Saint, p.12
Saint, page 12
I ended up changing into a simple white satin blouse. I unbuttoned the top few buttons of the shirt and covered my exposed chest with a host of pearls of varying sizes. I paired it with pleated rust-colored bell-bottom slacks. The color was fitting for the oncoming fall season. A bedazzled banana-shaped clutch completed the look for a pop of color, along with my banana-colored heels. It was subtle –for me– and still a nod to my fashionista style.
“Babe, can you strap my heels?”
Saint arched a brow, giving me that look that had us in our current predicament as he drew closer. In a matter of seconds, we could be tearing our clothing off one another and sexing like bunnies in heat.
“No funny stuff,” I warned.
“What? I’m not doing anything,” he smirked as he kneeled to strap my shoes on my feet.
Not doing anything consisted of him stealing a few feels as he knelt to assist me. He traced circles on my ankles as he lauded me with compliments about how beautiful my feet were. Several kisses were planted, sending tingles racing up my spine. Only then did he move on to the heels. Once the task was complete, I snapped a photo of us in the mirror. We looked flawless. Saint wore a rust skinny tie against his all-black outfit. The small addition of color to his wardrobe was the perfect complement to what I wore.
Though satisfied with our appearance, we were almost an hour late to dinner. The lone fact had me cringing as the vehicle crept closer to his family’s home.
Commandeering the radio, I connected my Bluetooth to Saint’s speakers. He’d warned me of touching his radio months back, and I had yet to learn my lesson. As long as the tunes weren’t overly loud, he didn’t mind my invasion. Jhene Aiko came over the speakers, gently crooning of a void of fear when it came to falling, and I silently agreed.
Had I fallen for Saint? The internal question had yet to be answered. It didn’t feel quite like love. Not yet. This was the lead-up to it. Free of restraints, I permitted my heart to do as it pleased. Jhene transformed into H.E.R. The lyrics communicated my heart’s sentiments.
I want to love you in every kind of way
I want to please you, no matter how long it takes
If the world should end tomorrow and we only have today
I’m gonna love you in every kind of way
Closing my eyes, I rotated my head to the lyrics, allowing them to be embedded into my being.
“You want to know a secret?” Saint drifted, puncturing my thoughts. As he maneuvered the car, his free hand located mine and interlocked our fingers together. The feel of his skin against mine had become a natural occurrence. Frequently, we communicated through touch.
“What?” I asked, smiling at the invasion of his hands against me.
“I was probably more nervous than you.”
My brow crumpled with his admission. “Why would you be? These are your people.”
“People I seldom spend time with,” quickly he refuted. “My comfort is with you, Tori. With you stationed by my side, I instinctively relax. Let me be that for you, too. Relax.”
Registering my tension, he commanded it to flee. I let his words sink in, preparing myself for whatever the night had ahead of me. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Saint had informed me that his parents were kind and generous, but I still rested my butt two inches from the edge of the seat as we drew closer to their home. Being beside him did alleviate some of my concerns. They hadn’t been vanquished, however. It wasn’t Saint’s fault. I hadn’t met a man’s family for such a stretch that I’d almost forgotten I was a grown-ass woman. No one would be making me uncomfortable in my own skin. It had become my mantra well before we crossed paths.
The Miller estate looked like an image torn from the pages of Better Homes and Gardens. The home was gated for privacy, with hedges lining the perimeter. We entered through black, Venice-style steel gates to reveal a marvel of a home. Fashioned in French colonial architecture, the whitewashed brick home was a sight to behold. Pink magnolia trees adorned the front landscape, and from behind the home, there was a distinct view of Paramour Canyon. From where we stood, the canyon was near walking distance, and behind that view was a view of the city.
Saint pulled up to the front of the house, easily sliding behind several cars already lodged in the wrap-around driveway. Astray in the view, I didn’t notice him open my door until he cleared his throat.
“Ahem, Beauty.”
