He strode toward me as the music grew to a crescendo and I tilted my head back to look up at him. He sailed past me, placing his hand on my head and shoving hard so I was forced to look down, then continued jogging down the stairs. The second the door shut, I cursed him under my breath and moved to sit on my ass cross-legged.
I took my phone from my panties and started playing Donut Dash, soon setting a new high score. If I kept this up, I was gonna make it onto the Donut Dash leaderboard. And judging by the fact that I was gonna be here every morning doing this bullshit for the foreseeable future, that was more of a foregone conclusion than a possibility. Saint would pop his head out occasionally to check I was still here, but the door creaked so I always got a two second warning to hide my phone and get back on my knees.
After half an hour, I got bored of the game and brought up the news instead. The Hades Virus death toll had risen to twenty six thousand overnight and my skin prickled as I read about the overwhelmed hospitals and the shortages of essential personal protective equipment the staff needed. There was also an article about my father, naming him as a terrorist. There was even a reward on his head for over five hundred thousand dollars and that made me feel sick to my core. At the bottom of the article were a list of Facebook comments and though I tried not to look, only a short glance showed me the words, asshole, murderer, and traitor.
My heart clammed up in my throat and tears came for me for the second time this morning. But they couldn’t have me now. I was never going to let these bastards see me cry again.
Saint appeared right on seven thirty with his shirt tucked into the back of his pants. I liked that bit. His body was pure, cut muscle and I had to admit that that hour and a half in the gym twice a day was supremely worth it just for my one minute eye fuck while he headed upstairs. He never looked at me. I wasn’t acknowledged until he decided it.
I headed to the kitchen and started making breakfast. I actually enjoyed this part of my morning the most. Cooking was soothing. And for those sweet thirty minutes it took to prepare everything, my mind sailed away and I kinda got into the dramatic rise and fall of the classical music filling the entire church. If it hadn’t been a reminder of Saint, I might have even found it peaceful. But there was always an undertone to it. And that undertone was him.
It was Saturday and there had been zero sign of Blake or Kyan; I wondered if they were gonna show up for breakfast at all. I imagined Saint’s perfect little routine didn’t extend to them when they didn’t have to go to school, but I hadn’t been given any other instructions. So they would just have to eat it cold or not at all. Or they’ll just make me cook it all over again, dammit.
I opted for muesli with fresh fruit and yoghurt myself. Saint didn’t let me have anything fried, too sugary or too tasty. The muesli was something I’d found that not only helped with my sugar cravings, but actually tasted good. So I guessed that was a win. But if you looked really closely at it, it was definitely a fail. My usual breakfasts consisted of toast with jam and at the weekends I’d always have waffles, ice cream and strawberries with my dad and Jess. It had been our Saturday morning tradition since before I could remember. And that memory stung me now with the keenness of an angry wasp.
Just before eight am Saint’s music cut off and he reappeared in a fitted white T-shirt and dark, designer jeans, a chunky Rolex on his wrist and a pair of AllSaints army boots which looked ripe for kicking heads in. If Saint looked divine in his school uniform, he looked transcendent like this. He wore casual clothes like they were the finest tuxedo in the world. And the way his muscles bulged against them made me one jealous ass bitch of that shirt. Down girl. Sometimes it felt like that wild part of me was growing bigger, taking over. But I had to keep her locked up tight. Because if she ever got free, she was gonna lead me right into one of their beds, naked, panting and aiming to please.
Saint sat in the middle seat as usual, picking up his knife and fork, just as I placed his plate in front of him. Eight am sharp. I was more punctual than a freaking Stepford wife.
Saint took a bite of his meal and I waited. If the toast wasn’t perfect – golden brown but not overdone Barbie doll!– or the eggs weren’t salty enough or the avocado wasn’t the epitome of ripe, then I was gonna have to do it again. So far, I’d only had one day where I’d fucked it up. And that had been the avocado’s fault.
I’d tried to explain to Saint that if he expected to get perfect avocados through the rest of this pandemic, he was going to be seriously disappointed. Even as it was, I was limited to the stash we had. Half of them were on the turn already and the rest weren’t ripe enough. The avocado was a fickle mistress that was going to cause me a lot of unnecessary spanks if Saint didn’t learn that it was out of my control. But then that concept was obviously unknown to him. In the past, I’m sure he would have had people to walk miles and miles barefooted on broken glass just to get him a perfectly ripe avocado for his breakfast. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to suck up the spanking like a bad girl…
Saint nodded to approve his breakfast. Damn.
I headed to the kitchen to fetch my own, definitely not disappointed and definitely definitely not considering knocking some shit on the floor to earn myself a spanking.
Blake appeared with a broad yawn, shirtless and drawing all of my attention to his huge chest for a long second. I headed to the oven, grabbing out his plate of pancakes and wondering how my life had come to this. I’d never imagined myself as a house wife, not that I had any disrespect for that life path. Each to their own and all. But I’d never even seen myself getting married. My mom had ditched out on my dad when I was so young that I hadn’t even realised most kids had two parents until I’d joined elementary school. And I’d moved around so much that I’d rarely gotten to know any of my friends’ parents.
Between Dad and the nannies, that was what seemed normal to me. And why would I choose to be with someone who could up and walk out the second things got too hard? No, in one sense, me and Saint agreed. I knew the people in this world who were always going to be there for me. And I never intended to add any more people into that small circle. Very small circle.
Blake’s eyes slid down my little white nightdress and he licked his lips, though I wasn’t sure he was aware he was doing it. The action reminded me of his tongue between my thighs and I battled the heat snaking up into my cheeks as he continued to look at me like I was his breakfast instead of the pancakes. I was half tempted to grab a bottle of syrup and squeeze it all over me in case he’d really mistaken me for his food. Except the moment I ever let Blake Bowman get his hands on me again would be the same day the trees grew from the sky and the lake turned pink.
“What’s with the nice clothes, Saint?” Blake growled. “Our Cinderella should be in rags.”
Saint tsked. “I wouldn’t let the rats in the catacombs show up without their best attire, Blake. Do you really think I’d let Plague look anything but perfect?”
“Maybe it shouldn’t be up to you,” I said to Saint, watching from the corner of my eye as Blake’s hands curled into fists.
“Yeah,” Blake growled, fixing Saint in his sights. “Maybe it shouldn’t.”
“If you want to dress her like a gutter whore when I’m not around, be my guest,” Saint said with a shrug. “But whenever she’s within my range of sight, she will look like a fucking queen. Besides, the way you keep looking at her says you appreciate it just fine. So stop with the complaints.”