31. Vani
31
VANI
I wake in the dim light of the room, just my three battery powered candles flickering to provide any light.
There’s someone in my room; I can tell straight away. There’s a heaviness to the air.
I know it’s Saint, and I force myself to stay still, to see what fucked up, sick thing he’ll do. For the longest time, he sits in the corner and does nothing. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, and I keep my eyes lightly shut and my breathing slow and level. Then I hear the light scratch of pen on paper, and I dare crack open an eye and peer through my lashes. He’s got a notepad on his lap, and, as he writes, he speaks.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Vani. I’ve fucked up so many times. You can’t stand the sight of me anymore, and I get it. I don’t want to ruin things for you, Zane, and Lex, though. My brother has always picked me, but in this, I know he won’t. He’d pick you, and that’s only right, because so would I.”
He pauses and sniffs. I crack an eye open again and see him wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Is he crying?
“But I’ve lost the right and, for the first time in my life, instead of being a selfish bastard and ruining it for you all, I’m going to walk away. I can’t stay here, watching you guys be happy together, because it will destroy me, so I’m going to leave. I’m not telling you or Lex where I’ll be because that fucker will try to persuade me to come back, and I can’t, not if I can’t be part of this. I’m just so sorry. I never touched Angelica like that, but I know all the shit I’ve done anyway is inexcusable.”
He pauses again and chews the end of his pen.
“I love you, Vani. You’re the only woman I’ve ever said that to, and I can’t forgive myself for screwing it up.”
He sighs and says fuck softly, and then he writes one last thing he doesn’t say out loud.
Standing, he places the note by my bedside, and I force my breathing to regulate as I close my eyes. I feel the moment his gaze turns to me because it’s like the sun on my skin. Then he gently draws the covers back and pulls down my strappy top, exposing my breasts.
Anger surges in me because he’s doing the fucked-up shit again that he’s just apologized for. What’s he going to try this time? To fuck me while he thinks I’m asleep? But he doesn’t. What he does do is rub something thick on my nipples. They pucker and tighten, and I draw in a sharp breath, but manage to turn it into a sleepy moan. His touch makes a beeline directly between my thighs, and instead of turning away and demanding to know what he’s doing, I find myself anticipating what will come next. But, to my disappointment, he pulls my top back up and steps away. I hear a rustle as he places something on my nightstand, and then the soft snick of the door closing as he leaves. I don’t move for a long beat, my breath caught in my lungs.
I finally react and sit up. I pull my top down and look at my shiny nipples. Then I turn to the bedside to see a pot of balm. What is this?
I pick up the note, and re-read it, even though I know what it says. His writing is terrible and not the usual elegant hand he has. It’s more like a scrawl and wet tear marks blur the ink.
Fuck. Fuck him, and fuck the way I feel about him. He’s sick in the head. I can’t forgive him. I can’t.
But those tears, the anguish in his voice. Plus, the certainty I have that there is no way this …this beautiful, insane, messed up thing will work between us without him.
I get to the end of his note, and my own tears are falling, but then I gasp out a half laugh through my crying.
“Oh, Saint.”
At the bottom of the paper, he’s written, I’ve been worried about your nipples since we used the clamps. They’re so incredible, and I can’t stand the thought of them giving you pain, so please use this balm. And maybe think about me when you do.
I don’t know what to think or do. This is all so fucking weird, but then in a moment, clarity hits. Instant. Sure.
I know he didn’t sleep with Angelica. He was the one who called Jarl, and he saw him drag her away. He’s done a lot of very screwed up things, but he hasn’t betrayed me, and even though he’s one messed-up puppy, he’s my messed-up puppy.
Throwing the covers back, I slip my feet into my sheepskin boots and race out the door.