by Katy Evans
We descend to the lobby, where Otis stands ready at the elevator bank. Saint steps out and holds the doors open as Otis hands him a key. Saint steps back in, presses the button for the tenth floor, and then pulls me back into his arms as we ride upstairs.
We head into the junior suite, and then he leads me out to the terrace, where there are a set of chaises and a table with four chairs, and a view of the water.
He lowers himself onto a chaise and pulls me down with him. He stretches his long legs and I shift above him, then cuddle close as he dries my tears. “I miss my dad right now. Because it’s something a dad does. Protect his family. Not all of them. But some.”
He looks into my face, then he draws his lips thoughtfully. “I remember that movie. I’d make sure our girl made a smart choice before I handed her off to some bastard.”
“Sin!” I laugh when I realize he already sounds annoyed and jealous. “When I go back in there, I’m going to picture you as the dad. And it’ll be perfect. It’ll be funny now.”
He laughs.
His arm clutches me just a little tighter, almost tight enough to make it hard to breathe. And all the emptiness of the old is replaced by the fullness of the new. I lie there against him, enjoying the soft brushing of his fingers against my cheek.
“Would you ever forgive him? Your own father?”
He laughs softly, then his laugh trails off. “No.” He frowns and shakes his head, his eyes a little bit threatening. “I’m not good at forgiveness.”
“You forgave me.”
“I understood why you did it. You were doing your job. I’d do my job before anything else. That was me too. I understood that . . . this”—brows drawn low, he swings a finger between us—“took you by surprise. It took me by surprise how much anything on the media could fuck me up when Victoria’s reveal leaked.”
I’m glad we can talk about it now. I’m glad it’s starting to get exorcised out of both of us.
“I will never again be on anyone’s team but yours; you know that, don’t you? Unless of course if we argue, because I’ll probably be arguing about a good point and you’ll be too stubborn to admit it. Maybe I’ll be trying to make you see that our little girl’s boyfriend is a good guy.”
“He fucking better be.”
I grin and set my face back on his chest, and think of us. How we began quietly, like most storms. We began actually under a sunny sky. But the clouds in our sky built steadily into a thunderhead. When the sun came back out, what was left behind was not what had been there before. Now it’s better after the rain; at least it feels like so much more.
He shifts me above him so that we’re both facing the waves and the horizon. He signals at the sky. “Where we’re going on our honeymoon, we’ll be able to see every speck up there.”
Smiling, I glance back over my shoulder and peer into his face. “Somewhere?”
Beneath my spine, his chest rumbles from a chuckle, causing my head to feel swimmy. “That’s right.”
“The office thing under control?”
His voice tickles the back of my ear. “We get four days off, no phones. After that I can’t promise.”
“Four is a lot. What will we talk about?” I frown thoughtfully at the water.
“You. Me. Us. Our apartment. This ear.” He tugs the ear. I laugh and turn to him again.
He exchanges a smile with me, then we lay there for another hour, just talking and gazing at a sky whose stars are partly hidden by the lights down on earth.
He holds my hand as he walks me to the door of my suite. I feel like a teen, waiting to see if she’ll be kissed. Knowing she can’t go in without a kiss. He looks at my mouth, then his eyes come up to study my face intently. Deep in thought.
“Your kiss,” I say, because I know he wants it.
I stand on my toes, the heels of my palms resting on his chest for balance.
He kisses the corner of my mouth and takes me by the waist, groaning softly, his eyes fluttering closed for one second. Only one. Before they open with steely determination. “If you kiss me, it’ll kill me.” His eyes blaze. “I’m fresh out of patience, trying to make your wedding night perfect.” He smiles ruefully.
“Saint, thank you for being so understanding and patient.”
He tweaks my ear. “I’ll make you pay tomorrow.”
A delicious shiver of want runs through me. “With interest.”
“Worst rate in the market.”
“I love you,” I say before he can leave.
“Love you too.” He rumples my hair. “Go out there and live the single life.” He pats my butt.
