Saint

Victoria

“If I’m going to be your wife, shouldn’t we get to know each other?” I asked, toying with my napkin on the private table at Butter Sage. Since Saint had mentioned being averse to crowds, I figured he’d appreciate a seating area away from the main dining room. Butter Sage offered VIP chef’s table seating.

“What do you mean if?” He frowned.

“I mean, since I’m your wife,” I amended.

“I mean… what’s your favorite color? Who’s your favorite actor? What’s your favorite food? Do you drink? Smoke? What do you fear? Do you have a bucket list? I need to know you. Tell me about your family, your siblings…”

I could tell from reading his face that he’d grown overwhelmed with the multitude of questions I’d unleashed on him like word vomit. It was easy for me to start rambling once I got started, especially when something was heavy on my mind.

Hewas heavily on my mind for a host of different reasons. Some of them were bad, but more than that, most were good. I needed to know who I promised myself to, even if it was temporary. It just made sense to make the best of our situation as opposed to behaving like two people who couldn’t stand one another. There were enough real marriages facing those types of problems. We needn’t add our fake one to the slew of statistics.

“Let’s start with your name.”

“You already know my name. And when did you figure it out anyway?” He probed, scrunching his handsome face as if he’d really been pondering the answer to that one.

“You were talking to your brother while I was in the restroom when I overheard him address you as Saint instead of Ange. Why does he call you that anyway? That nickname. Where did it come from?”

He shrugged. “My siblings think I’m my parents’ favorite. Growing up, Angel was more fitting. They used to tease that I was God’s gift to my parents. Ange is short for Angel.”

I was intrigued. Truly. I loved learning all there was to know about a person. I knew how to keep a conversation engaging just by barreling out questions. I thought Saint would continue talking, but he didn’t, which was fine. I bookmarked that little comment about him being his parents’ favorite to return to at a later time.

“I have three siblings. A little sister. An older brother. And a younger brother.”

“So you’re kind of lodged in the middle? At least between your brothers?”

“I guess so,” he huffed, causing me to pause before I spoke again.

“Am I– am I boring you, Saint?”

He shrugged and raked his beard. Not in an it’s-whatever-kind-of-way, but more of an I-need-to-stimulate-myself-from-this-boring-ass-conversation kind of way.

“Keep ‘em coming,” he urged, surprising me. “It’s not lost on me that I married a social butterfly. If you think it’s important to know these things, by all means, let’s get through it.”

“If I think it’s important? Saint…” I took a deep breath before I spoke, careful not to sound as irate as I was beginning to feel. “These are standard things people are aware of when they marry someone. Haven’t you ever had a girlfriend?”

“No,” he sighed.

“No? As in… like never?” My face cringed involuntarily.

“I’ve never been involved with a woman like that. No.”

Wow.

Well, if that ever arose between us –lack of romance– I’d understand why. I didn’t think it would, but being in a beautiful home with this beautiful man for 365 days or something close to it and not being romantic seemed like a stretch. At least I’d understand why if it ever came to that.

“I don’t have a favorite color or food. But blue cereal. I like that.”

Okay.

“I like Denzel and every movie Denzel has ever played in. I like every movie by Spike Lee. The young guy from Snowfall is cool, too.

“I’m a veteran. I don’t have a bucket list since I’ve seen a good bit of the world already. I don’t drink or smoke.”

I nodded my head, appreciating how he’d answered all my questions despite my flushing them out almost incoherently.

“My name is Saint Miller. I’m twenty-eight.”

“What’s your middle name? Don’t tell me it’s Laurent.”

He cheesed, though I wasn’t sure if he’d gotten the joke or not.

“It’s Tyrone.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” I tittered.

“Saint Tyrone, baby,” he sang with a drawl before taking a sip of his water.

Baby. That made me melt. Just a little. Enough to force my thighs to press together in an attempt to halt any involuntary behavior from my lower half.

