Page 18 of Saint (The Divine Ruin #2)

Lily

“What about the Winslow boy? He’s at Columbia Law now, you know,” Aunt Olive says, delicately cutting into her salmon as if dissecting my love life requires the same precision.

I push my salad around, wondering how many more eligible bachelors they’ll try to persuade me to date before this lunch mercifully ends.

We’re seated at my mother’s favorite restaurant in Albany, an upscale place where the waitstaff hover just out of earshot, appearing the moment a water glass needs refilling.

“Or Timothy Bradford,” my mother adds, her perfect manicure tapping against her wine glass. “His family just donated that new wing to the children’s hospital. Very generous people.”

“I’m not interested in Timothy Bradford,” I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice. “Or the Winslow boy. Or any of the other sons of Dad’s golf buddies.”

My mother and Aunt Olive exchange a look I’ve seen a thousand times—the “Lily’s being difficult again” look that makes me feel like I’m twelve instead of a woman on the verge of twenty.

“Darling, we’re just suggesting you get out more,” Mom says, her voice honey-sweet. “You’ve been moping around the house for days.”

Because I’m hiding from a man who makes my body burn and my mind race, I think but don’t say.

“I’m not moping,” I protest instead. “I’m just... taking some time to think.”

Aunt Olive reaches over to pat my hand. “About what, dear? Your studies? Because your mother tells me you’ve been quite distant since you came home.”

I take a sip of water, buying time. These two women, so similar with their perfect hair and shrewd eyes, have always been able to extract information from me with terrifying efficiency.

“Actually,” I hear myself saying before I can stop, “I’ve met someone.”

Their heads snap up in perfect synchronization, like meerkats spotting a predator.

“You have?” My mother’s voice rises with interest. “Who is he? Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

I immediately regret opening this door. “It’s... complicated. I’m not sure you’d approve.”

“Try us,” Aunt Olive challenges, leaning forward with undisguised curiosity.

I fiddle with my napkin. “He’s a bit older.”

“How much older?” My mother’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Enough to be established. Successful.” I choose my words carefully. “He’s very... intense. Handsome. Wealthy.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Aunt Olive says, looking relieved. “What’s his name? What family is he from?”

“I’d rather not say just yet.” I take another bite of salad, chewing slowly. “I’m still figuring things out. It’s not serious...yet.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. Whatever is happening between Luca and me feels more serious than anything I’ve ever experienced.

“Is he from a good family?” My mother persists. “Someone we know?”

“You might know of him,” I admit. “But please, can we drop it for now? I promise I’ll tell you everything when I’m ready.”

My phone buzzes in my purse, saving me from further interrogation. “Excuse me,” I murmur, grateful for the interruption.

I pull out my phone, and my heart stutters when I see Luca’s name on the screen. Three new messages.

Luca: I miss you, baby girl. I’ll try to be patient.

Luca: But not for long.

Luca: If you’re not ready, I can give you a few more days. Just tell me what you need.

My fingers hover over the screen, conflicted. The intensity of my feelings for him terrifies me. It’s not just physical—though God knows my body responds to him like it’s been waiting for his touch my entire life. It’s the way he looks at me, like he sees parts of me no one else has ever noticed.

But he’s dangerous. I’m not naive enough to believe the rumors about his connections are entirely fabricated. My father would have a coronary if he knew I was even speaking to Luca Ravello, let alone contemplating...what? A relationship? An affair?

I type back quickly:

I need more than a few days. My family would never approve, and I can’t just follow my emotions without thinking this through.

I send it before I can reconsider, then look up to find my mother and aunt watching me with identical knowing smiles.

“Just a friend,” I say, slipping my phone back into my purse.

“A friend who makes you blush like that?” Aunt Olive raises an eyebrow. “I should hope it’s the mysterious older man.”

“Olive, stop teasing her,” my mother says, though her eyes sparkle with the same curiosity. “Lily will tell us when she’s ready.”

The waiter appears to clear our plates, and I’m relieved by the momentary distraction. When he’s gone, my mother reaches across the table to take my hand.

“I’ve booked us massages for this afternoon,” she announces. “At that spa you loved so much. You didn’t get to have one last time we were there.”

My heart sinks. All I want is to go back to the house and slip into a deep sleep to forget the thoughts swirling around in my mind. But the hopeful look in my mother’s eyes makes it impossible to refuse.

“That sounds nice,” I say, summoning a smile I don’t feel.

My phone buzzes again in my purse, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to check it immediately. Is it Luca? Is he angry? Disappointed? The thought of either makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.

As we leave the restaurant, I steal a moment to glance at my phone while my mother pays the bill.

Luca: I don’t understand, baby girl. I know you feel the same way I do. You can’t run from this, no matter how much you try.

A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the autumn chill. Because I believe him. Luca Ravello is a man who gets what he wants, and for reasons I still can’t fully comprehend, he wants me.

The question is: am I brave enough to want him back?

“Ready, darling?” My mother appears at my side, linking her arm through mine. “The spa awaits.”

I nod, pasting on another smile as we walk to her car. The weight of Luca’s message sits heavy in my mind, a promise and a threat all at once.

I’m not going anywhere.

Part of me wishes he would. It would be so much easier if he gave up, moved on to someone less complicated, someone whose father isn’t poised to become his political enemy.

But the other part—the part that wakes breathless from dreams of his hands, his mouth, his voice—that part is selfishly, desperately glad he’s waiting.

Because deep down, I know it’s only a matter of time before I stop running.