CHAPTER 1

He first saw her at a football match in the VIP lounge where he was silently sulking about the food. As per usual, and if the starter was anything to go by, the food was undeserving of the five hundreds pounds he'd had to pay for it. But it was what rich people did and because he was rich that just happened to be what he did; spend money on portions of food that wouldn't feed a baby talkless of a grown ass man, but because he had money and there was more where that came from, there was no need to complain.

The teams that he came to see had none of his support but football was one of his many interests and he had time on his hands and good company around, so that was more than enough reason for him to attend.

He watched closely and struggled to feign interest at his friends' conversation as he saw the girl approach his table again this time with their main course. There was something about her, something so pure, something so eccentric about her that made her seem all the more intriguing. His gut instinct told him so and the only time he'd regretted something was when he hadn't listen to his gut instinct.

When she had come by earlier on to serve their starters a bright smile covered her face but by how she carried the plates she looked pretty nervous and inexperienced in her role. He had felt like getting up from his seat and helping her but stayed put because it would have looked simply strange.

Carefully she went round the table and placed the plates in front of his friends as they mumbled a thank you but as she neared his side he started experiencing once again what he had experienced previously but he fuelled all his unpolished emotions to dress an agitated look on his face.

“Do you mind not being so close?”

At his reprimand, she got completely flustered, dropped the plate infront of him as quickly and neatly as possible and straightened her back, put a little distance between them and apologised profusely.

Even though his facial expression didn't read amused at all, he could only admit to himself that he enjoyed how her dark brown eyes got wide in embarassment and her eyes were raised up in defense and her voice so innocent.

“What's this?” he asked knowing damn well it was pretentious-sounding food as it read on the menu in the middle of the table but because it was fun being an asshole he played the part once in a while.

Looking apologetic once again, she answered, “Fish?”

“Hello gentlemen, I hope you're enjoying your meals today,” said a bald man who suddenly appeared by the waitress's side who appeared to be in a more managerial role.

“Why is it that the staff do not know what food they are serving? I just asked this lady and she seemed unsure of the meal.”

Giving a swift dirty look to the waitress, he returned back to him. “I'm so sorry, Mr.Roux, we do our best to make sure we brief the staff on meals served to guests. Just in case you didn't get a chance to see the menu this is the grilled sea bass, crushed jersey royals with a sauce vierge. Anything else you might need Mr. Roux?”

“No, I'm okay, thank you.”

Shortly after the waitress and her supervisor walked away and even though he couldn't hear what was being said he could tell that the girl was being given a hard time by the supervisor.

He already felt bad and to appease his guilty conscious he'd decided that he would leave her a huge tip for her troubles.

CHAPTER 2

She could not believe what she was actually doing. If her parents ever found out where her feet were about to set foot in they'd probably set her on fire or at the very least go on a year's prayer and fasting for her.

Feeling drowned and out and tired of laying in her bed crying in self-pity over her fail of a life especially on a Friday night she chanced the idea that going to a strip club might put her in better spirits.

Barely an hour in her high black ankle heels she could already feel the sting on her soles and rocked side to side to take the pressure off from her foot whilst waiting for the bouncer to let her and five friends through.

“Are you guys going to give the strippers money?”

“Bitch please, I can't even afford to top up my Oyster card to get to uni.”

She couldn't help but laugh at her friend's Miriam's reply as she watched her get a twenty pound note from her purse. They were all broke as broke can be but neither of them minded breaking into their overdraft to have some good ol' hedonistic fun.

Her Christian morals were being compromised and just when her conscious was about to have a go at her, the bouncer told them to get out of their I.D.s and pay the entrance fee before finally letting them in.

It took her a long minute to get used to the dark surroundings as her body was just revelling in the warmth, glad to be out of the freezing cold of Soho.

Her friends talked amongst themselves but she quietly observed the interior. Chandeliers fell from the ceiling providing the brightest light in the room, which on the scale of things was not so bright. There was also purple lighting purple which reflected perfectly the light purple and black theme of the interior. and black interior

Private booths were set up all over the rather intimate setting. A bar on the far side of the lounge and two pole stages were erected opposite each other in the centre of the lounge and there were a row of front row seats to men to get the perfect view of the show.