“Like it’s so fun compared to what’s in store . . .” I tease.
He smiles and watches me go inside with a twinkle in his eye and a pure smile, as if I’m already perfect for him.
THE BIG DAY
The next morning is a flurry of makeup, hair, manicure, and pedicure. I’m in my underwear, ready to start putting on the dress, the lace tiara, and the veil when Gina arrives.
“Half of the hotel staff is swooning in the lobby, I swear to god,” she says.
I feel a jealous twinge at the thought that others have been able to see my groom before me. “Who?”
“Receptionists, florists, waitresses, everyone with a vagina. Women were sitting down fanning themselves. Swear.” She laughs and then shoots me a deathly sober look that says I kid you not!
“Where are the rings?” I ask her.
“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not supposed to bring them, Tahoe is.”
“He better bring them along with his hangover after the rehearsal dinner.”
She grabs her phone. “T-Rex, don’t forget the rings or we’ll have a bridezilla on our hands.”
“We?” asks Wynn, where she still sits by the breakfast cart that room service had brought up.
“What?”
“You just said ‘we,’ ” says Wynn.
“Ah, whatever.” Gina comes over and mothers me.
Wynn is eyeing the other dresses as she eats a piece of toast. “Are all these going back?” she asks. “I mean . . . they’re huge designers. And they sent notes!”
“I don’t think they’re going back,” I say as Mother holds open the dress for me to step into.
“If I need an emergency wedding . . .” Wynn trails off.
“No period yet?” I ask worriedly.
Wynn is a week late.
She told us last night after I came to the room to find her crying a little bit.
“None. But it’s all the stress and excitement of your wedding. Plus travel always messes with my cycle.” Convinced she’s nailed the problem, she fishes out a bagel from the bread basket and bites down.
“Right,” says Gina. “Does Emmett even want kids?”
Wynn has no response for that.
Gina shoots her a meaningful look. “Guess you should ask.”
“Really? Is that what we think?” Wynn shoots back.
“What I think.”
Mom has buttoned up the sides of my low-back dress, and I am momentarily left speechless by the image in the mirror hanging on the back of the en suite bathroom door. I take in the milky color of my skin, the pink of my cheeks. The dress is formfitting with a low back and a little bit of cleavage and a mermaid skirt, emphasizing my waist and hips, and even my small breasts. My hair hangs like a curtain behind me, and it looks lustrous as glass. My mother adds the tiara to the crown of my head and attaches the veil, letting the rear hang delicately over my backside, and the short one to cover my face.
She holds the purple orchids that I’m supposed to carry, and stares at me with tears in her eyes.
Wynn and Gina stop arguing, and they catch their breath when I turn. “So you like it?” I ask them.
This is the one dress they hadn’t seen on me.
And once they see it, they get misty eyes too.
“No crying,” I plead, my heart suddenly feeling like a thousand pounds in my chest.
I’m too excited to cry. I�
�m too happy to marry my Saint. I’m too determined not to have puffy eyes.
“No crying,” Gina softly concurs as she goes and takes the bagel from Wynn’s hand and slaps it down on the plate. “We have a wedding to take her to. Her player will be a player no more; he just got himself a missus.”
Down in the lobby, the hotel staff is waiting in a neat line to greet me. “Congratulations! You make a beautiful bride. Oh, and your friend was just here. She worried she was already late for the wedding but we assured her she was just on time.”
“Friend?” I ask quizzically.
I glance behind me, where Gina and Wynn stand along with Mother. Do they mean Sandy? Valentine? I mean to ask, but then I spot a familiar person ducking with her arm raised to cover her face. I spot a bun, and an executive outfit like some paparazzi pro. For a moment my body stiffens at the shock of seeing her. Pretty as you damn well please. But the shock gives way to indignation and protectiveness. I purse my lips in anger, I lift my skirts, and walk over.
“Victoria.” I stop her.
She freezes, turns, and gets this “oh-my-god-you-here?” look on her face. “Hey, Rachel.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I, well, there were rumors. I’m representing the people.”
