Page 36 of Saint Valentine

Saint

In the car, the silence between us was thick and heavy. Aria sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the window. She didn’t ask where we were going, and I didn’t offer an explanation. Because I didn’t know how to talk to her. Maybe I had gone about this the wrong way. But then, what was the alternative? Aria didn’t want this life, but I wasn’t leaving it.

The drive to my father’s doctor’s office was short. I felt my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary when I pulled up. I didn’t get nervous often, but it was creeping up my spine. My grandmother’s words echoed in my head, a haunting refrain, “I feel sorry for you, losing your father and mother before you even got a chance to know them.”

Words came out of my mouth before I even thought about expressing them.

“My grandmother said something to me a while ago,” I said, breaking the silence. Aria didn’t turn to look at me, but I could feel her attention shift. “She said she felt sorry for me, losing my father and mother before I even got a chance to know them.”

Aria’s brow furrowed, but she stayed quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“I thought she was just confused. She had dementia. She said non sensical shit all the time. My father was alive. Though mymother died at childbirth. But now…” I trailed off, my throat tightening. “Now I’m not so sure she was just rambling.”

Aria finally turned to look at me, her expression unreadable. “What are you saying, Saint?”

“I’m saying I’m here to find out the truth.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t argue either. That was something, at least.

I helped her out of the car.

“I know this doctor, my cousin uses him,” she volunteered absentmindedly. Probably just trying to find anything to say to fill the silence.

It was early morning, and the office hadn’t even opened yet. The doctor let me in and walked us back to the office, Aria at my side. I handed over the bag with my father’s toothbrush and hairbrush. The doctor had been my father’s physician since I was a boy. It took a suitcase full of money to get him to run a quick blood type test first—my father had a rare blood type, and if mine didn’t match, it would be a clear sign that he wasn’t my biological father. The DNA test would take longer, but this would give me an answer today. The doctor took a vial of my blood and everything I’d given him and left.

While we waited, Aria stood by the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I wanted to pull her into my arms. I should have, but I stopped myself.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said suddenly.

I nodded, but as she turned to leave, I caught her wrist. “You know what I’ll do to your friends if you run, don’t you?”

She looked at me with no expression. “I’m not running,” she said, pulling her wrist free.

When she came back, the doctor entered the room a few minutes later, holding a clipboard. His fat face was unreadable, but I didn’t need him to say anything. The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

“The blood types don’t match,” the doctor explained. “For a biological father and child to share the same blood type, they must inherit compatible alleles. it’s genetically impossible for him to be your father.”

I didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. Everything just suddenly made sense. The abuse, the mistreatment, everything.

Aria, however, wasn’t so composed. She took a step back, her hand flying to her mouth. “Saint…”

I held up a hand, cutting her off. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” she repeated, her voice rising. “How is this fine?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned to the doctor. “Thank you. Let me know when the DNA results come in.”

He nodded and left the room, leaving us alone. Aria stared at me, her eyes searching mine for a reaction. But I couldn’t give her one. I had spent so long pushing back emotions I didn’t feel, only for her. I was numb otherwise.

“My grandmother taught me to dance,” I said finally. “I want to dance at our wedding.”

Aria blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, taking a step closer to her. “I want to dance at our wedding.”

She stared at me. “Saint, this isn’t the time—”

“It’s the perfect time,” I interrupted.

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