Chapter 10
Irony was a liar who hated being lied to.
And it didn’t take long for me to catch Saint in his.
After all, the spider never traveled far from their tangled web.
I was sitting by the window of the restaurant I had come to eat lunch at, about to devour a warm plate of sticky toffee pudding, when movement on the street caught my eye.
Nothing about it was flashy, dramatic, or begging to be seen. Maybe that was why I did.
Or maybe it was because it was Saint. My eyes could find him anywhere.
I sat there in disbelief. But there was no mistaking that it was Saint who leaned against a lamppost across the street.
He had the same dark hair, the same angelic face. Wore the same black on black ensemble he had been in when he left my hotel room.
If he were to look up from the phone he was furiously typing on, he’d see me.
The word liar burned in my stare.
His head remained tilted down until a shadow crossed over him. Attached to the shadow was a beautiful woman with auburn hair and luscious curves, who threw herself around Saint’s body with ease. A familiar trust that he would catch her.
Which he did.
Pins pricked my skin.
The food in my stomach hardened to lead.
He held her like he held me.
Smiled at her like he smiled at me.
Brushed the hair out of her face like he did to me.
Who was she?
Not that it mattered. Not really.
What mattered was that Saint lied.
He didn’t have work to deal with, he had this beautiful woman to meet.
It hurt more than I’d liked to admit. It wasn’t even petty jealousy that smacked me.
Honestly, I’d prefer that over this sting of betrayal.
Irony was a liar being burned by a lie.
I couldn’t look away, not even when the waitress came over to ask if there was anything else I needed. I was vaguely aware of shaking my head.
She walked away, mentioning something about getting the bill. I think I nodded back. Not really listening as I watched Saint’s arm wrap tightly around the woman’s waist, pulling her close into his side as they walked down the street.
I was out of my seat before I realized I was moving, compelled to follow.
Throwing enough money on the table to cover two meals along with a generous tip, I rushed onto the street, hoping to catch them.
I spied the pair just as they rounded a corner, disappearing from sight.
With frantic steps, I followed.
There was no logical explanation to what I was doing, chasing after them. All I knew was that Saint lied and I had to know why.
Had to know what was so important about meeting up with this woman that he couldn’t tell me about it.
When I rounded the corner, it was in time to see them getting in a black, nondescript car.
Crap. No.
Without time to think, I got in the first cab I saw. Once inside, I leaned into the front of the car, so close my cheek almost brushed the driver’s, and barked, while pointing at the retreating sedan Saint and his friend got into, “Follow that car!”
I had never felt crazier, but there was no denying the thrill that shot down my spine, humming in my blood as the cabbie did what was instructed. We were pulling away from the curb when he caught my eye in the mirror.
“Husband, lass?” His accent was thicker, rougher than the English accents I’d grown accustomed to over the past couple of days. Scottish, maybe.
“No.” I shook my head, watching the car in front of us with anxious eyes.
“A lover?”
I hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
It was the first time I admitted it aloud and couldn’t even enjoy it.
I felt the cabbie’s gaze on me. “Was that his wife in the car with him?”
“No—” I paused. My gut instinct was to say no, Saint didn’t have a wife. I’d known him my entire life, he had never been married, never been in love.
Their embrace flashed in my mind. The familiarity, the adoration.
Saint was a man of secrets—they clung to him like a finely made suits. He could very well have another life here without me knowing.
“I—I don’t know,” I finally admitted, my voice breaking on the words. A dark cloud filled my chest.
We locked eyes in the mirror as he reached back. “My sister didn’t know she was the mistress to her boyfriend for three years. Sit back, love, this isn’t my first time tailing someone. They won’t even realize we’re following.”
Oddly comforted to have a co-conspirator, I sat back in my seat. But that comfort didn’t last for long.
The crash told me where to find Saint.
It was around the back of a dilapidated house he and his lady friend were dropped off at.
Just outside a posh, pristine neighborhood stood a house that looked like it was one powerful wind gust from being blown away. It was overgrown with weeds, paint chipped down the walls, and shutters hung off their hinges.
The outside might’ve been weathered by time, but the inside, at least the room I was peeking into, was far from decrepit.
Tall, fat candles were strategically placed around the perimeter, creating a soft glow that didn’t really reach the high vaulted ceiling. It looked to be a library or study, with the walls made up of bookshelves and statues placed around the room.
I could practically smell the permanent scent of cigar smoke and whiskey that lingered in the space from where I hid in the bushes, peering through the corner of the window.