“Saint Tyrone Miller,” I repeated, arching a brow. It didn’t fit. He’d said that with a stern face, but in my brain it didn’t connect.

“Rafiq,” he said, causing me to bunch my features up.

“Rafiq? Is that the real middle name?”

“Yes. The gentle Saint,” he explained. “Saint Rafiq Miller. My father had this thing about giving his children strong names. Supreme Rafi. Saint Rafiq. Sincere Rahim. Serenity Rumi.

“Supreme is in the early stages of a real estate corporation, Serenity owns a gallery and is about to open a spa under her name, and Sin… He has a nightclub and produces music.”

“So all of you are just out here conquering the state thanks to that seed your parents sowed? They spoke all this power over you all. They must be some dynamic duo,” I gushed.

“You want to meet them?”

That was putting the cart before the wagon. I mean, yeah, we were technically married, and that was a bridge we’d soon need to cross, but meeting his folks when they knew nothing about me seemed far removed from the mountain of tasks I needed to tackle. Hell, I barely knew Saint.

“Um. Not yet,” I pushed out.

“Okay.”

Generic, controlled, and lifeless, every ‘okay’ response was heavily lacking. It dawned on me that ‘okay’ was likely his default response for everything—except when he’d called me baby. The pet name was made playfully. It shouldn’t have bothered me the way it did, but the flighty thought of being his baby restored life to my center.

“Would you fuck me?”

“Huh?” I dragged the expression, feeling the pulse he initiated below. My lips parted, protesting their connection. Unprepared for the nature of his query, I squeezed my thighs together. Up to now, I’d been doing all the talking. I damn sure didn’t expect him to posit a question of his own, much less that type of question.

“If I came to you in need, would you fuck me?” Raw and unfiltered, he clarified the basis of his question.

On this table.

In this dress.

In that beautiful ass house.

On the beach.

Yes.

Hell yes. Without a doubt.

“Um. Next question.”

Because I wasn’t admitting to that. I needed a few days in between all the events we’d recently experienced before I gave in and told that truth.

Saint’s expression remained neutral. That poker face seemed to be one of his strengths, but it was difficult to get a read on him because of it.

“Why can’t you answer my question?” he probed, still wearing that neutral expression.

“It’s too intimate.”

“Okay,” he breezed, focusing on the chef approaching our table.

Our appetizers arrived then, liberating me to be silent as I dug into a Caprese salad. I watched as Saint opened his rolled silverware and placed it alongside his plate of salad. When he was satisfied with the way it was all lined up, he lifted his fork before chancing a glance at me.

“Is it good?” he asked, staring as I greedily piled my mouth with tomato and mozzarella. Satisfied with my nod of appreciation, he shifted his gaze to his plate, where he dug into his food.

I didn’t hear him speak again until he’d cleared the plate–like really cleared it. Not a single drop of food remained.

“I had some more of your things brought over from your condo. There’s a new phone back at the house for you as well,” he announced.

“Thank you,” I stated my gratitude to yet more unacknowledged silence.

When we made it back to the house, I noticed my car in the garage. In the bedroom, I located my keys on the dresser, along with a brand-new phone. The closet was filled with at least half of my clothes. Immediately, I was grateful for that. At least I wouldn’t have to reconstruct my extensive wardrobe with clothes from Demure’s warehouse.

Fresh out of a shower, I distributed my frame across the bed and opened the new cell phone, setting it up with my information. There weren’t many notifications since I was technically still supposed to be on Komodo Island. I opened the first one I noticed from the unsaved number.

The message held two photos of me dressed in the white gown from earlier in the day. In the first picture, Saint had captured my artificial display of joy with proficiency. Though the circumstances weren’t ideal, I looked like a proper chic bride. My verdict on the second photo wasn’t as kind. There was a whisper of sadness tucked behind my expression. Though it wasn’t the look I intended, my true feelings about my current predicament managed to slip through the cracks of what should have been a demure pose.