And there was a lot being shown.

Four girls - four topless girls swirled around simultaneously and effortlessly on the metal poles and if not for the affronted nudity she would have thought she was in some theatre and this was some Circue du Soleil shit going down, but no she was at a strip club.

“These bitches can dance,” Miriam once again was voicing her thoughts.

She felt her one of her hands being grabbed and she knew it was her other friend Celine as whenever Celine got excited about something she'd grab on to any body part. “We need to go to pole dancing lessons.”

She only laughed it off, because there was no way she was going to do such a thing. “Guys my feet are hurting me, let's go find somewhere to sit.”

The others thankfully agreed and one thing they eventually soon discovered was that they made up 98% of the females in the room and that was excluding the actual strippers which meant a lot of perverted gazes were set on their group.

Without a single word said to each other they quickly scurried off to Milos's side and hooked arms with him. “You girls are coming on strong.”

“Oh shut up, you look like some fucking pimp boss, Hugh Hefner type shit with all of us on your arms. Enjoy the moment because it won't last,” retorted Miriam that left everyone else laughing including Milos.

“The girl on the phone was not joking when she said having a male companion was mandatory,” said Josefina another of her flatmates.

“No lie,” added the last girl in the group who was already half-drunk but was more of a mellow drunk so the rest was not worried about her being a problem.

Even though Milos, her adorable Russian friend was there to protect them, she couldn't help but think that with his lanky frame he was more of a cushion than an actual firewall against the over-excited testerones in the place.

“Oh my gosh, the way that guy looked at me is so creepy,” Celine said looking almost traumatised as she quickly settled into her seat and seeking refuge in the booth that they were in.

“Shut up ho, I told you if you were going to wear that minier than mini skirt to be prepared for the attention.”

Miriam was definitely straight-cutting one of a kind persona and that's why she was her friend. And even though everyone laughed to what she said about Celine, they all thought Miriam to be right. Celine was the one in the group who got most of the male attention and that was on days even when she did not dress provocative, and so when she did provocative the attention was even worse.

Whilst her friends called over the under-dressed waitress to get them drinks, she surveyed the room once more mesmerised by how much money men were throwing at the exotic dancers as they twirled and grinded out their body on the pole. It made her feel sad for some reason.

She felt foolish doing this but she prayed for God to save her soul.

Needing to clear her head and not wanting to have an emotional breakdown in a strip club of all places she told her friends she was going to the toilet.

“D'you want me to come with you?”asked Celine.

“Nah, I'll be fine, thanks.”

She thought going out with her friends would pull out of her perpetual depressive state but she'd thought wrong. It almost made it worse – the whole pretending to be happy because the whole world is looking was getting to her. At that moment she could imagine her bed, it looked so divine and what would have been the most perfect thing was if she could just be in it.

Quickly navigating out of the maze of booths, she noticed that some of the men in the booths looked to be having some important business discussions and some she saw were too invested in their meals to care for any woman on the stage with her private parts out, it broke out a smile on her face as she finally located the toilet – obviously those men were in the minority.

When she was done, she came out and suddenly feeling thirsty she headed for the bar that was a short distance from the toilet. She ordered a coke and instead of taking it back to the booth where her friends were waiting for her, she remained on the stool sipping her drink through a straw, needing a little more alone time.

She felt a presence next to her on the stool but she paid the person no mind as she looked on at the spectacle before her. Seeing the dancers and how they moved with confidence and ease almost made her consider a career change.

“It's you.”

Hearing that, she spun her head to the stranger only to have her eyes vaguely recognize the face. “It's me what?”

With the little experience she'd had at work she could guess that what he'd just downed was whisky. She watched as his jawline tensed at the strong taste before a lazy smile settled on his face as he watched her back.

She tried hard to remember where she'd seen him but her memory failed her. From the little wrinkle lines on the corners of his eyes she could tell he was pretty mature in age but other than that there was a lot of youthful energy she could sense.

