His Saint (Forever Wilde 5)

I leaned forward. “How did Augie get into antiques? Was that because of Melody?”

He tapped his chin with a finger. “I took him to something at the Majestic… what was it? The symphony?”

“Mamma Mia,” Augie murmured.

“He was enraptured by the music and the historical surroundings. I remember he saw…”

“The giant chandelier,” Augie added. “And all the gilt everywhere.”

“Yes,” Mr. Stiel said with a nod. “That’s it. His eyes were like saucers.”

Augie looked at me. “It was twelve days after my father died and the first time I felt the magic of stepping into the past.”

I stared at him—this brave man who’d made his way through a childhood trauma with little support, who’d found a way to self-soothe and escape. I was in awe of him. He was the most gentle soul I knew.

After squeezing his hand, I let go and stood. “May we escort you into dinner, sir?”

Augie met my eye and nodded. We both knew there was no helpful information to be had by bringing up the property puzzle with him tonight. He was stuck somewhere in the past at the moment, and I could tell Augie wanted to leave him there as long as he seemed calm and settled.

“Dinner. Yes. I believe Melody has instructed the chef to make stroganoff. She knows I despise it,” Mr. Stiel grumbled. “Do you have a sister, Mr. Wilde?”

“Please call me Saint, sir. And yes. I have a twin sister and three others. I’m one of ten, if you can believe it.”

He came around to the front of the desk to join us by the door. “Ah, your parents are Catholic maybe. Or simply gluttons for punishment.”

As we walked out toward the main part of the house, I chuckled. “A little of both, I think. My father traveled quite a bit for his job, so I think they took advantage of his visits home. Luckily my grandfathers lived on the same property. They helped my mother raise us.”

“And were your grandfathers navy men as well?”

“No, sir. Army. But I try not to give them hell about it too much.”

That got a smile out of him. “They must be proud of you, Saint.”

I felt a kind of validation that was rarely put into words. There was no doubt my family loved me and supported me, but hearing this important, powerful man imply I was worthy gave me a sudden sense of relief. Maybe I was worthy of his grandson after all.

“I hope so,” I said.

He studied me for a long moment. “Yes. Yes indeed. I want you to take this.” He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a chain identical to the one Augie wore. It even had the same tiny antique key.

“Grandfather?” Augie asked in surprise.

“Keep him safe,” he said to me.

“With my life,” I said roughly.

Mr. Stiel took the necklace off and placed it around my neck, tucking it under the collar of my dress shirt. I wasn’t sure whether or not to accept it, so I looked to Augie. His eyes were shiny, and he nodded at me.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Mm. That will do nicely. If only Melody were here to see what a fine man our August has grown into, yes?”

I nodded while Augie looked down at his hands clasped in front of him.

As we exited the hallway into the foyer, the older man’s brows creased. “Do you know my grandsons?”

I glanced at Augie. “Yes, sir. I’m here tonight with August. I met Brett a few minutes ago in the living room.”

“Mmpf. Well, we’ll not talk business at the table tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes… sir…”

Augie stepped around me to place a hand on his grandfather’s back. We were almost to the living room where I could hear quiet chatter.

Mr. Stiel turned to him. “Brett is going to bring up that housing project again. He’s like a bulldog, that one. Won’t let it go.”

Augie glanced over his shoulder at me before turning back to his grandfather. “What housing project?”

“Wants me to donate another building to his pet charity. I told him I’d consider it, but I refuse to talk business at the table. Do you understand?”

Augie cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

Once we entered the room, the rest of the occupants made comments about holding dinner back while we took our sweet time. The Stiels were a lovely bunch.

After Augie helped Mr. Stiel to the head of the long table in the formal dining room and got him situated, he turned to gesture to where he wanted me to sit.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Brett drawled. “He’s not eating at the table with us. Shouldn’t he be standing against the wall or something?”

I could see Augie take a breath. It took everything I had not to manage this situation for him, but I somehow kept my mouth shut.

“Brett, Saint is here as my guest. He is not being paid to be here. He will sit next to me at our table.”