Turns out poor Robbie’s wife had been cheating on him with his best friend… and he’s been spiraling since she moved out three months ago.
Still, I have to say listening to his awful story of betrayal and tormenting pain has kept my mind off Saint.
Somewhat.
Not really.
He’s in my thoughts constantly.
For example, since we arrived at this outdoor pub where I agreed to meet Robbie for lunch and a drink, I’ve managed to think of Saint probably no less than fifty times while Robbie yammers on about Celeste and her evil, cheating ways.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?” he asks. Surprised, I blink over the fact he’s showing interest in someone other than his ex.
I take stock of my own internal emotional injuries. The dull pain in my chest that hasn’t gone away since I woke up in Cruce’s car and realized what Saint did still thuds as a constant reminder of what I’ve lost.
Maybe I should ask Robbie to take me back to his place for some hot and sweaty sex that will make us both forget our pain for a while. If I were to fuck him, it would definitely represent a final break to Saint. If I gave my body to another man, it would prove to my soul I could get over him.
Movement to my right catches my eye as I sense someone approaching our table. Thinking it’s the waitress delivering our food, I paste another forced smile on because it’s difficult to truly smile at anyone these days.
Except it slides right off when I realize it’s Saint. He glares down at me.
His eyes shift to Robbie before snapping back to me.
“Seriously, Sin… you’re on a date?” he asks, sounding dumbstruck and pissed off.
A million smart-ass responses filter through my brain, each designed to put Saint in his place for even daring to be offended by the fact I am on a date.
Instead, all I can do is nod and mutter, “Uh-huh.”
“Sindaria,” Robbie says, pushing his chair back slightly. “If you need me to get rid of this bloke—”
Saint’s head whips toward Robbie and he growls. “I suggest you stay seated if you want to keep your teeth.”
Poor Robbie.
His battered self-esteem can’t handle Saint’s brand of jealousy and anger, so he slouches into his chair, eyes averted.
Jaw locked, Saint pins me with hard eyes. “When you’re finished with your date, Sin, I’ll be at the Rosewood. We need to talk,” he grits out.
My mouth stays shut, my vocal cords frozen. I want to rail against the bastard for what he did to me, but I’m so stunned he’s here in London I can’t seem to articulate a damn thing.
Saint whirls away, starts to stalk off, then stops. He looks over his shoulder at Robbie, a mischievous gleam in his eyes when he says, “Oh, and I’d keep hold of your wallet, buddy. She’s apt to steal it from you.”
Robbie narrows his gaze on me as Saint saunters away. I swear Robbie’s hand starts to shift toward his back pocket before he blushes red and slides it back to rest on his thigh.
But it’s clear…
This date is over.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I rise from my chair. I reach into my small crossbody bag and pull out a wad of fivers, dropping them on the table. “But I have to go.”
Robbie’s mouth turns down, and he looks like I’ve stabbed him in the heart. “Let me guess… he’s the one who broke your heart?”
“Shattered it,” I say honestly. “But he’s here… and I have to find out why.”
“He’ll do it again,” he warns, the doom and gloom in his voice too much for me to take.
I smile at him, but this time it’s not forced. It’s sympathetic. I’m being as real as I can when I say, “People make mistakes, Robbie. We’re all human.”
“You’re going to forgive him?” he asks incredulously.
I shrug. “I’m going to hear him out.”
Robbie scoffs, slouches further into his seat, and angrily glares into his pint glass. I have a moment’s regret over ending this date in such a horrible way, but Robbie was never going to be the one to fix my hurt.
Saint is gone when I look around, the busy streets filled with the lunchtime bustle. With a sigh, I pull up the Uber app on my phone and arrange for someone to drive me over to the Rosewood hotel.
?
I hop out of the Uber, my fingers flying over my phone to add a tip, then I rush into the Rosewood hotel, barely sparing the doorman a glance. Realizing I have no clue what room Saint is in, I move toward the front desk so they can ring his room.
I’m brought up short by Saint’s voice from my left. “Sin.”
He sits in a corner of the lobby with a tea service laid out on a table before him.