CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MASON
My hands circle Saint’s wrist. We are in the parking lot of the wedding venue. A nervous breath escapes my lungs as I stare at Saint. I’d been holding his hand since we left the house. He smiles at me, and he leans in to adjust my tie. “Perfect.” He whispers.
“Are we going to address the elephant in the room? Your family will be here. Your father included. Are they not aware of the role I played with Vincent?” I ask, a chill settling in my bones.
Saint’s lips tighten, then he rubs my hand carefully. “My father won’t be here. My cousin’s getting married to a man. He doesn’t approve of me. He won’t approve of Sinclair either. And my brothers, they know not to bring up what happened.”
“But, darling?” I worry. He’d met up with his brothers a few times in the past two days, and he went to the Red Vault to see his Vincent. They were reinforcing more soldiers to look for my uncle since they hadn’t found him.
Add that to the list of things that make me unnerved.
“I don’t care about their approval. I only care about you.” He takes my hand and kisses it.
This is not just about the wedding for us. We are both stepping into his world. It’s not new to me, but the difference is that I have him by my side. “Come on.”
We emerge from the car and walk through the labyrinth of parked cars, entering the building after checking in with security.
We take the elevator to the next floor. The room opens into a beautiful purple-themed after-party.
The air smells of expensive cologne, polished wood, and faint cigar smoke.
Crystal glasses catch the light at every table, thin-stemmed and delicate.
Unpredictable men standing in tailored suits gather in groups, holding conversations mostly about business and a dark and disturbed world they’ve walked their whole life.
Being here with Saint by my side feels different.
I want to hold him when a stiff feeling settles in me, but I keep my hands at my side.
How can I even want something good from him when all I have done is try to ruin his family empire? When I betrayed him, spied on him. Guilt spreads over my skin like pinpricks. How do I prove I’m worthy of his forgiveness? Of his kindness.
The star of the show stands in the middle of the dance room with his bride, hands placed around the young man’s waist. Sinclair has a pleased smile on his face.
My eyes search for the room for any familiar faces. I spot Tiff in the crowd speaking with two men at her side.
“I need to speak with Prince Kane. Is there anything you need?”
“No. Go do what you know how to do best.” I give him a smile. He nods even though what I want is a kiss. I always want to kiss him. But we are in public, and we can’t kiss. Saint strolls away while I remain where I’m standing until a server approaches me, offering a glass of champagne.
I have never really thought my sexuality was a big deal. I had to focus on my uncle going off on me most of the time or getting locked away for days at the cabin, and all the helplessness that came with it.
I hate that I cannot hold his hand in public, or even dance with him like all the couples here. I mean, Syn and his husband are dancing in here. But I’m not rushing through things with Saint. He’s given me the space to trust him, and I’ll do the same for him. He deserves it.
As I sip my drink, my gaze remains on him. He’s the only man I have my eyes on.
My darling. My man. All mine.
I’ll try to keep the distance between us just until the night is over.
But I’m drawn closer to him, like metal to a magnet, like a moth to a flame.
One minute he’s drinking with his brother.
The big, taller, terrifying one, Virgil.
Next, he’s talking with Prince Kane, then another woman I’ve never met.
Jealousy curls around my throat like chains, and I clench my fists as I watch them walk around the room and speak to each other. He never told me about this person. Maybe I wasn’t worth telling it to. What fucking drives me crazy is when she leans in and kisses him on his cheek.
I frown and tighten my hand around the glass, so hard it almost cracks under my weight.
I turn on my heels and bump into someone, and he spills his drink on my shirt. “Watch where you’re going. Are you fucking blind?!” he seethes, shoves me, and walks away.
“I’m sorry.” I apologize and look down at my stained shirt.
The room collectively gasps around me, and I turn on my heel. Saint wears a scowl on his face as he drags the man by the hair and shoves him down at my feet. “Apologize.” He growls.
The man’s trembling gaze flickers up to me as an apology stutters out of him. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” Saint shakes his head. He doesn’t approve. He squats down to his eye level and grabs the man’s neck. “Try again, asshole.”
He shouldn’t do any of this. He’s drawing attention to both of us.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Please, forgive me.” The man begs pathetically.
“Saint, just let him go.”
“He hasn’t accepted your apology.” Saint grinds his teeth at him.
“It’s okay. I accept.” I reiterate. Saint shoves the man down and regains his footing. He turns around, shocked that everybody’s staring at us, including the woman she’d been speaking with.
I inhale sharply and turn on my heel, bolting out of the room. I need to clean myself up.