Page 59 of Savage Saint

My stomach growls then, interrupting my annoyance. It’s loud. Long.

“I’ll come for lunch,” I interrupt them. “But I’ve got to go now. Need food before I get hunger-induced heartburn.”

“Go eat, Genesis.” Dad’s voice is softer now. Always caring. “Love you, my niña.”

He doesn’t give Mom a chance to drag the conversation on and hangs up, leaving me back where I started—looking at the note and feeling unappreciated after all my free labor.

Illogical? Yes. Completely.

But that’s also pushed into my later folder as my stomach decides to strike me with hunger pangs. “Fine. I get it.”

Climbing out of bed, I give the apartment a quick walk-through and notice a recurring theme:

Nothing is missing. Everything is in its place.

Even the parking lot area visible through my living room windows is the same as every day.

Normal. Completely, boringly normal.

Which somehow makes last night feel even more surreal.

The only thing out of place is the note still in my hand, even after I order my pizza a few minutes later.

I’m much calmer the next day.

Food helped. So did the shower, the locked front door, and the twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep that followed after I tucked Saint’s shirt beneath my pillow because it smelled good.

Nothing else. Just like the scent.

Anything else would be ridiculous.

I slept hard enough that my alarm is the only thing that finally drags me back to consciousness. Unlike yesterday, there’s no confusion when I open my eyes. I’m home and cozy and ready for a day of pampering and more food.

Normal. My life.

Honeyed eyes. Tattoos. So tall and thick.

Shaking my head, I ignore the memory and think about today’s plans. Katia’s messages yesterday had only been to confirm our plans, and after a few exchanges late last night in our group chat, the three of us decided to get an earlier start. Nails and pedicures first, brunch afterward, then we each have appointments with a hairstylist at the resort’s upscale salon.

Tatiana, my childhood best friend, wants to add some extensions to her shoulder-length hair.

Katia, my work bestie, wants to touch up the highlights in her side-swept bangs framing her cheeks.

I just want a trim and blowout. I’m the easiest of the three.

Moreover, beauty takes time, and I plan to enjoy a nice nap while someone plays with my hair.

That, and gossip. A day dedicated to spoiling ourselves and some chisme.

It’s what I deserve after the insanity of that night.

If I ever see Saint again, I am kicking him. Jerk.

Crawling out of bed, I walk to the bathroom with my eyes half-closed, turn the hot water on, and climb inside before it’s the right temperature. That initial shock of cold jerks me into full alert mode, then I melt under the heat. My muscles relax, and I sigh, reaching for my usual mango body wash. The scent mixes with the steam, filling every inch of the bathroom, and it’s almost enough to make me start humming…

My brain decides to betray me.

Leather. Rum. Something woodsy underneath. Dammit.