“She’s like a bloodhound sniffing them out!” Gina cries.
“You’ve got some nerve,” Wynn huffs. “We’re calling Saint.”
“Wynn, no,” I say, reaching out to stop her.
I step aside and pull Victoria along with me.
“Rachel, I won’t do any harm. I’m so sorry for what happened,” she says.
“No,” I say. “You’re sorry my boyfriend canned your article and got you out of a job.”
“No!” Her eyes widen. “I like this job. I’m like Perez Hilton on Twitter. I’m free; I like it. I have you and him to thank.” She lifts her phone. “One picture?”
“You’re kidding me,” I say, outraged.
“Press can’t come in, cameras controlled, but I’m not press, see, not officially; my phone does the trick, please. I know your single name, and described you . . . so. I mean, we are friends.”
“Were,” I whisper, then I try to calm myself. “Please leave.”
We stare at one another.
She was someone I wanted to be like.
But I don’t anymore.
She has her path and I have mine.
I don’t want to hate her either.
And I don’t think she hates me. In fact, I see regret in her eyes. She bows her head in shame and wrings her hands as she presses her phone to her chest. “Rachel, I’m sorry. For what it’s worth.” She looks contrite. “I saw him walk past.” She signals. “You’re lucky.” I don’t reply, and she adds, as if to make me feel better, “So is he.”
“You still need to leave, Victoria.”
There seems to be a battle inside her. The professional versus the human being. “I’ll go because I owe you one. But I’ll see you at the christening of your firstborn, or maybe sooner.”
I smile at her naïveté. This is the last time she slips by me. “I don’t think so,” I say.
She smiles a little and walks away. And I watch her take my past with her, all of it.
I have a future to look forward to.
I have a storm to catch.
A leap to make.
A man to love.
A Sin to take.
And I’ve never looked forward to something in my life like I look forward to
MALCOLM
KYLE
PRESTON
LOGAN
SAINT.
WEDDING
There’s only one chapel on the island, and it’s barely a year old. When the original one suffered a fire, one of the billionaires who frequently vacations here had a new one made. The architecture is exquisite, with thick columns and high arches, old mosaics gracing the windows, brought here from antiques shops and auction blocks from across the world. The altar is all white marble, with sculptures hiding in strategically positioned nooks, as well as frescoes on the painted ceiling, reminiscent of Michelangelo.
Today the chapel feels like a garden.
I know this because I came to look at it yesterday, and I know that a waterfall of white orchids hangs over the altar. I know that the aisle rows are dripping with more orchids that trail down to the long red carpet. I know that there are thousands of warmly lit candles awaiting behind the massive antique doors, and that the chorus is accompanied by one of Chicago’s finest orchestras, all flown down here for the wedding.
I can’t breathe in this dress. I CAN’T BREATHE knowing that he’s waiting for me. Behind these doors. Down that freshly cleaned, red-carpeted aisle. Up on the luminous white marble altar and under the hanging orchids. My groom.
Every part of me shakes. Quakes. Aches.
Sandy and Valentine waited outside, and they’re helping Gina and Mom spread out my veil to make sure I look perfect.
Perfect.
Please, please, god, let me look perfect.
We will only marry once. He will only watch me once. And I’m burning for him to burn for me like I do him.
There are days meant to be perfect in your life. So ethereal and mystical. I hadn’t dared imagine this one, though. First, because I didn’t want it . . . never knew I wanted it. Next, because I wanted it so very much.
And now the day is upon me and upon him.
My hair falls behind me, a plain veil covering my face, my wedding dress fitting like it had been made for me. Outside the wind is warm and perfect. The cathedral is bathed in white. The doors swing open. I hear the chorus start.
The air rushes through me, electric, excited, as alive as I feel.
I watch my friends walk before me. They look like exotic birds from overseas. I’m in white, my favorite color. It didn’t used to be my favorite, until I met him. He is so dark, and makes me feel so bright and light in return. The air between us solidifies. I see him. He sees me.