Setting the phone aside, I fought against the will of tears that sought to make their presence known. My circumstances had been uncanny and imperfect, but I vowed to make the best of the situation. For the next 364 days, I’d be someone’s wife. It wasn’t ideal, but I was safe, he was kind, and at least he was something pleasant to look at.

With ease, I recollected the way Saint’s body hugged his black tux. His scent, like an orchestral harmony, as it sexually harassed me. His line up, sharp enough to slice into my helpless heart. His voice, smooth and suave as he prompted the rosebud between my legs to flourish. His goatee, like a flawless feather made especially for a position between my legs. Yeah… My husband was favored by the man upstairs.

Thoughts of him in such a manner wouldn’t benefit me. They’d only lead my feet to search the house in pursuit of the location of his bed. And being in his bed wouldn’t serve me. It would only lead to things being more confusing at the end of my year-long commitment. There were a million dollars on the line, and I couldn’t risk losing that for the sake of flighty feelings. I was getting that bag, feelings be damned. Tucking the temptation away, I returned my attention to my phone and responded to the girlfriend group chat.

I’m fine, y’all.

Within minutes, my phone vibrated with a response.

Good, because I was about

to send officers to Indonesia to do

a wellness check.

Dream

That Javi dick must be slangin’

Robyn

Idgaf how good it is, answer when

I call, heaux!

Luna

I laughed at Luna’s text. I wanted to tell my friends everything –save for Javier’s diminished existence and my elopement– but I was far too exhausted to get into it. It didn’t help that the bed underneath me felt like a pillow manufactured in heaven. The last time I’d slept was on the plane back to Paramour, and exhaustion was thick as it attempted to obtain control of my body. I typed out a text that I thought would satisfy the three of my friends, and then I placed my phone on the charger and drifted off to sleep.

The call of seagulls competing with the caress of waves stroking the shore woke me. Affixed to the bed, I refused to remove myself from its comfort. My bladder revealed my laziness, prompting the ache rising in my lower belly. Reluctantly, I rose and emptied the disgruntled organ.

After taking care of my morning rituals, I headed downstairs to find the house empty. Saint’s absence was unanticipated. There were eggs on the side of the stove in a container. Assuming they were left behind for me, I loaded them onto a plate and found a loaf of bread and a toaster stowed away in a cabinet. Once my breakfast was set up, I ate in silence, save for those petulant seagulls.

After minutes of fighting with the phone to restore the previous settings, I set it aside and glanced at the space that surrounded me. Though barren, a little TLC could assist me in getting used to it all. It was then that I noticed the door to the back patio open. Rising from where I was seated, I headed to the back door and peered out at the morning’s view.

My eyes blossomed, my lips parted, and I nearly lost my breath in the process. The view was absolutely stunning. Palm trees adorned a hot tub enclosed with a pool, but the amenities weren’t the vision that deprived me of my breath. It was the Nubian pharaoh plunging from the confines of said pool. Toned biceps –one with a tattoo– combed the length of his head as he tried to swipe away the wetness dripping from his frame.

My God. I see what you’ve done for me.

He sprang from the water, planting his hand on either side of the floor as he lifted himself. A trail of water rushed from his beard, trickling to toned abs and then further to his soaking swim trunks outlining the full, thick, juicy length of…

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

It was only when he spoke that I realized my top teeth were digging into my bottom lip and likely looking absolutely pitiful. Saint, ignoring my lack of response, padded to one of the loungers outside. He grabbed a towel lying across the chair and proceeded to dry his face while I stole glances at the glorious third leg he housed.

“You wanted to know about Javier.”

I tore my gaze away from his groin, embarrassed that he’d caught me hawking at him like a piece of meat. Albeit, glorious meat. I mean, I was his wife. Technically, I had every right to enjoy the view, but he’d already clarified that we weren’t married in that way.

I did want to know about Javier.

He dried his legs, between his legs, his back… Oh God, I wished to be that towel. Then, he finally sat and I followed across from him.

