damned if I let anyone tarnish that brilliance.
William Winthrop's intentions in throwing this shindig are clear as crystal—a showcase of wealth and connections, an exhibition of his new power play with Mason. But my motivations run deeper than the shallow pools of high society's facades. I'm here to tilt the scales, to illuminate Princess's true worth in a world that's long overlooked her brilliance.
"Saint," Princess whispers, her voice threaded with a mix of awe and unease as we weave our way through the crowd.
I keep my hand firmly on the small of her back, a silent promise that I'm not going anywhere.
"We've got this," I remind her, because this is a partnership—equal parts storm and sanctuary. And as much as this night is about showing her off, it's also about standing with her, unbreakable and proud.
"Congratulations, Barrett! Adelaide, darling, you look stunning!" The compliments rain down on us, each one soaked in different shades of sincerity. Some are genuine, others laced with curiosity or envy. Princess takes them all with grace, but I can feel the tension in her frame. So, I keep her close, a constant touch to remind her she's not alone in this sea of sharks and charlatans.
"Are you hungry?" I lean down, spotting a waiter with a tray of gourmet tarts.
"Starving," she admits, her green eyes dancing with mirth despite the nerves.
"Leave it to me." I snag a tart from the tray and bring it to her lips. "Open up."
She giggles, a sound that's music to my ears, and obediently bites into the tart I hold for her. It's a moment of normalcy in a night that's anything but, and I savor it as much as she savors the flavors bursting on her tongue.
"Delicious," she declares, licking a crumb from her lip, and I have to resist the urge to kiss it away.
"Only the best for you tonight," I assure her, my gaze locked on hers, hoping she understands that it's not just about the food—it's about every second we spend side by side, defying the world together.
"Thank you, Saint," she says softly, leaning into me. "For everything."
"Always, Princess," I reply, my heart thundering against my ribs. "You know I've got you."
And as we continue to accept well-wishes and wade through the throng of admirers, I make sure that my presence is felt—not just by her, but by everyone here. Because tonight, Princess isn't just the girl who came from nothing. She's everything—and I'll make damn sure they all see it.
As we navigate the sea of guests, I spot Dre and Chess on the periphery. They're like shadows, just out of sight but never out of reach. There's something predatory in their stance, a readiness that speaks of their fierce protection over Princess.
"Chess is giving someone the stink-eye," I mutter to her, my hand firmly against the curve of her spine.
"Probably Preston," she whispers back, her eyes scanning the room with a wariness that has become all too familiar. She's a fortress—beautiful and unyielding—but tonight, the walls seem just a bit higher.
"Let him try anything," I growl, the thought alone making my blood hot with anger. "I'll put him in his place."
She smiles up at me, gratitude mingling with the fire in her green eyes. "I know you will, Saint. But let's not give them the satisfaction tonight."
"Agreed." I press a quick kiss to her temple, reassuring us both.
We continue through the crowd, the false pleasantries washing over us like waves against rock, until we stand before the Winthrops. Their gazes cut colder than any blade, and it takes everything in me not to react.
"Congratulations, Adelaide," William grinds out through clenched teeth. "You've certainly... ascended beyond our expectations."
Princess stands tall, her chin lifted in defiance. "Thank you, Father. Saint will be a wonderful partner."
"Partner," Wesley echoes, the word dripping with scorn. "Is that what you think you're getting out of this charade?"
"It's exactly what she's getting. Legacy isn't just about bloodlines," I interject smoothly, feeling Princess's slight tremble under my fingertips. "It's about what you build. And together, we're building something extraordinary."
Their smiles are tight, almost pained, and I can tell they're itching to wipe ours off our faces. But they don't know Princess like I do. They don't see the steel beneath her silk exterior.
"Indeed," William says, his tone laced with insincerity. "We look forward to seeing what the future holds for our dear daughter and her... betrothed."
"Expect greatness," Princess replies, her voice steady even as her hand grips mine like a lifeline.
"Absolutely," I add, sharing a look with her that says we're onto their game.
As we move past them, I feel her exhale, a subtle release of tension. I tighten my grip, silently promising her that no matter what they throw at us, we'll face it together. And right now, that means savoring the victory of standing our ground amidst the enemy.
The music shifts to a slower melody, a beckoning call that I can't ignore. I glance at Princess, her eyes reflecting the chandelier's light like stars caught in hazel orbits. A smile tugs at her lips, an unspoken agreement passing between us.
"Come on," I say, voice low, as I lead her to the dance floor. The crowd parts for us, some with genuine smiles, others with envy or disdain poorly veiled behind champagne flutes and false laughs. But none of it matters when my hands find her waist and pull her close.
"Saint," she breathes out, her fingers trailing up my arms before resting around my neck. "I can't believe I did that."
"Believe it." I spin her gently, reveling in the way she fits against me, natural and right. "You were incredible back there. I'm so proud of you, Princess."
Her cheeks flush with a warmth that lights up the room. "Just following your lead."
I lean in, my lips hovering near her ear. "Can't wait to get you home," I murmur, my voice thick with a promise. "And out of that dress."
A shiver runs through her, and she giggles, the sound mingling with the soft strings of the music. "Behave, Mr. Saint, we're in public."
"Only for now," I tease, spinning her again, loving the way her laughter fills the air.
As the song comes to an end, Dre steps forward, his ice blue eyes holding a silent question. I nod, trusting him. He takes Princess's hand, and they start to move to the new rhythm. Chess isn't far behind, waiting for his turn with an easy grin. Mason, too, shares a dance, his protective gaze never leaving Princess.
But Wesley looms at the edge of the dance floor, his entitlement as palpable as the tension in his jaw. William, with his hawk-like stare, is beside him, and Preston hovers like a dark cloud ready to burst. None of them will touch what's mine. Not tonight, not ever.
"Stay close," I tell Dre, my tone leaving no room for discussion.
"Obviously," he assures me, and I know he understands. We're a united front, the protectors of our own, and Princess is the heart of us all.
Chess glides in next, his movements fluid and confident. "She's shining, Saint," he says over the music, his voice carrying that mischievous lilt.
"Because she's out of their shadows," I reply, watching Princess twirl under Mason's arm. "And she's never going back."
Chess cuts in smoothly after Mason, giving me a subtle nod. We may not be bound by blood, but in this moment, we're brothers in more than just name. His stance speaks volumes; we're her shield against the likes of Wesley, William, and the rest.
"Good work," Mason murmurs as we watch Mason sway to the music. "Old man Winthrop nearly had a stroke."
"Good."
I watch from the sidelines, my guard up, ready to intercept any unwelcome advances. This night is ours, a statement to the world that Mason is cherished, respected, and above all, loved. Because I do. Love her.
And if the way Dre and Chess look at her is any indication, they do too. She might be mine on paper but I won't ask her to choose. I can't. She deserves all the love she can manage. And so do they.
"Ready to claim your fiancé back?" Mason asks, as the dance comes to an end.
"Ready," I echo, stepping forward. "My turn, and then... we escape this place."
Princess looks up at me, her eyes alight with love and mischief. "Promise?"
"Promise." And with that, I sweep her into my arms once more, the rest of the world melting away.