I order a soda. The bartender doesn’t even blink. Money smooths everything here.
We move away from the crowd, toward the edge of the terrace overlooking the woods. The music becomes distant. The pool glows behind us. For the first time all evening, I can actually hear myself think.
Elliot leans against the railing. “So.”
“So,” I toss back. “You invited me here.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
His smile grows. “You really don’t know?”
“No.”
“You’re either incredibly honest or incredibly clueless about the effect you have on people.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They are at Kenyan.”
I roll my eyes.
He laughs. Then his expression softens. “I wanted to get to know you.”
The honesty catches me off guard, but then I remember which side he’s on and what side I’m on.
Before I can answer, movement catches my attention. The crowd near the pool parts. Not dramatically but instinctively. People step aside without realizing they’re doing it, making room.
The atmosphere shifts like the breeze picking up as a storm rolls in. Saint materializes like a king in his castle as he walks through the terrace without touching anyone. Yet people move. Conversations pause as he walks by.
Eyes follow him, but his expression is unreadable as he walks over. The crimson light from the pool reflects across his jaw. Across the scars on his knuckles. Across eyes that never leave mine.
Elliot straightens beside me as he closes the distance.
Ten feet.
Five.
Three.
Then Saint stops directly beside us. He’s close enough that I can smell cedar on his clothes and feel the heat coming off him in waves.
The air becomes thick as no one speaks, and the silence stretches.
Elliot finally breaks first. “Saint.”
Saint glances at him like he is assessing what to do with him. The way a predator studies another animal entering its territory.
“Elliot,” he replies, his voice calm and controlled.
Which somehow feels worse.
Elliot gestures toward me. “We were talking.”
“I noticed.” The response lands harder than it should.
Because of course he noticed. He notices everything.