As he intercepted my hand, I exited the car, taking note of little details like the grand design of the driveway. Black and white geometric patterns lined the brick flooring, leaving me to wonder what the inside of the home looked like. As we neared the front door, my heart leapt into my throat. Swallowing my nerves, my elaborate nails dug into Saint’s arm.
“Aight, Tori. You’re going to have us both out here banging our heads and curling toes,” he warned in a whisper.
“Did you just make a joke, Saint Miller?” I teased, feeling myself lighten. Just a bit.
Collecting my chin and tilting upward, he kissed my lips. “I did, Beauty. Now come on.”
I knew it was a jest made to help me relax, and it did, but my weighty sigh only came with perspiring underarms and clammy hands. Still, we continued our approach to the front door. Before Saint could reach for the door proper, it swung open with haste.
“Bout time you made it, damn! I’m hungry.”
The emphatic remark came from a young woman who shared Saint’s complexion. Her lashes were at least half an inch long, and her makeup was impeccable. Her youthfulness was apparent in comparison to Saint. This must have been…
“Serenity,” Saint nodded at her. “This is Victoria, my wife.”
Serenity gave her brother a one-armed hug. Had I not known of his need for distance, I would have thought it strange. He told me he was close with his siblings but apparently not as close as he and I were. Not as close as I thought.
“You’re pretty as fuck,” Serenity grinned in my direction, stepping aside to allow us entry.
“Thank you,” I giggled, admiring Serenity’s brazenness. She reminded me of my friend, Dream.
“No problem. Pretty bitches complement other pretty bitches.”
I didn’t expect her to loop her arm around my free one and walk with us inside. “You’re the first woman any of my brothers has brought home. Just an FYI. My mom is probably going to grill you,” she announced.
The smell of her body mist hit me first. Something peachy and tropical, it was nice, much like her nugget of information. Significant as I thought her scent was, it was immediately muted by the smell of food as we entered deeper into the foyer. My senses identified collard greens and macaroni with a quickness. Immediately, my stomach churned for rations which my nose located to the far left.
The kitchen.
From that space came a woman who looked like Serenity, though slightly older. Assuming her to be the mother of the magnificent beings I’d held the pleasure of meeting, I admired her beauty. Mrs. Miller had a healthy serving of everything, from her full lips to her plump cheeks and down to her curvy hips. I was certain her husband was never left wanting.
“Saint!”
Her greeting was low as she approached. She planted a kiss on his cheeks, which he returned. Once the two exchanged greetings, her gaze fell on me.
“This is Victoria, mama. My wife.”
“Hello,” she purred, outstretching a hand to greet me.
The announcement of my presence caused a shift in her demeanor. Quickly, I sensed the change in her energy as well. She was studying me. Who was the woman who’d managed to settle down with her son, void of an invitation to any ceremony –small or otherwise? It was what I would think if I were in her position. I didn’t fault her suspicion.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” I spoke, returning the simple hand gesture.
Mrs. Miller’s eyes raked me from head to toe.
“I suppose I should be returning that sentiment, Mrs. Miller,” she tossed.
My supposition proved accurate. Mrs. Miller harbored feelings about my union with her son. She smirked as she dropped my hand and eased away from us both.
“You all can make your way to the dining area. Dinner will be served promptly. We’ve been waiting long enough,” she tossed the jab as she sashayed away.
“Listen to me, Beauty.” Immediately, Saint steered us away to a corner out of earshot of anyone who may have been around. “Nobody knows about us except my dad and Supreme.”
“You mean our agreement?”
“No. Not that. Everyone except my mother knows of our hasty marriage and the reasoning behind it,” he recalled of our first meeting in Indonesia. It had only been four months, though it felt like a lifetime ago. “That’s all they know, okay?”
Relief blanketed me, if only for a fleeting second. I didn’t know the extent of what Saint’s family knew of me. It was the reason for the irrational activity in my chest and my splintered nerves. Pillaging the air for energy to steady myself, I sighed.
“Tori, are you okay?” Saint probed, studying me.
