Page 21 of Saving Saul

I shouldn’t have let myself think of her name. Now, all I want to do is pull out my favorite picture of her, which my securityteam snapped when she stormed out of the studios on reveal day. My fingers hover over my phone, and I swipe to the photo.

There she is.

She’s angry in the shot, her expression a mix of hurt and fury that tightens something in my chest. Her jaw is set, her full lips pressed into a defiant line. Even in her rage, she’s stunning. Her dark brown skin gleams under the unforgiving sunlight, kissed by a glow that the camera can’t quite capture but radiates anyway.

Her curls are wild, framing her face like a crown. A few tendrils fall over her piercing almond-shaped eyes, which burn with determination, even through the grainy pixels. She’s wearing a fitted black dress, something sleek and sexy, with a slit that teases just enough to remind me how confident she is in her skin. Her curves, sharp and soft in all the right places, move with purpose as she strides away from the building. She holds her head high, her back straight, and her shoulders squared as if daring anyone to stop her or ask her why tears threaten to spill down her cheeks.

I can’t stop staring at it. The image reminds me of everything I admired—and still do—about her. She’s fierce, unapologetic, and beautiful in a way that feels effortless but cuts right through me, leaving me breathless.

And that look? That determined, fiery glare aimed at the world? It’s sexy as hell. I can almost hear her voice in the picture, spitting out some sharp remark to mask how much I hurt her. The thought tightens my grip on the phone.

This picture is proof that I didn’t imagine our connection. She felt it, too. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t look like she wanted to burn the world down with the force of her betrayal. That expression? It’s not indifference. It’s heartbreak.

I know she cared. The question is, does she still? Because I sure as hell do.

That’s why I’m here. I didn’t come to New Orleans to hide. I hid in Accra.

I’m here because she’s here.

The last two months have been hell. Exorcising my family’s demons was a battle. But it’s done. Patrick is no longer a threat; he’s where he belongs. I should feel relieved, but all I feel is the gnawing emptiness from leaving her behind.

I finally got word three days ago that she’s back in New Orleans.Good.

Hopefully, that means she’s given up her search.

I kissed my grandmother and sister goodbye and had my pilot fly me from Accra to New Orleans the next day.

Now that she doesn’t expect me, I can start my re-pursuit of her. In a situation like this, where I may be in the crosshairs of the Irish Mob, I have to control the narrative. I have to control how much information she has about me and my past and when she gets it.

Otherwise, I could lose her forever.

Or, even worse, she could end up hurt.

Tessa Baptiste.

I’ve tried to forget her and told myself a thousand times that walking away was for the best. That she’s better off without me. But it’s a lie. I knew it the moment I stepped off the plane in New Orleans and felt the air, thick with the scent of magnolias and the sweet tang of beignets. This city breathes her name and sings her story; I’m here to write myself back into it.

Getting her back won’t be easy. I left her hanging on the most public stage imaginable. She’ll never trust me again, not after what I did. But I will wear her down. Tessa may hate me now, but I’ll remind her why she once believed in us. I’ll remind her why she said yes.

First, though, I need to get eyes on her. Find out if she’s okay. If she’s moved on. Just the thought makes my jaw clench, but I push it aside.

I couldn’t properly watch over her while she was still in LA; I was too busy, hindering her from finding me. She came close, but I couldn’t let her discover what I was up to without putting her in the eye of a storm.

Phase one of my plan is simple: find her, watch her, and improve her life—without her ever knowing it’s me. I’ll weave my wealth and influence into her world like a silent guardian, ensuring she thrives, even if she still hates me.

For now, I exist in New Orleans asMarcus Mitchell—just another fry cook, a nobody moving through the city unnoticed. It’s the perfect cover and way to stay close without disrupting her life. She doesn’t need to know I’m here. Not yet.

I must ensure her safety before confronting Tessa and asking her to forgive me.

Even if that means she can’t be with me.

ONLY IN MY DREAMS

TESSA

Four Months after Reveal Day

I wake up with a jolt,my breath tearing from my lungs like I’ve surfaced from deep underwater. I grab my phone; it’s five in the morning. My sheets are damp, twisted around my legs like vines trying to hold me captive. My heart pounds, an erratic rhythm that refuses to settle. Saul. His name is still tangled in my throat, the ghost of it hovering in the humid air of my bedroom.

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