Page 118 of Savage Saint

“What did you just say?” Oh yeah, he’s getting pissed. Jaw ticking. Eyes darkening. “Repeat that, Pocket Doc.”

I can play dirty, too, Silly man.

“I can’t, Santos.” Voice a little too chirpy. “I’m already married.”

The entire backyard goes still. Not so much as a leaf rustles when I drop that bomb. And to his credit, the man in front of me has the nerve to remain calm. Not so much as a twitch or bead of sweat on him.

You know what you did.

“She can get a divorce, brother. It can’t be a serious marriage.” Trino tries to step between us, but his president snaps his head toward him. Whatever he sees on Santos’s face has him backing off without another word.

It’s getting harder to bite back a giggle, and he clocks the twitch of my lips. Even mouths so dramatic to me.

He’ll pay for that.

Katia and Tati stay calm, too. At first, they were pissed I kept my relationship quiet, but that lasted all of one margarita and a bowl of chips. One look at him and they, too, folded. They also know about the license—I called them the night I found it.

And where they thought I’d be mad, I wasn’t. Instead, I planned for this moment.

“Trino’s right, though. Can’t be serious if the groom never asked, just signed my name on a license in Louisiana. To get divorced now, I’d have to travel to⁠—”

Saint has my hair wrapped in his fist and his mouth on mine before I can get another word out. His kiss is part punishment for my audacity to mention a divorce, and the other is his need to keep me close.

Since the day Volkov kidnapped me, he’s kept an eye on me at all times. He’s not as slick as he thinks he is; I know about my security detail. Mostly Cano, but Onyx loves to chat up the older patients at the hospital while annoying Katia.

He’s a beast, but the women love him. Well, except Katia.

Even Flow has made a few appearances, much to my newly sworn-into-celibacy best friend's chagrin. Tatiana tries to avoid him at the hospital. I’m not going to push her; Emilio hurt her, but I think Flow will be good for her. The way he watches her is possessive.

It has to be a biker thing.

Slowing his kiss, Santos bites down hard enough that I whimper before pulling back. “How long?”

I slap his chest and pout. “That was mean.”

“Genesis.” Fuck, what that tone does to me. Authoritative. Deep and just the right amount of huskiness. I also look around, and yup, my father is gone now. My brother, too.

Mami is all smiles, though.

“Weeks.”

“How many?”

“Three.” Pout a little more. He did break skin. “But in my defense, you left the signed and sealed license on top of your desk in your home office. That day, I asked you for a pen, and you⁠—”

“Sent you right to it.” No shame. Not even trying to hide his now-disappointed expression. “You saw it and never mentioned it. I got tired of waiting, Pocket Doc.”

Someone, I think it’s Roni, whispers that they’re confused.

Join the club. At this point, I’m the president and hold all authority on crazy husbands and the shit they pull.

I’m married.

He wanted me to find out.

And what? Yell at him? Demand answers?

Logical? Yes. But in this relationship, I’ve learned that the less you ask, the better. It’s how I do my part in keeping the magic alive.