“Your mother doesn’t like me,” I hissed lowly.
“How can you know that already?”
“Saint, she–”
“Fuck these people, Tori,” Saint blurted, causing me to blink in astonishment. “It doesn’t matter what they think of you. You married me, not them. You’re my wife. Just ride through–”
“Good! You’re here!”
My thoughts were shelved for a later time as the familiar face approached. “We can eat now,” Supreme boomed from behind me, where a hallway was. Trailing behind him were two other men. One of them looked to be the oldest of the trio.
“Victoria, you look stunning. The Miller name looks good on you,” Supreme grinned after freeing me from a hug. “This guy been treating you right?”
“He has. Saint is everything and more,” I smiled, happy to see a face I recognized.
“That’s good to know. I won’t bother asking how she’s treating you, Saint. It’s obvious my brother is in pure bliss.”
The admission caused me to beam at Saint, who just shrugged. “He’s not lying,” Saint confessed, steering us to the final two men as they approached. “Victoria, this is my dad, Ramsay Miller, and this is Sincere, my youngest brother.”
“What’s good, sis?” The man named Sincere pulled me into a brief but firm hug before making his way to the dining room. Behind him was yet another handsome but older face in the form of Ramsay Miller.
“It’s nice to meet you, young lady,” he grabbed my hand and covered it with his free one. “I’ve been trying to get you over here sooner. You all missed the summer cookout. My wife has been driving me nuts about setting this dinner up. You’ve met Sarah?”
“I have,” I recalled the uncomfortable greeting from Saint’s mother. My grimace attempted to pass for a smile and failed.
“Good, good,” Mr. Miller chuckled. “She’s a softy. Don’t let her get under your skin. Let’s eat.”
True to form, dinner was composed of the typical southern fixings of collards, macaroni, fried chicken, and yams. As I opted out of the chicken, it prompted my first line of questioning at the table.
“So, Victoria, do you have something against chicken?”
The sweet voice of Mrs. Miller floated from across the table. She cut into her chicken and shoved a small piece into her mouth as she awaited an answer.
“Ma–” Saint began to speak in my defense, but I squeezed his thigh, begging for silence.
“No, ma’am. I love chicken. I just choose not to eat it.” Effortlessly, I spoke up for myself.
“Something wrong with my chicken?” She tossed back again with that sweet southern accent.
“No, ma’am, I just don’t eat meat,” I responded, spooning a mixture of yams with macaroni into my mouth. The combination was divine – so much so that I sent a prayer to the man upstairs, hoping the woman across from me would permit me to enjoy it in peace.
“I’m curious, Victoria… How did you and my Saint meet?”
God, why hath thee forsaken me!
“Ma,” Saint started.
“We met on Komodo Island in Indonesia,” I floated, undeterred. “Saint was so enamored when he set eyes on me that he couldn’t leave without me.”
It was semi-true.
“Tori was holding a tortoise in her hands when I stumbled across her. I couldn’t tell what was more striking – the tortoise, her, or the both of them combined,” Saint added with the assist.
“Well, you always were a stickler for strange creatures,” Mrs. Miller nodded to her son.
The comment prompted me to discipline my features. The rise she sought to gain from me wouldn’t be awarded.
“By the way, Victoria, you don’t have to call me ma’am. After all, we’re family now. You can call me Mama.”
I knew I was the first woman to cross her threshold, thanks to Serenity’s heads up. I knew she likely felt protective over her son – the sentiment was shared. But Mrs. Miller had been sordidly mistaken. Not the one nor two, the time came for a line to be drawn in the sand. I sat my fork down, taking a breath to compose myself before I spoke again.
“Is there another name you’d like for me to call you?” Adjusting my gaze, I shot a look in her direction.
“Is there a problem with Mama?”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Miller, I only have one mother. I understand you’re my mother-in-law, but you haven’t yet been endearing or motherly toward me for me to feel comfortable with giving you that title as it concerns me.”
