Victoria
Maybe home was too zealous of a descriptor for where we were headed. Assuredly, we landed at Paramour International Airport, but Saint didn’t free me from his possession. He gave his associate – whom I’d come to learn during our lengthy flight was named Supreme – a brief hug, and then we broke off to go our separate ways.
They were brothers, I realized after studying them during my waking moments on the flight. They didn’t share a striking resemblance, but I gathered as much from their names. There was a subgroup of Black parents who tended to name their children following a specific theme. Their parents fell into that category.
With his hand outstretched once I exited the plane, Saint led me to an AMG Coupe parked in the plane hangar. Once I was situated inside the car, I looked around for a key, calculating my chance for escape. There was none. As Saint rounded the car and entered, I watched Supreme take off in a Porsche SUV.
“Where are we going?” I probed, needing to know where he intended to take me.
“Somewhere safe,” was his response as he coasted down the highway at an even but fleeting pace.
Internally, I wrestled with the fact that he’d mentioned safe as if it were his intent all along. From the time I’d witnessed Javier’s demise up until the moment I decided that he deserved the bullet in his head, I hadn’t thought highly of the man named Saint. Again and again, he sought to prove me wrong.
My attention was whisked to the view outside the window as we breezed past the big city of Paramour. As the vehicle cruised through the streets, the view shifted to one in favor of more greenscape.
We neared the back end of Paramour Canyon but didn’t directly advance toward it. As a resident of South Pointe, I hardly ventured to Paramour City in favor of the less congested areas of the state. I’d never been up the canyon or visited the area surrounding it, so the scenic view was entirely new for me. Increasingly, I grew curious of our final destination.
Saint slightly cracked both our windows. The small opening allowed the stench of the ocean breeze inside the car. Though I hadn’t seen the coastal waters yet, the air was pregnant with the smell of salt and the sky, like a curtain of pale blue silk. The further we advanced, the more I took note of the increasing company of palm trees. The ocean was near. My senses alluded to it. Confirming my suspicion, Saint began to slow the car’s speed, taking the exit ramp for Paramour Beach.
As we eased down the coastal town, I took stock of the evergreen farms and natural vegetation lining the roads. Dark brown hues of melanated souls appeared sporadically as we advanced. My eyes absorbed evidence of the successful Black inhabitants. Their presiding presence was a gift. Palm trees danced to the tune of the breeze emanating from the sea. It felt like I was on an island of Black excellence.
We took a turn off the main road toward a less populated area, where it was evident that only a particular income group of dwellers were welcome. The houses were grand in display, with brick-paved driveways. Every lawn was manicured to a nearly identical height. Strangely, not a single soul was in sight, probably off working to pay the high-ass house notes.
The car came to a creep as it turned into a circular driveway of a massive cream-colored concrete beach house. The exterior was sheathed in cherry blossoms and animated palm trees that almost seemed to wave as we approached. I swooned, utterly smitten by the architecture and landscape. As I busied myself with locating my lower jaw, Saint entered a three-car garage, informing me that we’d reached his home.
My door was locked as he exited, leaving me with a befuddled look until he rounded the car, approached my side, and opened the door.
Upon entry into the house, my first impression was sterile. The home itself had no distinct smell, save for the scent of the ocean behind it. There were no markers of human habitation. No photos lined the bare walls. No decorative elements characterized the space.
It was just a dwelling. White walls permeated the large halls – halls so big that if I stretched my arms to their full length, I still wouldn’t touch the walls. The stairs and floors were comprised of cold, creamy concrete. The light fixtures were generic. The interior possessed unique angles and creative designs throughout – that I assumed could be credited to the architect – but nothing accented those creative expressions.
No razzle.
No dazzle.
No art.
No heart.
Void of enthusiasm, the castle of a house was not a home. Immaculate in its presentation, not a single thing was out of place. While beautiful, it was eerily hollow.
“So,” Saint started as I followed behind him barefoot through the home. We inched up the stairs and turned down an opposing hall, revealing the massiveness of the space. “You can take this room.”
Take.
As in, I’d be staying.
As in, he wasn’t letting me go.