“You worked as a waitress at the football match in Wembley about a month ago and you didn't know what you had on the menu.”

It rang a bell in her head but the amount of times that she'd been asked of the menu and she didn't know the answer was ridiculous so she couldn't quite get a clear picture.

“You don't remember?”

“No, I don't,” she answered half of her still trying to figure out where he'd seen him before whilst the other half of her was getting lost in his bluey-greeny magical eyes. Another thing she'd noted was that his accent was most definitely not British.

“You don't remember being given a two hundred pound tip?”

At that her eyes widened in realisation. “Oh my gosh, it was you?!”

“Of course you remember the money but you don't remember the man. Typical.

Letting out a sarcastic chuckle, he downed another drink which gave her just enough time to be irritated by his response.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you know it means,” he replied swiftly ignoring her rising temper, “you really should not be in places like this. It's not for people like you.”

The way he'd said that only highlighted the age of the guy and hinted to an old-fashioned trait.

“Please explain what you mean by 'people like me'?”

“People who hardly have enough to care for themselves to be able to afford to give a stripper five pounds. You should save your money.”

“Wow.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and without saying another word to the dickhead sitting next to her she took her drink and stood up ready to make her way back to her friends but then she felt his arms grab hold of one of her wrists.

“Wait hold on, why are you going? Did I upset you?”

She almost had no reply as she was beyond dazed by the blank confused stare on his face. “Are you being serious? You were just being intentionally rude for no fucking reason, now let me fucking go.”

She snatched her hand out of his grasp but before she walked, his voice stopped her in her tracks. “I didn't mean to upset you I was just being honest.”

“I did not ask for your honesty. I go wherever the fuck I like, if you have a problem with a peasant like me trolling in this place and want to keep it reserved only for the rich and fabulous like yourself you can take it up to management.”

“Maybe I will, but before that I'd like to know your name,” it was almost as if everything she'd said had gone in one ear and come out the other ear as he held her gaze smiling softly. “My name is Saint-Luc but call me Saint. What's yours?”

“Sant as in Saint?”

“Yes, but you pronounce it Sant. What's your name?”

She never gave out her real name in these type of situations. “Naomi.”

So she was beyond clueless why she did with him. The way his smooth jazzy voice had gotten her hot and cold in a matter of seconds was unreal.

“Naomi. I like it,” he said before looking at his phone mildly distracted. “Unfortunately Naomi I'm going to have to go now, I have a flight to catch early in the morning.”

She watched as he fished out a business card and pen from his black suede suit before quickly jotting something to it and handing it over to her. “That's my private phone number. I'd love to talk more with you.”

Stunned at what was happening, Naomi said nothing as she watched him walk away and tucked the card Saint-Luc had given her in her bra.

Just at that moment she saw Miriam walking up to where she sat. “Naomi who was that that old man you were talking to?”

Waving it off, she grabbed her purse heading back to the booth, “Oh no one.”

CHAPTER 3

Even though Paris was his birthplace and residence, Antalya would always have his heart and so his first day off in six months and the first thing he did was fly over to the Turkish city. He'd barely left the airport before he made a quick detour to get himself some home-cooked kebab. That twelve liras on the kebab had been the best value for money than all the thousands of euros he'd spent in the last month eating pink meat.

Staring out of his car at the idyllic blue skies a smile settled on his lips as he mused over his boyish aspirations of twenty years ago. Saint had dreams of having a successful career, with a God-fearing devoted wife at his side and her being the mother of his five kids and all of them living here.

He let out a quiet snort as the thought of having a child sounded ridiculous to him now, talk less of five. The only thing he'd had down pat was his career and he'd learnt a whole lot since he was at the grand young age of twenty five – being successful in both career and family was a balance only some could reach and he wasn't one of them.

Saint had been talking to that girl...Naomi. At the thought of her a full blown smile became present on his face. He had been surprised when she'd reached out to him even if it was three days later. It was an absolute surprise when she did and the only reason why he even found the courage to give her his number was because he figured she wouldn't call and he had nothing to lose, but then the other part of him checked his inbox, junk email, work phone, private phone at least once a day hoping she'd decided to get in contact.