“My family once controlled all the drugs that entered Paramour over the last ten years. Javier was being Godfathered in as the new distributor to take over the entire operation. My people wanted out, so they handed the reins over to him for a fee.”

Javier… selling drugs?

“No.” Rejecting his explanation, I shook my head. It seemed far too much of a stretch to be true. I’d been having far too much fun and ignoring everything I should have been paying attention to. The trafficking, yeah, there were signs, but selling and distributing drugs? I didn’t have the slightest clue about that type of carrying on.

“Javier told me he was in stocks,” I explained, earning me a thunderous chuckle.

“Stocks? Beauty, Javier dealt in the sale of women, young girls, and drugs,” Saint refuted me, drying his ears.

Drugs.

Now that I really considered it, I never witnessed Javier glued to his phone or any device on the stock application like most day traders were. I never saw him even look at the trending markets. Drug trafficking wasn’t much of a stretch, considering he’d been pegged as a sex trafficker.

He was always dressed lavishly with several chains around his neck. He always drove a nice car. He always had a team of security with him. I didn’t know what constituted a drug dealer, but Javier, as such, tracked.

Saint granted me the time I needed to digest that information, giving his limbs a deep stretch against the couch as he tossed his head back. Instinctively, my eyes flitted to the space between his legs like a woman starved. When Saint sat up, I averted my gaze to the pool.

“My people found out about his dealings in women and children. They made the call to put an end to it,” he shrugged as if we were discussing a solution to fixing a flat tire.

“My mother was in an abusive marriage when my father met her. My dad has this thing against women being mistreated. When he found out about Javier, his reaction was similar to yours on the plane. He couldn’t abide his successor being involved in illicit dealings.”

“Where do you fall into this?” I asked, trying to ignore the bulge between his legs as he sat back in the loungers and thrust his hips forward.

“Just paying my dues to the family. They needed Javier gone, and I was the man to do it. I told you about my military background. I was a sharpshooter. The army contracted the end of plenty of people’s lives at my hands before I retired. Now I just fuck off with marine life.”

“You just fuck off?”

“I’m a marine biologist,” he explained. “It doesn’t feel like work. It feels like I’m having the time of my life, so yeah, I fuck off. And you were disturbing that tortoise from tending to her hatchlings when I saw you on Komodo Island.”

“I thought turtles left their young before they hatched.”

“A tortoise is not the same as a turtle, Beauty.”

He rose to his feet, giving me one last glimpse of the weapon between his legs as it swung back and forth freely in his shorts. I sat there, watching him stalk toward the patio door. Before he made it to his destination, he paused in front of where I sat, stooping low until the heat of his breath brushed my ear.

“Let me know when you’re ready to revisit my question.”

Most of my days spent with Saint consisted of us avoiding one another –or rather, I was avoiding him. My unwavering attraction to the peculiar yet disgustingly fine man who was my husband had me timing when I’d go downstairs to eat so that we barely ran into each other. In turn, we barely spoke. He spent long days away at work, often returning well into the evening. That schedule served me perfectly. As long as I could adhere to the goal I’d set for myself –to make it to the 365th day in his home– I would be okay.

Most of my days were spent sketching out designs. I didn’t mind the isolation of the beach. Freedom to create void of anyone’s input was liberating. Slowly and assuredly, I was coming to love the space I was in.

The presiding issue of my friends inquiring about my well-being was a matter I wasn’t quite ready to tackle. Still, I knew that the longer I put off speaking with my girls, the worse their tongue-lashing would be once I was in their presence. Deciding to engage them one at a time, I typed out a text to Robyn.

I met someone new.

Pressing send, I held my breath with my head submerged in a pillow as I waited for her response. It didn’t come immediately. In fact, it didn’t come at all. Instead, she called me.

“What do you mean you met someone new? Weren’t you just in Indonesia? Are you okay?” Robyn probed, causing me to release a weighty sigh.

“Yes, I’m okay, but I’ve been back.”

“Well, hell, I hoped you were back. It’s been a few weeks. When did you get back?”