Standing in the center of the room, in a tight circle, were at least ten people in black floor-length robes.
Hoods covered their faces, while long pendants hung from everyone’s necks, catching the candlelight. I couldn’t tell what the design was from here, but I pressed closer to the window anyway.
Outside the circle stood a smaller group of people, wearing very little clothing. Undergarments, fishnet stockings, and heels, for the women. And slutty black shorts that resembled boxer briefs and thick, heavy boots for the men.
They also wore pendants, different from the ones adorned by those in robes.
What did this mean?
What did any of it mean?
A statue broke, that was the crash that led me here, but now I was held in rapture as a hooded figure stepped forward.
My breath caught in my ribcage as they took off their hood, revealing Saint to be underneath.
The gasp that escaped fogged the glass.
It was Saint, but it wasn’t. Vanished behind a mask that looked exactly like him but wasn’t. Or rather, this wasn’t the Saint I knew.
His dark features took on a chilling expression, void of anything but control. Power clung to his eyes. It was like him in business mode, but more. More intense, more dominant.
More, more, more.
Saint commanded attention by simply standing. An aura of authority clung to him by candlelight.
A scantily clad woman stepped forward with a large, old tome. She practically buckled under the weight of it before passing it to Saint, who held it with ease.
He flipped to a page and began reading from it. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could hear the hum of everyone answering it, vibrating against the window.
Soon Saint was done reading, passing the book back to the woman as another person, this time a man, stepped up with a black velvet box.
Saint took it as another cloaked person was escorted into the room. The hood around their head was pulled low.
The circle broke formation to let the newcomer pass through, allowing entry to the center.
I pressed as close to the window as I dared.
To see more.
To see everything.
Saint reached out, undoing the belt tied around the waist before pushing the robe off their shoulders completely, revealing a man.
Completely nude. Not even a sock in sight.
My eyes grew wide while Saint barely blinked.
He remained impassive as he spoke to the man. Another question, if I had to guess by the way the other man nodded.
Saint opened the box, taking out a carved knife. Again, his lips moved in rhythmic motion, like he was reciting from memory.
The man nodded again.
Saint extended the knife.
The man took it. Examined it for a moment before slashing it down his palm, cutting deep enough to draw blood. Bleeding before the circle, droplets dripped onto his robe.
Saint took the knife back, saying some more words. A blessing?
Once he was done talking, Saint tilted his head to the side. The man turned to the person closest to Saint.
He brushed off their hood to reveal the woman Saint walked in with. The man stood naked before her as she touched her palm to his heart.
She said something before stretching up on her toes to press her lips to his.
It was over as quick as it started, nothing but a short peck before the man was moving onto the next hooded figure.
This time, it was a man who placed his hand on the naked man’s vulnerable heart.
The process was repeated. Words, then a kiss.
He did the same thing to each and every person in the circle until the naked man found his way back to Saint.
I pressed even closer to the window to see what would happen next. With no idea what was going on, I was more intrigued and full of questions.
What were they doing?
Saint still held the knife, cutting his palm before placing it over the other man’s heart. He said the words, I assumed, everyone else had said before gripping the back of the man’s neck.
Sealing the ritual with the final kiss.
My body grew warm at the sight of their lips touching. There was nothing sexual about it, but the sight alone had my knees pressed tight while a fierce fire consumed my heart.
Those are my lips to kiss.
Now my body grew warm for a different reason…
If I thought I could walk away from Saint unscathed before, I now knew I’d be leaving London with burns and scars.
I was in deep. So deep I already felt the chasm he was going to leave behind when we got on our respective flights.
My eyes stung, imagining it.
Quickly, I blinked them away.
No tears. No heartbreak.
But was my heart already breaking?
The kiss had long since ended and now Saint was helping the man back into the robe.
Before the fabric was completely around his shoulders, the group broke out into a chant. And this time, finally, I was able to hear the words:
Welcome home, Brother.
I couldn’t look away from Saint, couldn’t pry my gaze away with a crowbar. I was left suspended in a daze, questioning what I just witnessed.
Saint stood unperturbed as people moved to hug and shake the hand of the newcomer.
He was a deep-rooted tree in the middle of the storm, completely unaffected.
Instead of the sight of him filling me with warmth and need and want, I was left feeling cold.
With a deafening heart, I stared at a man I’d known my entire life, only to see a stranger standing in his place.