He opened the door to an opulent – but still sterile – bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows. The view from the room spilled out toward the sea and pirated my breath. Tearing my eyes away from the siren-like call of the ocean, I turned to ask him about my freedom, but he was gone.
Several large boxes were resting atop the plush bed, which seemed to call out to me. Upon closer inspection, I noticed my name scrawled out on the gift tags. Without further hesitation, I opened the smaller box to find two pairs of Demure sandals. I remember the design from our past season. It was one of my favorites, created by an intern designer last summer.
With haste, I opened the second box to find a host of Demure dresses, tops, and skirts. There were also several pairs of lingerie and nightwear. Underneath the pile of clothes were a leather-bound sketchbook, pencils, and Micron pens.
He’d discovered my identity, evident in the supposed gifts. The prospect of freedom slipped away with every minute that passed. As beautiful a home, as breathtaking a view, and as thoughtful a gesture as it all was, the unshakeable fact remained:
I was in a gilded cage.
Reluctant to permit another second to pass, I darted from the bedroom. Down the stairs and toward the door, I breezed in search of an exit.
“Victoria.”
Shriveling in size, my heart sank to my toes at the sound of my name being called. I turned in the direction of Saint’s voice to find him positioned in the living room.
“If you leave out of that door, you leave without my protection.
“I’ll take my chances.”
He’d found my exasperation comical, birthing a grin that nearly coaxed me out of my skin. “From a group of deadly sex and drug traffickers? You were the last person Javier was seen with. They’ll be looking for you. There’ll be others on my end with malicious intent as well.”
“Can’t you just… tell them to leave me alone?” Feeling defenseless, I posed the question.
“I don’t know you like that to vouch for you in such a manner. It’s better to keep you close for both our protection.”
The austerity of his statement stifled my will to pursue my freedom. Unsure if his and Javier’s people would come after me, I considered my options.
“What is my alternative?” I swallowed, chancing to return his gaze.
Saint rose. One footstep at a time, he swallowed the space keeping us distant. Instantly, I was assaulted with the scent of sandalwood and coconut. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of the dark cargo pants he wore. Relaxed in his stance, he combed over me before speaking again. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and we’ll discuss everything after we eat.”
The suggestion was made without an opening for an alternative. I shook my head in woeful agreement and turned on my feet to head back up to the room.
After showering, I stalked down the stairs to the inviting scent of food. Saint was standing in the kitchen, scouring through a large bag of what appeared to be takeout. Positioned at the table, I watched as he placed several containers in the center. After collecting dinnerware from the cabinets, he relaxed in a seat.
“Do you ever plan on letting me go?” I asked the question wearing on my heart.
“I’m not keeping you, Beauty. The door isn’t bolted shut, but my warning remains. I wanted to discuss that with you over dinner,” he reminded me, though I noted the way his eyes didn’t connect with mine. I’d been raised that such behavior was a sign of dishonesty, though I refused to believe he was a liar.
I opened a container of food and began spooning what looked to be vegetable stir fry onto my plate. Then I went for the rice at the same time as Saint, and our hands inadvertently brushed one another. The contact of his hand sent a jolt of electricity through me, forcing my gaze to connect with his. Swiftly, he averted his eyes and retracted his hand.
“So?” I asked, refocusing on the topic.
“My people think keeping you alive is a mistake. They think I should have killed you on the beach with your boyfriend.”
“Javier wasn’t my – wait, your people? As in Supreme? Is that your brother?”
Saint chuckled, setting his forkful of food back onto his plate. “My people, as I said. The fact that you know Supreme is my kin is reason enough to support their argument. There’s nothing to insulate you from what you know and the damage you could do with that knowledge. Between my people and Javier’s people, you’re a sitting duck, Beauty.”
The food I’d been pureeing in my mouth went down in an unsatisfying gulp. Unsure if my appetite had withered or if it was simply that damn poor in taste, I pushed my plate away.
“And what is your argument, Saint? What do you propose?”
“You can marry me.”
Stated with a straight face, he left no room for ambiguity.