Already, I knew Mrs. Miller was attempting to lay into me. Confident and firmly, I stood my ground. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I wasn’t built to sit idly and take shit from anyone, regardless of their age or status. Respect was earned.
“Mrs. Miller will do just fine.” She plastered on a fake smile and returned to her plate.
“Well!” Serenity half shouted across the table. “I’ve been following your work for a while, Victoria. I don’t necessarily do the whole covered thing, but I have a few pieces from your last collection. I love pairing them with showier pieces.”
“Really?” I nodded in Serenity’s direction. She and I would be fast friends. Already, I’d made the determination. She and I had sisterhood chemistry. It would be foolish not to embrace her.
“I’ll have to get you down to the next show if that’s something that may be of interest to you.”
“Swear! Oh my gosh, yes! Just send me the details,” Serenity gasped.
“So, Victoria, you’re a fashion designer, huh?”
That question came from Sincere. For most of the evening, he’d been quiet. Of the four siblings, he resembled Saint the most. The pair shared their father’s looks. Supreme and Serenity shared their mother’s.
“I am,” I confirmed.
“How does that mesh with the boring shit Saint does?” He asked, pointing a fork housing chicken in Saint’s direction.
“Language, Sincere,” Mr. Miller frowned, causing Sincere to hold his palms up in surrender.
“My bad, Pops.”
“I find Saint’s job extremely interesting and inspirational,” I clipped, rolling my eyes. The evidence of my annoyance didn’t go unnoticed.
“My bad, boss lady. I meant no offense,” Sincere tittered. “Saint doesn’t really get into the logistics of his job. Hell, all I knew was that he worked in a lab.”
It soon dawned on me that Saint wasn’t as close to his family as he liked to project. Or maybe he wasn’t projecting at all. Maybe this was as close as he cared to be. In comparison to the rest of the world, maybe this was close for him. From under the table, I planted my hand on his lap. The display of reassurance and comfort caused him to face me. When our eyes connected, I squeezed against his toned thigh.
“Maybe you should take more time to get to know your brother,” I chastised, waiting for who else was next in my line of fire.
“Saint… have you taken some time to consider what type of business you’ll be venturing into?” The question came from the king of the castle, Mr. Miller.
“Business? What business, Saint?” I asked. The question was directed more toward him than to the table, forgetting our present location.
Saint’s sigh pierced the air. “I’ll let you know, Pops.”
I absolutely loved discussing business plans. A guilty pleasure, it enthralled me. I couldn’t help myself at the mention of Saint getting into a venture of sorts. Demure was my baby, but prior to its conception, I had several other businesses that I loved equally. Dipping my tone for privacy, I asked, “What is your dad referring to, Saint? You never told me–”
“We’ll talk at home, Beauty.”
Dinner was uneventful for the remainder of the night. We finished with apple pie and rolled ice cream, courtesy of the kitchen’s chef. Mrs. Miller cringed when her husband introduced their staff member as such. To her, Chef Will was merely her kitchen assistant. It was Mrs. Miller’s recipes that graced our tongues for the evening. She adamantly made the distinction
After dinner, the woman of the house made her way to my side. Her demeanor bore evidence of contrition, but my better judgment told me she was the type to forgo an apology in favor of offering a plate of food.
“Let me holler at you on the patio, Victoria,” she requested of my presence.
Jesus, be a fence, abeg. Again, I sent a prayer to the heavens, beseeching peace that surpassed understanding. My tongue was only getting warmed up, and the night was coming to a close. I didn’t want to have to read Mrs. Miller her rights, but I would if she pushed me far enough.
I followed her out to the backyard patio, which was equally as stunning as the interior. The same elaborate flooring lining the driveway in the front of the home was in the backyard as well. A seating area was situated in the middle of the yard with a fire pit in its center.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Miller.”
“Oh, cut the shit, girl,” she tossed, spinning to face me with curious eyes.
“Ain’t no shit. If your house looked a mess, you wouldn’t receive any compliments from me.” Swift with my tongue, I dismissed her concern.