What were the chances that his last two trips to London and he'd seen her – he was sure it was not a mere coincidence.

There was something about her that he'd still yet to figure out that just made her so intriguing. It was the first time in his adult life that he found himself wanting to lie about an aspect of his identity, more specifically his age, just because he knew there was a big chance that she'd stop contact with him and to his surprise he didn't want her to. She was nineteen and he was forty-five, when he'd admitted that to her, she'd barely flinched in her response and only added that he could pass for thirty. Instead of the anxiety he'd initially felt to tell her his age, Saint became increasingly suspicious at her nonchalant attitude but didn't let it stop the conversation with her.

Over the last two weeks they'd been talking they'd already fallen into some sort of routine, they had opposite sleeping patterns, she was nocturnal whereas he had to be in bed before ten and she'd teased him about being an old man because of that, but he'd merely laughed because now she was the only one other than Antalya that could draw him out from the crazy hectic turbulence of his life. On one of the nights that they'd talked Naomi vented to him how unhappy she was at her job and Saint had offered to come and work for him as his personal assistant and she'd said no. But Saint even though he didn't voice it out to her knew she was only saying no for the time being.

The car rocked side to as he drove through the uneven streets of his mother's area, bringing him back to the present. No matter how many times Saint tried to persuade his mother to let him get her into a proper gated residential home she would insist that she was fine and she didn't need to be living in a mansion all by herself. When he'd then made the suggestion to renovate the area his mother had defiantly resisted the idea and said:

Look at the Colosseum it has been standing there for more than 2,000 years yet no one thinks of 'renovating' it. And so he had no choice but to respect her decision.

Grabbing his car keys, he got out of the car, slammed the door shut before quickly walking over to his mother's front door and pressing the bell. The November air was colder than he was used to and so he shoved his hands in to his pockets as he waited for his mother to open the door.

The oakwood door finally opened and he hadn't even fully entered the house before his mother put her two short arms around him.

“My son, you're here.”

“Yes mummy,” he answered as cupped his face in her hands.

“Why did you not tell me you were coming?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well what about if I had a man over, you would have been the one surprised.”

An unamused look crossed his face to which his youthful looking mother laughed out loud to, “Saint you know I'm joking. Come inside I've just made some pilav and köfte.”

Even though he knew his mother was a grown woman and she could do whatever she wanted the thought of her being with another man, had never settled well with him ever since he was nine and his parents got divorced. Despite the divorce, his parents were always in love with each other and another of his childish wishes was that his parents would get back together but that never happened and could never happen with his father dying from heart disease five years ago. Though his parents never remarried, his father did have multiple partners, whereas his mother to Saint's knowledge never did and at his father death she considered herself a widow rather than divorced and so took a vow of celibacy in the church.

As they settled in to the small dining table by the kitchen, Saint quickly checked his phone to see if he had any missed calls or text messages from Naomi but saw none, leaving him a little disappointed as it had been nearly two hours since he'd texted her to say he'd landed.

“Qadis, hal 'ant bikhayr?” his mother, Ayda asked as she brought over a plate of steaming hot food infront of his son.

(TRANSLATION: Saint, are you okay?)

“Nem 'ana bikhayr , mjrd mas'alat qalilanaan ... aleml,” he lied but that lie completely back fired.

(TRANSLATION:Yeah I'm okay, just a little... work issue.)

“Dayimaan aleamal , aleamala, aleamal alqiddis w hadha hu alssabab fi 'annak kunt wa'akkad dayimaan . 'iidha kan ladayk zawjat wal'atfal , walnnas alladhin ymkn 'an tati 'iilaa almanzil , wakunt 'adrak 'ann almal hu shay'.”

(TRANSLATION: Always work, work, work Saint and this is why you're always stressed. If you had wife and children, people who you could come home to, you'd realise that money is nothing.)

“Mumia' min fadlika, 'ana la 'urid 'an yakun hdha alhiwar.”

(TRANSLATION: Mummy please, I don't want to have this conversation.)