At first, it was an unimpeded chuckle. Then I was laughing in delirium. Then came the coughing. Violently, I hacked away at air and spit that deposited itself into the wrong windpipe because what?
Marry him?
Despite the lack of food in my mouth, I choked upon hearing those words. Unsure of what I’d expected him to say, marriage was far outside my scope of possible proposals for a solution to our predicament.
There was a slither of something in his appearance before he schooled it to something neutral. The absence of a smirk, shadow of a smile, or even bemusement in his eyes told me he was serious, however.
Concluding my hacking fit, I trained watery eyes on him and forced air into my lungs. Once settled, I proceeded to probe further, requiring more information about the irrationality assaulting my ears. The fact that I had even mildly considered his proposal begged me to question my sanity. I didn’t know this man. In fact, the most I knew of him was that he was a murderer – whether his actions were warranted or not.
“To what end does that serve you?” I asked because I knew there was some benefit to this arrangement for him.
“Protection from the only witness testifying against me should it ever come to that,” he offered, nodding as he noted my significance.
“So, we’d both be protected?” I simplified.
“I guess so.”
“And I’d be married to you in what way?” I searched further for clarification.
“In name. In law. On paper,” he furnished as if he’d already considered everything at length.
His answer slightly diminished my ego, though I didn’t openly express it. “And will I live here?”
“Is it not up to your standards, Victoria?” he asked, settling back in his seat and throwing an arm around the barrel chair. Finally, he met my eyes, evading the depths of them. “You can make changes as you see fit.”
Moving from South Pointe to Paramour City on a whim would raise a few eyebrows. My parents would be concerned… My friends… Disbelief blanketed me that I was even considering any of it.
“Will I have my freedom?”
“You never lacked freedom. Only my protection.” Again, he clarified that I wasn’t being held against my will.
I considered that, toying with my fork and causing it to scrape against my plate. He never restrained me in any way. There was just that moment when he ordered me to leave the beach at gunpoint and that brief moment on the plane… Of course, I was afraid of him up until he’d furnished proof of Javier’s sex trafficking.
…But now, the potency of his presence commanded trust.
He made a compelling argument, but there was still hesitation on my end. Saint’s eyes darted to the subtle movement of my hand scraping the fork against the plate, and his features stiffened.
“Can you not?”
My gaze flitted to my fork, dropping it from my fingers. “Sorry. I need time to think about this. It isn’t the easiest decision.”
“How much time?”
“Is there an expiration date?” I asked, pressing my luck.
“On your life from forces outside my control? Maybe. On my offer, no,” he responded, raking his fingers through that delicious beard.
Nodding my understanding, I rose to my feet and made off for the bedroom I was shown earlier. My eyes darted around the spiritless home, already imagining what changes I’d implement if I were granted the opportunity to call it my own.
In South Pointe, I owned a small condo that was full of color and life. As a fashion designer, I required the constant muse of my surroundings. Saint’s home could easily become one of my greatest inspirations. It was a beautiful and tranquil space. The only thing it was missing was… me.
Chuckling at that, I shuttered myself in the room. My weight was deposited onto the bed as I plopped down alongside the mass of gifted clothing. My lips parted, freeing a sigh as I replayed the events of the past forty-eight hours.
Married.
“In name, in law. On paper…”
Not in love as I’d always envisioned it. Not even in friendship. It was all beginning to sound more nightmarish by the second. Like most women my age, I’d been conditioned to aspire to marriage as if the absence of such a title diminished my significance. Now, I was being proffered the title of “Misses” as if it were nothing.
Because our marriage would be nothing.
Thoughts formed without my consent of a loveless, sexless marriage to a gorgeous man. It didn’t align with anything I’d ever desired… Dissolving into the bed, I freed a sigh. My regained composure berated me for my line of thinking. I should not have been thinking about it at all.
I should be running opposite the massive beach castle. I should be pinching myself to awaken from a dream that was outwitting my common sense.
Marry him.
Saint…
Exceedingly gentle on the eyes.
Perpetually tender in spirit.
A monster when needed.
It wasn’t the worst I could manage…
My conflicted thoughts refused to settle. I needed more information surrounding this… marriage mess.