Page 44 of Saint of the Shadows

Vincent’s eyes grew wide while he sputtered from holding in laughter.

“At least I’m admitting my potential kink. I’m sure years of prep school wired you into some bizarre humiliation roleplay or spanking fetish.” Marisol shifted in her wheelchair, thinking of Vincent’s backside turning pink after a slap. Her slap. She had a bad case of transference.

He shrugged his shoulders and rubbed his chin. “Maybe.” His mischievous grin faded. “But, you’re not alone. As in, you’re not the only one who’s romantically challenged.”

Marisol wiped away the tears that escaped down her cheek with the heel of her hand. “Probably shouldn’t let PR play matchmaker.”

“I am aware.” He cleared his throat. Again. The guy needed to keep some lozenges around. “I haven’t wanted to subject anyone to a serious relationship.”

“Realized you’re too insufferable?” Marisol crossed her eyes in case her sarcasm wasn’t thick enough.

“Um.” He tapped the table rapidly. He exhaled and looked at Marisol. “I can’t have children.”

His elegant posture caved. He looked as if this one thing turned his everything to nothing. She gasped. “Oh.”

“Been poked and prodded repeatedly all to say, ‘case undetermined.’ I’ve wondered whether it’s my grandfather’s work studying the biological effects of nuclear energy finally rooting into my generation of the tree.” He shifted his gaze as it briefly met Marisol’s. “I haven’t told anyone that before. I suppose I should have you sign an NDA.” He looked down, resembling one of Abuelita’s pictures of a saint, a being of suffering and serenity.

Marisol hadn’t noticed how thick and long his eyelashes were until then. She wanted to touch him—anything—to show he could trust her. “Iwouldn’t… and you shouldn’t let that hold you back from something real. You can have children if you want.”

He shook his head.

She wondered at what point in the conversation she’d sound like her mom by listening to protests about becoming a breeder and unquestionably demanding a brood. Children never seemed like something anyone sane or responsible would want. They belonged in a world of plentiful resources and love, a world so far out of reach that Marisol saw it as a tree she’d nurture but never derive shade from. But Vincent didn’t seem irresponsible or selfish or anything else she’d use to describe most parents. His need to give love made him wholesome.

She said, “You’re not quite as insufferable as I’ve suggested. You’re kind and caring in an empirically attractive package.”

“A package that comes with quite a few disclaimers.”

“Just a package. Besides, if you’re shooting blanks, I know a lot of women who would think that’s a dream.” And what a dream! Beautifully messy intimacy without barriers, pills, ovulation schedules, or side effects. No latex and chemicals. Just free. The mental rise in her body temperature moved from her face to her belly. She cooled off by blurting, “They’re not heiresses looking to merge world power with offspring, but you should trysomething unconventional. And I’m not talking about the hair color of your date.”

“It’s better to keep things superficial,” he said, leaving her joke unacknowledged, “to stop the inevitable… pain.”

“You gotta connect, man. You have to share the pain, or you’ll end up…” Doomed like her or worse—hardened like Caz. “End up dead inside. I swear if you hadn’t been there for me last night, I’m not sure I would’ve made it.” Uh oh, she left her whole heart out there to be stomped on. She better reel it back, so he didn’t get the wrong idea. “And it was just a little bit of connection. A little bit can make a world of difference.”

“You never give up, do you?” His observation felt like an unearned compliment.

Marisol avoided him by tracing the pattern of the table’s wood grain with her fingers. “I’ve given up plenty of times. On my career. On people.”

“No. I’ve seen it.”

She fidgeted, feeling unworthy. “You barely know me.”

“I know enough. You’ve survived against the odds.”

She shifted in her wheelchair, poking her bruises. “Yeah. I’m doing great.”

“You’ve taken care of me.”

A bit hyperbolic there, Varian.“I applied basic first aid out of professional obligation.”

He dug something out of his pocket and tossed it on the table, a crinkled package of tissue with the last unused one folded inside. It couldn’t be… the same fancy tissue she gave him when he almost upchucked off the fire escape?

She wanted to shrink away. It was like when patients who followed the doctor’s orders thanked her for their hard work. “It’s what nurses do. Anything to clean up the barf, even if it’s from a bad hangover.”

“A lie. It wasn’t a hangover.”

The memory, rearranging and reinterpreting itself, spun her brain to dizzying heights.

“That morning, Leonard asked to end the treatments prolonging his life. I needed a moment after we signed the documents and found you instead.” He held a breath while his eyes began to shine.

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