His eyes laser through the thin veil, and I feel charged by green fire. Green fire flowing in my veins. Green fire fiery in my stomach.
And then, he smiles.
Kaboom goes my heart.
I have no fears.
No regrets.
Only a rush of happiness so pure, it hurts in my chest. Tears of emotion start filling my eyes; my mother’s arm is trembling in mine. And I realize she has a trail of tears, happy tears to match the smile on her face.
Through my tears I keep looking ahead to the black, tall, regal shape of my groom. Watching me, intent, his hands clasped before him, his shoulders straight, his legs braced apart, as I walk up.
The future father of all my little Saints, though I’m prepared for devils, the whole lot of them.
And walking up to him feels like the rightest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I don’t want him to see me cry again.
I want to wipe my tears, but I’m afraid to snag the veil. I will tell him, later, that I’m crying because I’m happy. He makes me so happy. My chest swells as we approach; he becomes larger, darker, clearer to my eyes, and oh so very and extremely perfect.
I’m hazy with anticipation when Mom hands me over to Saint.
He takes my hand in his warm, strong grip, and his smile never leaves his face, not for a second.
In a rush, heat eats up my body.
He’s staring at me through my veil, his face blurry through the material. Slowly he lifts the lace, and a look like summer lightning brightens his eyes when he sees me. He sees my tears then, and his gaze fills with an endless tenderness that blooms in my heart. He dries me slowly with his thumbs, and I take one of his big hands in mine and kiss the center of his palm, my kiss saying that he is the center of my world now.
His answer is exquisite.
One sole ghost kiss. Right on the corner of my mouth, where my smile goes, then he draws me up to his side, and I follow him up the two steps, breathing as he breathes, moving as he
moves, onto the altar.
Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint. My first everything. The man who woke me up. The man who made my world spin faster, the wind feel colder, grapes taste sweeter than ever. Amplified all my senses and left me alive, breathing—so when I messed up, I felt it more than ever.
And now here we are.
I am marrying this beautiful, ambitious, intelligent, generous, caring man, who holds me close, has always kept me close, even when he was so angry at me.
There is no closeness that surpasses where we’re going. Nothing more intimate. More precious than he can give me, and I him.
I pass my bouquet to Gina and Wynn fidgets with the long veil behind me.
The ceremony begins—dreamlike and musical. I absorb the chorus, the priest’s words, the man beside me. Tahoe hands us the rings.
Malcolm slips the ring onto my finger. “I give you this ring as a token of my love.” His smile is all tender and male. He watches me intently as I slip the thicker band onto his left hand, our fingers lacing together.
The priest proceeds to where I will finally vow to take this man.
My mouth dries up. I look up at Malcolm and try to speak as clearly as I can, my stomach warmed by the loving way he looks at me.
“I, Rachel, take you, Malcolm, to be my lawfully wedded husband, my friend, my partner, and my love from this day forward. In the presence of god, our family, and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.” I’m breathless as I finish, and I smile a little. There’s a gleam of intensity and hunger in his eyes as he listens to me.
When the priest begins to say, “You may now kiss—”
Saint kisses me. He puts one arm around my waist and squeezes me affectionately, and then he lifts me by the waist, up to his mouth, to kiss me longer and harder.
The music soars, “Ode to Joy” as we walk out of the church as man and wife.
SIN AND SINNER
Buzzfeed.com
#SAINT VS. SINNER
Malcolm Saint’s legendary and controversial girlfriend is causing quite a stir as we get wind of a snippet of the prenup to her now-husband, who put the rush on their upcoming nuptials by tying the knot on a secluded island last Saturday. Apparently the prenup enforces a strict loyalty clause if our favorite manwhore strays—and he’s betting his money on the fact that he won’t. The clause is equally demanding of Mrs. Saint. The exact sums and punishments are not known, as Saint is known to guard his private matters with his wife zealously. Which makes us more determined to find out . . .
