Page 111 of Mafia and Gold Digger

EMERALD

When I wake up, Saint is already in the shower, but I find a small box next to my pillow.

A smile tugs up my lips up as I sit up against the headboard, the box in my hand.

Opening it carefully, I lift out a small chessboard keychain. It’s kitsch and obviously came from some cheap gift shop. It’s a stupid thing to give someone, and yet I can’t help the way my heart stutters.

I open the folded note and read Saint’s handwriting.Congrats, Anna Muzycuk. You’re beating me sometimes now.

A laugh bubbles from my throat. Anna Muzycuk is a chess grandmaster, and I admire her greatly. Something flutters in my chest. I’m taken aback that he’d even take the time to do something like this. It’s moments like this, moments where the cool guy of Saint melts away, that you get just a glimpse of something softer beneath. A rare occasion that makes my body tingle and heart pump faster, knowing I’m the only one who’s seeing it so openly displayed.

And with a shake of my head, I push myself out of bed and get ready to start my day.

* * *

Soft music hums in the backyard as Milena continues to move through the choreography for her lead role in the school’s end-of-year performance. Some fresh take on theTwelve Dancing Princesses, it has Milena continuously practicing lines and dance moves.

Saint’s fingers brush idly along my leg as we nestle on the lounger on the deck. The younger kids are busy running around with Saint’s dogs in the open space in front of us.

“That pamphlet Amanda gave me was really interesting,” I say. “It says that people with kleptomania have a higher chance of also suffering from OCD because both are linked to strong compulsive and impulsive qualities. I’m going to keep going to the group, but I’ve decided I’m going to start CBT as well.”

It’s really hard for me to actually say ‘OCD’ out loud. It’s hard to admit to my issues. Because then I also have to face up to them. But something makes me feel like I’m stronger now and that I’m in a place to face my fears.

“I’m proud of you, Em.”

And I give him a genuine smile as we continue watching the kids and dogs.

Over the last week, something has changed.

Some switch has flipped.

My feelings are different than before…more intense. He walks into a room, and my attention zeroes in on him. He smiles, and I turn into a puddle of goo. He talks to me, invests in a conversation with me, and my heart thunders in my chest. It’s a lot more than just a physical thing anymore. Somewhere between the mind-blowing sex and the soft conversation that follows, the icy layers of Saint have melted.

For Saint, the lingering touches, heated glances, and kisses are just for show.

But for me, it feels real.

And it’s a real that’s terrifying and thrilling…

* * *

That night, we’ve just come into the bedroom to go to sleep when I turn to face him. “Saint, this is…real.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You. Me. What we’re doing.” I let out a deep breath, holding his stare. “It’s not fake. I mean… I don’t want it to be fake. I want it to be real.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

My heart races in my chest, and I’m almost certain he can feel it. “I’m in love with you, Saint.” My words are so soft, so tentative. “Saint, it hasn’t been fake for me for a while. And I…” Again, I’m not sure what to say. I just thought I could pretend. But I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want something fake. I want something real. With him. However he can give it, as long as it’s him. “I don’t know when it happened, but it did, and I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to pretend that any of this between us is just for show.”

His thumb brushes against my bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say it again.”

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