“Damn near a day after I arrived, girl. I know you all are probably ripping me to shreds in the group chat. It’s just been busy around me.”

That was a partial lie. I took off the week after I was slated to return from Indonesia because I always needed a vacation from a vacation. Well… I was supposed to take a vacation in Indonesia, but since things hadn’t gone as I had expected, I was making the most of it.

It wasn’t Komodo Island, but Paramour Beach was absolutely stunning and owed me nothing. There was no pink sand, but there was peace. When I wasn’t journaling or sketching, I was planning for all the things I wanted to do around the house to make it feel more like home. Fake marriage or not, I was preoccupied with my new life.

“Tori, are you sure you’re okay? You were supposed to be gone until the end of last week. Did something happen?”

“I just told you what happened, Robyn.”

“Okay. You met someone,” carefully she reiterated my words. “Tell me about this one.”

I shared everything I knew about Saint, save for the fact that he was responsible for killing Javier and that we were married. When I finished, Robyn was quiet. Too quiet.

“You sound happy. I guess that’s good.”

“But?”

There was always a but. Robyn was too silent for my liking, and it wasn’t like her to bite her tongue.

“Have you seen the news lately, Tori?”

I didn’t watch TV. To me, it was just a distraction and a way for people in power to control the thoughts of the masses. I had no interest in distractions from my art or any form of propaganda.

“No. Is there something I should know?”

“Uh… yeah. They found over two hundred women near Komodo Island recently in a sex trafficking ring… and many of them have admitted to being lured into it by Javier or his cohorts. He’s been linked to drugs as well. Up to now, they haven’t been able to find him. When I ask if you’re okay, Tori, I mean it.”

I got really silent on the line. Everything I’d learned over the past few weeks about Javier, Saint, and Saint’s family was all corroborated by Robyn.

“It could have been me,” I said aloud, more to myself than Robyn. And Saint was the reason it hadn’t been. I thought I wanted him that day I saw him climbing out of the pool, but knowing what I knew today…

“And thank God it wasn’t you. Tori, we didn’t know what to think when we got that text from you. The news had just broken a few days later, and you were being all cagey about how you were doing. You weren’t answering the phone. You weren’t responding to texts. It was mayhem over here.”

I felt terrible for sending my friends into a fit of worry. But I’d been safe all this time. Perfectly comfortable and secure in the luxury of Saint’s beach house.

“How did you get away, Tori?”

“I think that’s a conversation we’d have to have in person, Robyn.”

“Girl, say less! I will drive my ass to South Pointe right now.”

“Well, about that…”

“Ain’t no about that. What’s going on, Tori? You’ve got me on pins and needles over here. I have on a bonnet and pajamas with my keys in hand. Girl–”

“Robyn! Calm down, sis. I’m in Paramour. Paramour Beach.”

“What the hell are you doing over there?”

“I’m at his house. Saint’s house.” I explained, hoping it would deter her from making the trip.

“Oh! Send me the location. I’m on the way.”

“Robyn…”

“Girl, bye. Don’t Robyn me. I’ll know you’re okay once I lay eyes on you and determine that you’re okay.”

The triple beep of the phone informed me she’d hung up. I should have known my being at Saint’s house wasn’t a deterrent for her. Of all my friends, Robyn absolutely did not play when it came to me. She lived in Paramour, and the beach was only a fifteen-minute drive, give or take, from her home.

There was a storm threatening to make an appearance outside, coating the sky in a misty gray. It was just after six in the evening, and Saint was nowhere to be found in the house. Wherever he’d gone, I prayed he was okay. Darkness coated the interior of the house, so I flipped on a few lights to assist me as I padded around inside. When the doorbell rang, I directed myself to the door to answer it, not expecting Robyn to throw herself into my arms upon seeing me.

“You’re whole. Oh my God, thank goodness, you’re whole.”

“I am,” I fleshed out, leading her to the backyard once she freed me from her arms. After confirming that I was in perfect health, she started on me.