“Eindama kunt fi alththamanin min eumurih walays li'ahad walikun kunt marrat mumarradat lika, thumm ealayk 'an tueraf ma 'atahaddath eanh . qadis , la 'ahad yurid 'an takun qadimatan w hadduha . qul lay, tafeal kl almalayin mmin al'amwal alty taqum biha tubqi lakum dafiat fi allyl?”

(TRANSLATION:When you're eighty years old and no one but you're nurse visits you, then you'll know what I'm talking about. Saint, no one wants to be old and alone. Tell me, do all the millions of money you make keep you warm at night?)

“'Ana la 'adhhab 'iilaa alqadim w haddih,” he said as calmly as he could but could barely get the words out with all the frustration building inside of him.

(TRANSLATION: I'm not going to old and alone.)

“'Adeu alllah falan jiddaan , abni,” Ayda replied with a sad look on her face before picking up her spoon to eat.

(TRANSLATION: I pray you won't too, my son.)

By this time, Saint had lost his appetite but forced himself to eat whilst wondering what had brought on this unexpected talk from his mother. It had been a long time since his mother had brought up this sensitive topic, years even, and even though she had been desperately unhappy of the decision Ayda had come to accept that her son wouldn't produce her any grandchildren.

“Hal ra'ayt 'akhik fi alawinat al'akhira?”

(TRANSLATION:Have you seen your brother recently?)

“Nem mundh hwaly 'arbaeat 'ashhur.”

(TRANSLATION:Yeah about four months ago.)

“lays hdha ma 'aenih al'akhir sanat luk,” responded Ayda disapprovingly shaking her head whilst putting a spoonful of rice in her mouth.

(TRANSLATION: That's not what I mean by recent Saint-Luc.)

He just continued eating pretending not to have heard her response.

She fucked up the order again. She always fucked up, it was innate in her fucked up genes. It was a wonder yet that she still had not been fired. Nearly two months into the job and she couldn't even say how many times she had made a mistake. She was running on three hours of sleep, her fault for leaving her thousand word assignment until the last minute.

“You need to hurry up. The woman on table 45 is still waiting for their gluten-free main.”

The urge to tell the supervisor who'd just sidled up behind her to fuck off was serious.

“Okay, I'm coming,” Naomi replied as she waited for the chef to add chives onto the rice.

The plate was extremely hot yet she was not allowed to wear gloves. Walking as quickly as possible through the maze of tables and passing bodies was not easy when it felt like she was holding an erupting volcano in her hands and still had to feign a friendly smile on her face. Luckily before a hole burned through her hand she was able to get it to the guest in one piece.

Wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand she re-entered the kitchen and much to her displeasure her supervisor told her and a couple others to grab a tray of wine and go around the hall with it.

That was the part of the job she detested the most, she was a natural klutz and so doing that always unnerved her. Reluctantly she did as she was told but walked at a slug's pace and kept her eyes solely on the filled wine glasses even though the smell of alcohol made her feel sick. Thankfully she didn't drop any...that time.

It was when she was on her fifth tray that she may have gotten a little overconfident and so walked a little faster than with the previous ones and so when some guest bumped into her she couldn't control it and eight glasses of Sauvignon Blanc fell on the carpeted floor and because she was pretty much in the middle of the hall, it caught a lot of attention.

Embarrassed, she apologised to the surrounding guests and because of how idiotic she was, she started picking up the shards of glass with her bare hands onto the tray until one of the floor managers saw what she was doing and basically shouted at her infront of everyone to stop or she could hurt herself.

On the guests side, she thought it'd only make her employers look good as it'd look like they actually care for her health and safety but on Naomi's side which she knew was the actual truth, they were only trying to prevent themselves from getting sued by an employee.

The urge to cry was overwhelmed her but she swallowed her pride as she knew she couldn't quit especially because her student bursary had all been used up to pay for her accommodation and so she'd had no choice but to work.

By the end of her shift the pain in her feet was so bad she was hobbling to the tube station. It wasn't until she was sat in the tube that she'd remembered she'd switched off her phone and turned it back on to find missed calls from her parents which she left unreturned and a message from Saint telling her he was in Turkey. Her body was basically broken and her spirit in tatters but just that message from him put her in a good mood. She texted him back saying she had been at work for the whole day and when she got home she'd Skype him and not even two minutes later he'd texted her back saying okay.

