And I’ve let that weakness consume me for far too long.
I drag my hand down my face. Getting to this day was supposed to be an easy plan to execute. I had my moves all figured out in advance: woo the girl, make her realize that the physical chemistry was enough to make up for my lack of emotional support, parade her around, and make it known that anyone lays a finger on her and they’ll lose it.
My plan was precise.
Methodical.
Well strategized.
Just like every hit I carry out.
Just like every single game of chess I play.
And yet, Emerald, in her normal infuriating manner, has managed to throw a wrench into it all.
CHAPTERFORTY
EMERALD
The house is dark when I tiptoe inside. I make it up the stairs and pause, listening. No movement. Not a sound.
I groan yet again as I think what a scene I caused by running out of my own wedding. I know it was extremely unfair to Saint, and I feel terrible about it. I really should have told him about the baby before the wedding. He deserved that.
A wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of a girl’s life, and the very last thing I ever expected to hear was being called a slut as I stood before the altar. And with everything else that has been going on, hearing that insult was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I still can’t believe that I actually ran out of there. Dear God, why does everything in my life always turn intoone big mess?
I quickly make my way to the guest room I’ve been using to store my spare stuff. Flicking the light on, my heart swoops into my stomach, and sweat breaks out over the back of my neck.
Saint doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t acknowledge I’m even in the room.
My pulse beats wildly in my head like a marching band. Thump. Thump. Thump.
But it’s not Saint’s presence that’s sent a chill down my spine.
It’s what he holds in his hand.
I swallow hard.
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me that we’re having a baby?”
“You…weren't supposed to find out like this.”
“Were you going to tell me, Emerald?”
I blink, my eyes glued to the onesie clutched in his hand. My voice is lodged into my throat.
“Or were you just planning on leaving me at the alter and disappearing again so that you didn’t have to tell me that you’re pregnant?”
“I’m sorry, Saint,” I whisper. “You didn’t deserve to find out about the baby in this way. I know we should have had this conversation before the wedding. I really am sorry.” And I genuinely feel awful about my actions. Standing up there at that altar, staring across from him, something just snapped. Ria’s sneering words and every single whisper that’s followed me around over the years stabbed at me further and further. And I realized what a mess I’m in, having a baby with a man who doesn’t even love me…
I thought what I had with Saint could be real.
But I’ve been lying to myself.
Saint said himself that he’s not capable of what I need. He’s not built for that kind of thing—opening up, letting someone in, loving them. He’s not someone who can ever give me that. And I thought I was okay with that. I thought it didn’t matter because what he gave me was enough.But I was wrong.
I open and close my mouth, trying to find the right words.
His head turns to me, and I see that infuriating expression on his face. That mask of indifference that claws at my insides.