Page 2 of Saint (The Divine Ruin #2)

Lily

“I’m late, I’m so unbelievably late!” I mutter, dodging through the crowded sidewalk while balancing my half-spilled latte in one hand and three massive textbooks in the other. My backpack is unzipped—of course—trailing loose papers like breadcrumbs behind me.

A businessman in an expensive suit gives me the stink-eye as I nearly collide with him. I flash my most apologetic smile and keep moving.

Professor Martinez is going to kill me. This is the third time this week I’ll be late to Political Theory, and it’s only Wednesday. Dad would have a conniption if he knew. Governor Moore’s daughter is perpetually tardy and perpetually disheveled.

My phone buzzes somewhere in the abyss of my bag. I ignore it, focusing instead on not face-planting on the sidewalk as I sprint the final block to Thompson Hall.

“Hold the door!” I call to a guy entering the building. He turns, sees me coming, and his eyes widen—probably at the hurricane of a human being barreling toward him.

I slide into class seven minutes late, hair wild, cheeks flushed. Martinez pauses mid-sentence, arching a single devastating eyebrow in my direction.

“Ms. Moore.” Professor Martinez’s voice cuts through the lecture hall, each syllable sharp as a scalpel. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

"Sorry,” I whisper, cheeks burning as I slink down the aisle. My boots squeak against the polished floor with each step, amplifying my humiliation. I slide into my usual seat beside Zoe, whose shoulders are trembling with suppressed laughter, her dark curls bouncing as she bites her lip.

“What happened this time?” she whispers behind her notebook, green eyes dancing with amusement as I collapse into my chair, the ancient wood creaking in protest.

“Overslept. Again.” I tug my tangled hair into a messy bun, still damp from my thirty-second shower. “Then I couldn’t find my student ID. Again. Tore apart my entire room looking for it.”

"Better than last week when you lost your keys and had to climb down the fire escape in that ridiculous yellow dress,” she murmurs, her breath smelling of cinnamon gum.

I snort, then quickly muffle it with a fake cough when Martinez’s steel-gray eyes lock onto me like heat-seeking missiles from behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

After class, Zoe links her slender arm through mine as we step into the October sunshine that dapples the brick pathways of the quad with golden light.

Her silver bangles jingle against my wrist. “Please tell me you at least remembered we’re meeting everyone at Luciano’s for dinner tonight?

The one with the red-checkered tablecloths and that tiramisu you practically devoured last time? ”

My face must crumple like a failed soufflé because she groans, her freckled nose wrinkling in disappointment. “Lily! We’ve been planning this for weeks!"

“I know, I know! It’s just—” My phone buzzes again, vibrating against my thigh through the canvas of my bag.

I plunge my hand into the chaotic abyss, fingers brushing past crumpled receipts with faded ink, a squashed granola bar still in its half-torn wrapper, and something sticky that might have been a strawberry lip gloss from 2021, before finally closing around the cool metal case.

The screen flashes with three missed calls, all from the same contact photo—Dad in his official gubernatorial portrait, looking distinguished and slightly uncomfortable. “Dad’s been calling non-stop."

“Governor Daddy checking in?” Zoe teases, her glossy lips curving into a smirk.

I roll my eyes and press the phone to my ear, mouthing “shut up” at her. “Hi, Dad."

“Lily.” His voice carries that familiar mix of relief and irritation, the same tone he uses during press conferences when reporters ask about budget cuts. "I’ve called three times."

“I was in class.” I don’t mention being late; I pick at a loose thread on my frayed jean cuff. “Everything okay?”

"Just checking on my favorite girl. How’s Manhattan treating you?”

I look around at the crowded campus quad where students sprawl on the grass beneath century-old oaks, the city’s constant hum of traffic and construction pulsing through me even here. A siren wails in the distance. "It’s perfect. I love it.”

“That’s what worries me.” His heavy sigh travels through the phone like static electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time you consider transferring to Albany.

The university there is excellent, and you’ll be closer to home.

Safer. The campus has those beautiful brick buildings you always loved as a kid. ”

I stop so suddenly that Zoe nearly collides with me, her silver bangles jangling as she catches herself. The autumn sun glints off the screen of my phone as I clutch it tighter. “Dad, we’ve been over this. I’m not moving to Albany.”

“After what happened last month—” His voice carries that distinct gubernatorial tone, the one he uses at press conferences when he’s about to announce something unpopular.

“It was just a mugging attempt.” I kick at a fallen maple leaf, watching it skitter across the cracked concrete. “Nothing even happened! The guy grabbed my purse, I screamed, and he ran away like a startled pigeon."

“This time,” Dad counters, his sigh crackling through the speaker. “What about next time? Manhattan isn’t safe, especially for someone recognizable like you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache pulsing behind my eyes. "I’m hardly recognizable. Most people don’t spend their time memorizing what governors’ kids look like.” A group of students passes by, laughing loudly, completely oblivious to my existence.

“Lily...” My name in his mouth sounds like worry solidified.

“Dad, please. I love it here.” I gesture at the sprawling campus around me, the ivy-covered buildings, the sea of students moving between classes.

"I’m making friends, I’m doing well in my classes.

” I conveniently omit my perpetual tardiness, twisting a loose strand of hair around my finger.

“I need to do this on my own, you know? Not as Governor Moore’s daughter, just as. .. me.”

Silence stretches so long I wonder if we’ve lost connection.

“Your mother and I worry,” he says at last, softer.

“I know. But I’m fine, really.”

Another pause. “Alright. But I’m in the city tomorrow night. I’m having drinks at Le Bernadin with Luca Ravello—he’s running for mayor, very promising candidate. I want you to join me for dinner when that wraps up. I should be ready at seven.”

I open my mouth to protest—Le Bernardin means uncomfortable dresses and political small talk—but something in his tone stops me from complaining.

“Fine,” I concede. “But I’m not wearing heels.”

His laugh eased something in my chest. “Deal. Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

I hang up and find Zoe watching me with raised eyebrows.

“Le Bernardin? Fancy.”

“It’s a political dinner. Dad’s vetting some mayoral candidate.

” I shove my phone deep into the chaotic abyss of my bag, where it disappears among crumpled syllabi and half-eaten granola bars.

“Probably some ancient, boring suit with thinning hair and yellow teeth who’ll lecture me about registering to vote while drinking eighteen-year-old scotch. ”

"Well, you can tell us all about the geriatric politician over that four-cheese pizza at Luciano’s tonight." Zoe’s emerald eyes narrow. “Which you’re still coming to, right? The one we’ve been planning since before midterms?”

I grin and link my arm through hers, feeling the cool metal of her bangles against my skin as autumn leaves crunch beneath our boots.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.

Though fair warning—if I lose another phone between now and then, you might have to send a search party with bloodhounds and those little flasks of brandy. ”

As we head toward our favorite coffee shop, I push thoughts of tomorrow’s dinner from my mind. One more night of being Governor Moore’s perfect daughter. I’ll survive it like all the others, with a practiced smile and a silent countdown until I can escape back to my gloriously messy life.