“I can’t believe you left us in the dark like that, Tori. You can’t be flaking on your friends.”

“I know. I’m sorry, friend,” I coaxed, walking through the foyer as she followed behind.

Her gaze raked over the interior of the house the same way mine had when I first laid eyes upon it. I knew she was just as awestruck as I was.

“Goddamn, girl, you really know how to choose ‘em. Does he have brothers?”

Producing a giggle, my feet kept moving until we were outside on the patio. I figured we’d have some semblance of privacy there despite Saint’s pervasive absence. We settled into the outdoor chairs, enjoying the breeze compliments of the calm before the storm.

“You know what, Robyn? You might be in luck. He has two brothers. One of them, I met.”

“Aw hell, you say it like he’s ugly or something,” she scowled.

“No, girl. I doubt ugly exists in their family tree. From what I’ve seen so far, it’s all fine, handsome, and gorgeous.”

“Okay, well, you let me know when I can pull up to the cookout to snatch him up, but first things first. How the hell did you get away from Javier’s weird ass? And don’t tell me it’s because you met someone new. Hell, I’m on red alert at this point. This new person could be just as weird.”

I hadn’t really thought my story through when I gave her the address to Saint’s house. Opting to go with the flow, I hoped she believed the lie I had yet to concoct. I hated being dishonest with my friend, but I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d up and married Saint—not now and likely not ever if I could manage to keep my story straight for another fifty weeks.

“I met him and his brother on the beach shortly after finding out that Javier was up to no good. I ran out of the villa Javier and I were in just before he attempted to get intimate with me.” That part was true. “I was on the beach running when I darted into Saint and Supreme, and they kind of… saved me.”

It wasn’t really a lie, now that I considered it. I’d just dropped a few harrowing details from my story.

“You found out he was up to no good? What do you mean? You knew about the trafficking?” Robyn probed.

“I was on the plane with several women who were all being escorted by other men. Robyn, I never felt completely comfortable with Javier. There was something in my gut telling me he couldn’t be completely trusted. It took me a while to piece everything together, but by the time I’d come to my senses, I was already with him on the island,” I explained.

Robyn’s eyes squinted as if she were trying to combine my tale with what she’d heard on the news so that it made sense. After a while, she said, “Okay.”

Knowing my friend, I knew it wasn’t the end of that with her.

“–But why didn’t you reach out to anyone when you got back?”

Because I was getting married.

“I didn’t have anything, Robyn. I left all my personal belongings, save for my passport, housed in my little wristlet. Everything else was in the villa when I took off. I was terrified out of my mind. I didn’t know if Javier’s men would come looking for me.”

“Wait, what about the airport? How’d you get back so quickly?”

“Girl, please, we flew private,” I shrugged animatedly, to which she returned pursed lips and raised brows that said, ‘Well, excuse the hell out of me.’

“So you decided to stay here?” Her brows hiked her face into a confused grimace as she motioned to the space around us.

I didn’t like the way she said that.

“Robyn, Javier knows who all my friends are. I didn’t want to put anyone in danger,” I tried to explain my stretched lie, grabbing ahold of her hands and praying she’d understand. “I didn’t want to return home in case they used my license to track me back there.”

After a while, she sighed and nodded her head, accepting my explanation as if it were an apology. She’d been worried about me, and I was acting entirely out of character, so she had every right to ask her questions. I didn’t take offense.

Just when I thought the conversation was over, her eyes grew two sizes as they fastened onto something in the direction of the beach. I followed her gaze to witness Saint dripping wet again with no towel in tow. He stalked hurriedly toward where we sat as if trying to get inside ahead of the storm.

“Ladies.”

Nodding in our direction, he acknowledged our presence but didn’t stop walking until he made it inside. Once he was out of earshot and Robyn had consumed her fill of his backside, she started on me again.

“Goddamn bitch! I see the real reason why you haven’t been in contact with anyone. Does his brother look like that?”