Page 65 of Saint
I couldn’t think of festivities. I couldn’t think of any of it. Without delay, I rushed up to one of the sound producers to get the microphone off my clothes. Once the task was complete, I wasted little time shuffling through the dressing room until I located my makeshift office. Slamming the door behind me as I entered, I scavenged air into my lungs.
He’s here.
My chest inflated and then fell at the fact. I swiped the wetness pooling in my palms against my dress.
Saint is here.
Saint
“Girls, girls, gworls! Demure’s spring collection took us off the deep end. The upcoming season featured a combination of fantastical oceanic costumes and stunning ready-to-wear haute couture pieces. Iconic silhouettes nodded to the plunge below the surface with the constant theme of marine life surfacing. Intriguing appliqués, gorgeous sheers, and experimental beaded gowns resembling a coral reef make Tori Jacob’s work addictively awe-inspiring.
“The South Pointe native named the show Love: An Arranged Tragedy, which she’s been rather cagey about the meaning, but one could surmise that the experimental work is a nod to taking the plunge in matters of the heart and finding beauty beneath the surface. Ugh! I can’t stop loving this show, and I can’t wait to see more of Jacob’s work in the future.”
As I waited for the blogger to complete his recording, my eyes scanned the dressing area. Cameras were everywhere as bloggers and photographers alike sought to get behind-the-scenes post-show interviews completed with various models of note. I’d clocked Victoria disappearing to the area after leaving the stage, but I had yet to locate her. As I moved through the space, I recognized the honey-blonde-haired woman who’d visited the house months ago standing near a closed door with several other women. Robyn. As one of Victoria’s friends, she had to be aware of her location.
Approaching the group from behind, I put on my allistic mask to engage.
“Hey, I’m looking for Tori. Have you seen her?”
“Uh uh? Who are you?” One of the women standing beside her doled out the question. The woman named Robyn remained silent, observing me with scrutiny.
“I’m her husband,” I revealed as a hint of annoyance crossed my being. These were Tori’s friends, yet they seemed oblivious to anything about me.
“Husband? Oh, hell naw. We all need to speak with Tori.”
Facing the door the trio were all seemingly waiting at, the woman whose name I didn’t know pounded her fist against the it, demanding entry. “Tori, it’s Dream. Open this damn door.”
An exasperated but stunning Tori opened the door. I didn’t know what the fuck she had on, but she made it look good. Or maybe because it was my woman that it looked so good on her.
“What is it, Dream?” Her eyes clocked each of her friends before they landed on me. The sobering look she gave them was replaced with undeniable warmth as she gave me a slow perusal, confirming where I still reigned. Her eyes also held traces of pain and longing. My chest seized, aware that I’d fathered those feelings.
“Saint,” she acknowledged.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Taking a step forward, the sea of three women parted, granting me access to the rhythm of my heart.
Standing near the desk, I watched the woman named Dream pop a hip outward as she shifted her weight and rolled her neck. Lengthy, manicured fingers snapped and motioned, commanding attention as she spoke.
“Tori, hell no. We need answers. We’re all coming in. Step aside, heaux.”
Dream pushed her way into the office, followed by the other two women, while I looked on in amusement.
“Congrats on your show. You look stunning, Beauty,” I spoke first, seeking to disrupt the tension in her shoulders.
“So do you,” she returned, squinting her eyes at me.
“Aht, aht! Not so fast, lovebirds.” The rebuke came from the woman named Robyn.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need an explanation before y’all get into it. We’ve had our differences, but I’m with you when you’re right. When you’re not, I have to say my piece.”
“Okay,” Victoria acquiesced, blowing out a stream of air.
“You went from being involved with a sex trafficker to dealing with a man none of us knew. Granted, I met Saint briefly but I know as much about him as does everyone else. This man just said he’s your husband. Is that correct, Tori?”
I, too, waited because it was apparent Victoria hadn’t told her friends the extent of our relationship. And while I wanted to be upset about it, I tried to understand it from her point of view. Our marriage was hasty inauthentic real, for starters. Not initially. It came as little surprise that she hadn’t had a discussion with her friends of my significance in her life – not even after I became significant. As she shifted slightly, it was then that I realized Victoria was nervous about the topic altogether.
Ignoring their presence, I trained my attention on the woman I loved. A multitude of things were weighing on me, and I needed to say my piece as well.
“Tori, I fucked up.”