Page 43 of Saint
“Listen to me, Beauty.” Immediately, Saint steered us away to a corner out of earshot of anyone who may have been around. “Nobody knows about us except my dad and Supreme.”
“You mean our agreement?”
“No. Not that. Everyone except my mother knows of our hasty marriage and the reasoning behind it,” he recalled of our first meeting in Indonesia. It had only been four months, though it felt like a lifetime ago. “That’s all they know, okay?”
Relief blanketed me, if only for a fleeting second. I didn’t know the extent of what Saint’s family knew of me. It was the reason for the irrational activity in my chest and my splintered nerves. Pillaging the air for energy to steady myself, I sighed.
“Tori, are you okay?” Saint probed, studying me.
“Your mother doesn’t like me,” I hissed lowly.
“How can you know that already?”
“Saint, she–”
“Fuck these people, Tori,” Saint blurted, causing me to blink in astonishment. “It doesn’t matter what they think of you. You married me, not them. You’re my wife. Just ride through–”
“Good! You’re here!”
My thoughts were shelved for a later time as the familiar face approached. “We can eat now,” Supreme boomed from behind me, where a hallway was. Trailing behind him were two other men. One of them looked to be the oldest of the trio.
“Victoria, you look stunning. The Miller name looks good on you,” Supreme grinned after freeing me from a hug. “This guy been treating you right?”
“He has. Saint is everything and more,” I smiled, happy to see a face I recognized.
“That’s good to know. I won’t bother asking how she’s treating you, Saint. It’s obvious my brother is in pure bliss.”
The admission caused me to beam at Saint, who just shrugged. “He’s not lying,” Saint confessed, steering us to the final two men as they approached. “Victoria, this is my dad, Ramsay Miller, and this is Sincere, my youngest brother.”
“What’s good, sis?” The man named Sincere pulled me into a brief but firm hug before making his way to the dining room. Behind him was yet another handsome but older face in the form of Ramsay Miller.
“It’s nice to meet you, young lady,” he grabbed my hand and covered it with his free one. “I’ve been trying to get you over here sooner. You all missed the summer cookout. My wife has been driving me nuts about setting this dinner up. You’ve met Sarah?”
“I have,” I recalled the uncomfortable greeting from Saint’s mother. My grimace attempted to pass for a smile and failed.
“Good, good,” Mr. Miller chuckled. “She’s a softy. Don’t let her get under your skin. Let’s eat.”
True to form, dinner was composed of the typical southern fixings of collards, macaroni, fried chicken, and yams. As I opted out of the chicken, it prompted my first line of questioning at the table.
“So, Victoria, do you have something against chicken?”
The sweet voice of Mrs. Miller floated from across the table. She cut into her chicken and shoved a small piece into her mouth as she awaited an answer.
“Ma–” Saint began to speak in my defense, but I squeezed his thigh, begging for silence.
“No, ma’am. I love chicken. I just choose not to eat it.” Effortlessly, I spoke up for myself.
“Something wrong with my chicken?” She tossed back again with that sweet southern accent.
“No, ma’am, I just don’t eat meat,” I responded, spooning a mixture of yams with macaroni into my mouth. The combination was divine – so much so that I sent a prayer to the man upstairs, hoping the woman across from me would permit me to enjoy it in peace.
“I’m curious, Victoria… How did you and my Saint meet?”
God, why hath thee forsaken me!
“Ma,” Saint started.
“We met on Komodo Island in Indonesia,” I floated, undeterred. “Saint was so enamored when he set eyes on me that he couldn’t leave without me.”