Page 33 of Saint
Militant, direct, self-starting soldiers were my type. They needn’t be literal soldiers but men who carried themselves like they had a mission to exact. That’s whom I melted for. That’s who Saint reminded me of. Not a… wallflower.
The palpable shift in his energy was evident on his face as he signaled the waiter again. He tossed much more cash than what I knew the meal to cost on the table. Afterward, he stood and waited.
“Are we–we’re leaving?”
Curious eyes bared confusion as I observed him. I didn’t know what I’d said that was wrong. He didn’t say anything to lead me to believe that he was uncomfortable with the conversation. Oh lord, did I marry a man with communication issues?
“Yeah, come on.”
My things were strewn out on the table. My sketchpad, my Sakura Micron pens. I hadn’t touched them since we arrived, but I didn’t expect us to be concluding our lunch so soon. I had to shuffle everything inside my bag and rush to catch up with him. Immediately annoyed, an unmistakable scowl marred my face. Already, Saint was barreling through the restaurant as if his wagon would turn into a pumpkin at the next stroke of the clock.
“Can you slow down, Saint?”
He turned to observe me. It was a brief glance before his gaze flitted elsewhere. “Okay,” he nodded.
Furrowed brows presented in distaste of his haste. Saint was undoubtedly a different breed of man than I was accustomed to. A gentle giant, for sure, he was nothing like I’d expected him to be. Slightly macho but temperate. Soft-spoken but assertive. A little shy? I mean, he’d called himself a wallflower. That threw me for an endless loop. And the awkwardness. Not in a nervous guy with a crush way. More like an I-don’t-know-how-to interact-socially kind of way. It didn’t track for a man that carried himself like Saint.
In the car, there was silence, perturbed only by Sade’s melodic cadence whispering over the speakers. The volume was low enough that you could only hear the beat and not the lyrics. I only recognized the song because it was one of my favorites.
Despite the audio interrupting my thoughts, I was still baffled about Saint’s behavior back at the restaurant. Was I really married and living with an awkward, indifferent, albeit handsome man? I mean, there was a prize to be acquired once we’d ended our arrangement, sure. But could I put up with his seemingly strange behavior? And for a year at that?
The answer to my mental inquisition didn’t come to me as quickly as I would have liked, so I turned the volume up on the radio, permitting Sade to drown out my thoughts. At least, I thought that was what I was doing. As quickly as the Cherish the Day chorus began, it was silenced by Saint, who cut the radio off altogether. He shot me a look as if I’d lost my mind and then dragged the car to the side of the road.
“Don’t ever touch the radio,” he huffed, disrupting his handsome face with what looked like sheer agitation.
“Okay,” I nodded, shrinking back a bit from his glare. When he noticed, his features softened.
“Sorry,” he pushed out, professing his regret and dragging a hand through his perfectly lined haircut with waves deep enough to swim in. “I didn’t mean to scare or offend you.”
“Okay. It’s fine, beast,” I chuckled, laughing off the slip of the tongue.
In lieu of my joke being accepted as the comedy I’d intended it to be, Saint went rigid.
Shit.
I hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. On the tip of my tongue, it made an unsanctioned appearance. It was one of those thoughts that came and left as quickly as it had appeared.
“Beast?” A single bushy brow lifted, repeating me.
“As in Beauty and the Beast. It was a joke.”
“A joke. Okay,” he nodded.
Though not invested in the business of hurting his feelings, his taut features and pursed lips informed that it was a little too late for that. The way he’d repeated the word ‘joke’ was enough for me to adopt the idea that it was profanity in his presence. Beast. What a thoughtless misstep. I didn’t dare wish to see the real beast in him. I knew it was in there somewhere, locked away.
“Saint, what’s wrong?”
From the time he’d returned from the restroom, his demeanor had shifted. Expressionless eyes scouring my face and frame gave nothing away. The enlightenment I’d sought to find him wearing remained absent. I admired his poker face, but not when it came at the expense of hiding his true feelings from me.
“Nothing. I’m good.”
My ever-present discernment confirmed the lie. Something was wrong. In part, I’d committed my first offense with my joke. Though unaware of what else was consuming his thoughts, he was indeed hurt by my remark. But coaxing and pacifying a man to speak was not my ministry. He said he was fine. If he craved to bury the matter, I would lift a shovel and provide assistance.
With his eyes affixed to the road ahead, he fired up the car’s engine, proceeding to drive us out toward Demure’s headquarters. When we arrived, I gathered my things, saying nothing, and exited the car. The drive had been uncomfortable enough after our strange exchange, filled with wounded silence. Desiring nothing more than to be free of Saint’s presence, my movements were swift as the wind as I turned for the front doors to Demure.
“Tori!” He called out to me, stilling my limbs before I could close the car’s door behind me.
“Yes?”