“And not even fashionably,” I counter.
He gives me a quick, direct once-over, his eyes dark with amusement. “I beg to differ.”
The bartender approaches, a towel slung over his shoulder, his gaze flicking between us as he waits for our order.
Saint leans forward slightly, his forearms resting on the bar, and with a low, confident voice, he orders another old-fashioned. The word comes out smooth, probably like the drink he’s just finished. It’s simple, but there’s an intensity behind the choice that matches him perfectly.
The bartender nods, acknowledging the order, and then turns to me.
I take a moment, swallowing down the nerves that seem to be sitting heavy in my throat. “I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc,” I say, opting for something light and crisp. Understated, like I’m trying to make this feel as normal as possible, even though my insides are twisting with a mix of excitement and anxiety.
As the bartender turns away to prepare our drinks, I feel Saint’s gaze on me. I glance over, and his eyes are already on mine, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. It’s casual on the surface—the kind of scene that wouldn’t raise suspicion if anyone were watching—but the air between us is thick with the kind of tension that can’t be easily ignored.
“You look ...” His eyes sweep over me. “Incredible.”
His compliment warms me up, more than the wine could even accomplish. “Thank you,” I say.
He adjusts himself so that his thigh is pressing against mine. “How did the court case go?”
I tilt my head, confused, but only for a second.Reya is a lawyer. He’s in character.
I grin. This is exciting. “We won. Unanimous verdict in less than two hours.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” he says.
I love this game. Too much. “What about you? How was your day?”
“It’s better now,” he says flirtatiously.
The bartender returns, setting down a short glass of whiskey for Saint and a tall-stemmed glass of wine in front of me. “Enjoy,” he says before walking away, leaving us alone in our little bubble.
Saint lifts his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside it before taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. I do the same, lifting my wine and taking a small, measured sip, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart.
It feels like everyone in the room knows what’s happening between us, even though logically I know no one is paying attention. But thesecrecy, the unspoken understanding of what this meeting is really about, makes it exciting. I wish I was taking notes right now.
Saint takes another sip of his whiskey, his eyes still holding mine over the rim of his glass. After he sets it back down, he leans a little closer, his voice low but casual. “How was the drive over?”
I raise an eyebrow and smile, feeling the tension loosen just a bit. “You mean the thirty minutes I spent rehearsing what to say when I saw you, then driving in circles around the parking lot trying to convince myself not to walk in?”
His lips twitch into a smirk. “You did seem a little flustered when you walked in. I was beginning to think you might pull a U-turn back to your car.”
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, I almost did. You should’ve seen me sitting in the car, giving myself a pep talk like some motivational speaker on a bad day.‘You can do this, Petra. It’s just a casual drink, no big deal.’” I mimic the exaggerated gestures of a pep talk, rolling my eyes at my own ridiculousness.
Saint grins, the amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Petra, is it?” he asks, a twinkle to his eye. “I thought your name was Reya tonight.”
Saint’s grin widens as he leans in, the air between us buzzing.
My stomach drops as I realize my mistake. Sometimes I forget we’re playing a game when he speaks to me, but that’s all this is. A game. It’s not about me, not about Petra and her guilt, but about Reya, who would embrace this kind of reckless thrill without hesitation.
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I fumble for a response. “My bad. Reya.” I force a laugh, trying to play it off like I didn’t just slip up, but the awkwardness is impossible to hide.
Saint raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Are you forgetting who you’re supposed to be right now?” he teases, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Reya wouldn’t be apologizing. Reya is a badass, remember?”
I look down at my glass, suddenly feeling like he’s way better at this than I am, and I’m the one who is supposed to have the imagination. “You’re right. I just—” I pause, swallowing the embarrassment.
He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “You’re overthinking it.” He glances at me, seeing the hesitation on my face. He offers up a gentle smile as he leans in slightly. “And if it’s guilt making you feel this way, don’t let it. Your actions aren’t a factor in my marriage. I made the choice to be here. That’s on me.”
