Page 61 of Savage Saint

There it is. A distraction directly from Diosito.

I grab it metaphorically with both hands. “Again?”

“Yes, again.” My best friend groans as we step into the spa reception, Katia walking ahead to check us in. “He’s killing me with the clinginess.”

Katia gives her a look. “You say that like you don’t secretly love it.”

“I liked it in the beginning.” Tati lowers her voice, her head giving a slight tilt toward the two older women listening in. They’re not hiding it, either. One is sitting forward while the other is looking at us unabashedly. “Now he wants to know everything.”

“That’s how they start,” the older of the two whispers, but I hear it. Everyone does, and I see multiple head nods. One even gives Tatiana a solid thumbs down before going back to her magazine.

“You people are terrible,” she groans, but these ladies do not budge. Not when while we wait to be taken back into the pedicure chairs.

We hear it all.

Leave him.

We know. We’re experienced.

Run before there’s a ring on your finger and kid on your hip.

Once you’re locked down, it’s harder. Move it.

I slide into the chair between my two friends and bite back a laugh at Tatiana’s face. She’s embarrassed—a little flustered. “That was interesting.”

“He’s not that bad,” she whispers, then sighs when the nail tech turns and points for her to slip her feet into the heated soak. I do the same, as does Katia. “Just…curious lately.”

“How curious?” Katia arches a brow.

“Where I go. Who I’m with.” Tatiana’s counting each item on her fingers. “Which beaches locals prefer. Where the good restaurants are.” She takes in a deep breath, then exhales slowly. “Let’s not forget which marinas are busy. Who owns certain places…as if I know this.”

“That’s very specific and intrusive,” I say. Something about it doesn’t sit right with me. It’s too odd.

“Exactly.” Tati points at me. “It’s weird. Why would I know who owns the marina or certain places? Like what does that even mean?”

“He’s from the capital, Tati,” Katia interjects. “Maybe he’s trying to learn the area. Buy property?”

“His father is,” she confirms, pointing at a light shade of pink for her toes. “Enrique wants to invest here, and apparently Emilio has become his unofficial Puerto Plata tour guide through me. It feels like homework, and if I don’t have an adequate answer, I’m given this disappointing look or tone.”

“Montalvo?” The older woman from the reception looks over again. Almost gets up from her manicure to come chat, but the girl filing her natural nails has to tap her hand to get her to sit right. Still, her head turns toward us. “Enrique Montalvo?” Tatiana nods, and the woman’s expression changes for half a second. Recognition. Nothing dramatic, but I notice. “He’s big money. Knows people.”

That’s it. Then she goes back to her nails.

My friend doesn’t notice, and Katia nods while typing on her phone. From the look on her face, my guess is it’s her flavor of the moment. Not month—Jose’s lasted four so far.

“I’m just tired of Emilio thinking every normal conversation needs to end in business. I told him if he asks me who owns another hotel or beachfront, I’m charging consulting fees.”

“As you should.” Because what else can I say to that? “Just be careful. A relationship is more than acquisitions and money moves—at the very least, he needs to spend some time on his knees.”

“Amen.” That comes from every woman in the vicinity. All of them.

From there, the conversation shifts.

Jose. Hospital gossip surrounding the theft of cookies and coffees. Alvin can go bite himself.

My complete refusal to download another dating app despite both of them insisting I’m wasting prime years of my life being friends with my fingers or toys.

By the time our nails and toes are done, I’ve laughed enough that yesterday feels further away. Not gone, but less choking. Quieter.