Salvatore

16

I pace back and forth across the hallway, my fingers squeezing the strap of my bag. I take a deep breath, trying to slow my breathing. I shouldn't be this nervous. I've been on planes a million times before. I should be used to it by now.

But it's not just anxiety I'm feeling. It's excitement too. I could barely sleep last night. I had far too much energy. My mind was spinning all night.

I slept in Saintes bed again last night. He didn't sleep much either, and I'm willing to bet it was because of my restlessness. He assured me he usually doesn't get much sleep, but I wouldn't know how he'd function otherwise.

On the plus side, I had plenty of time to get ready this morning. Sainte had left for the gym by fine, so I took my time showering and doing my make up. it's a little weird being in Saintes room without him, but it's so big, it also kind of makes me feel like a queen.

I like being here. I love being around Sainte and I love feeling in control. it's like I could take over the world if I wanted to. Or better yet, I could fall in love.

I've never been in love before. I didn't even know if I'd have the chance. But now that I've met Sainte, I can actually see it happening.

The sound of the front door snaps me out of my thoughts. I turn around, watching Sainte enter the house. Unsurprisingly, he's wearing another black suit. I wonder if he ever wears anything else. I might take it upon myself to peek into his wardrobe next time I'm in his room.

"Sofia," he breathes. "Have you been waiting for me?"

"Kind of," I admit. "I'm just feeling a little nervous."

"Nervous? For what?"

"I'm not a big fan of flying."

"But you flew here a few days ago."

"That was only six hours. To Europe from here is, like... twice that."

"It's 13 hours."

"Exactly! That's why too long!" I complain. Sainte looks at me with amusement in his eyes. He reaches his hand out to me, placing it on the edge of my cheek.

"Don't worry, darling," he smiles. "You're going to be just fine. I'll be with you the whole time."

"I hope so. I like being with you."

"Good," his smile turns into a sexy smirk, his eyes drifting down my body. "You look lovely today."

"Thank you. I wasn't really sure what to wear."

I stood in front of my wardrobe for far too long. I couldn't decide between looking good and being comfortable. I was so tempted to wear workout leggings and a hoodie, but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't feel like myself. But I didn't want to wear something too formal, either. So, I decided on a bodycon cami dress and a pair of classic black heels. It might be a little much, but I feel good in it. Besides, Sainte is always wearing suits and I've got to match that. Not that it's hard. This is my everyday wear.

"You look perfect," he tells me. "Are you ready to go?"

"Let's do it," I nod, letting out a hesitant breath. He gives me a small smile in response, trying to reassure me. He extends his hand out to me, and I eagerly take it. He intertwines our fingers, his hand much larger than mine.

"Was your luggage picked up this morning?"

"Yep," I nod.

"Perfect. It should be on the plane by now."

An elder man knocked on my door this morning. I didn't recognise him, but I spotted Jordan down the hall, so I assumed I could trust him. He came to pick up my luggage, so I quickly tossed some final things into it and handed it over. I must've forgotten something, but I can't put my finger on it.

Sainte opens the door for me, letting me step outside first, but keeping our hands connected. There's a black SUV right outside the porch, almost as luxurious as the limo we took to the fundraiser. The driver opens the door, but it's too high for me to step in by myself, so Sainte helps me. My skin tickles as he holds onto my waist, picking me up. I let out a squeal, insecure about the lack of ground beneath my feet. Sainte lifts me into the car, and I wiggle around, trying to get comfortable in the seat. It's so high, it feels like I'm on a bus.

"How tall are you?" I ask Sainte. He has no problem getting into the car.

"How tall are you?" I question.

"6'2," he responds.

"You were blessed with the good genes, huh?"

"I wasn't always lucky," he says. "My growth spurts happened late. I didn't even make it to 6 foot until I was 18."

"Really?" I frown. "You were a late bloomer?"

"Definitely."

"Well, you can't tell. You look pretty old for your age."

"I am old."

"29 isn't old."

"You'll think differently when you're my age."

"That won't be for another six years," I can't help but chuckle.

"Does the age difference bother you?"

"No, I haven't even thought about it."

He nods and turns his attention to the road. We're in the backseat, but he still looks out as if he's driving himself.

"What kind of girls do you usually date?" I ask him, breaking his silence. He glanced over at me.

"I don't, really," he says. "I haven't dated since I took over."

"At all?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I don't have time."

"What about before that?"

"Before that, I was young. I did stupid things."

"Like what?" I push. I really have to force these personal things out of him. He doesn't mind, though. He always answers my questions but doesn't tell me any more than necessary.

"Sleep around," he says.

"A lot?"

"I suppose so."

"Did you have any serious relationships?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I didn't have time."

"Did you want one?"

"I've always wanted one," he turns back towards me, this time with a seriousness in his tone. "I've known I've wanted to get married since I was a child."

"You have?" I frown. I used to dream about getting married, but I didn't think guys did that, too.

"I have," he nods. "I've never been in a serious relationship before because I was waiting for the right person."

"And you think..." I hesitate. But why else would he have brought me here? "You think I'm that person?"

"I do," he extends his hand out to me. "And every minute we spend together, I get more convinced."

I place my hand in his, a giant grin on my face. He's so romantic. I feel so lucky. I am lucky.