When she got home the first thing she did was to have a shower, and even though she had one in the morning she wanted to rid herself from the pungent smell of the wine. Too tired to stand longer than necessary, she sat cross-legged on the shower floor and closed her eyes as hot water rained on her.

Her life was one fuck up to another fuck up. She'd stupidly spilled tea on the keyboard of her laptop the week before and since then it hadn't worked and she had been left with borrowing her university's laptop to do work. When she'd called the laptop company they'd said it'd cost hundreds of money to fix, which she didn't have and asking her parents for money was out of the question. Her mother had only bought her the laptop three months ago as a bribery gift for going to university. Tears fell from her eyes freely, mixing with the shower water. All the money worries was getting to her.

Remembering to call Saint before he fell asleep she turned off the shower and dried herself off with a towel, before getting dressed into her pyjamas which was just an oversized top. Settling herself into her bed she grabbed the chicken wrap and water she'd bought before getting home, which considering the status of her bank account she really shouldn't have but because she wanted to avoid seeing any of her flatmates in their communal kitchen as she wasn't in the mood to pretend to be happy.

Grabbing her phone, she rang him, munching on her food whilst waiting for him to pick up.

“Hey.”

“Hey you. I missed you.”

Her heart beat a little faster hearing the warmth and accented huskiness of Saint's voice fill her ears, saying those words.

“I missed you too. How was your flight?”

“Boring. How was work?”

“Urgh, I don't want to talk about that,”she said as she guzzled some water before settling into a foetal position on her bed and with the phone laying on her ear.

“Why what's wrong?”

“Everything, but nothing I'm willing to discuss at this present moment in time.”

“Okay...”

“So what have you done since you got there?” she asked to switch the focus from herself.

“Not much really. I went to visit my mother and I just came back like an hour ago.”

“How was it?”

“It was good,” Saint replied not really wanting to get into the specifics of the dinner with his mum. “Why do I sense you're leaving a lot out?”

“That's because I am just like you're not telling me what's bothering you today.”

“Alright, that's childish.”

“It takes one to know one, Naomi.”

The way he always pronounced her name made her think her name was the most beautiful sounding name in the world. Over the few weeks that they'd been talking he'd learnt little about him especially his personality traits, one in particular, his unabashed honesty, he spoke from his heart a lot and that was one thing that could easily become annoying or appealing or both at the same time. She changed topic once again to avoid argument.

“So hypothetically speaking, if you're job offer was still open -"

“It's still yours if you want it.”

“What would being Mr. Roux's personal assistant involve?” “Someone to take care of my personal needs.”

“And by personal 'needs' you mean...?”

“You fulfil my sexual needs.”

For some reason it didn't surprise Naomi, an older guy like him with his financial status and a young girl like him with a non-existent self-esteem it was almost like the perfect match. Tears fell down and her heart sank at the realisation of how open she was to the idea, just because she felt it a tempting desperate measure she was considering to take for her current desperate times.

“Naomi...are you crying?”

Ignoring his question, she grabbed some tissue by her bedside.

“Why can't you just hire a prostitute?”

“I don't want a prostitute,” and for some reason Naomi could hear a little frustration in his voice, “I don't mean to upset you.”

“Yet that 's what you did both times we met by basically pointing out how financially disadvantaged I am, and now this...this is just the cherry on top. I hope you have a goodnight.”

And with that she hung up the phone on him and cried herself to sleep, because she knew she'd be taking the job.

And that's how it all started.

CHAPTER 4

Ignoring Saint was the hardest job in the world, Naomi had concluded. She wanted to be able to block and delete his number from her contact list but she couldn't bring up her heart and hand in accordance to do so. Just as he had claimed that she had become a part of his daily routine,so had he, which was something she hated to admit to herself.

So much so, that the many times that he'd called her during the last week since the conversation she'd stare at the screen of her phone crying when her phone would light up to notify an incoming call from Saint.

Two weeks was a crazy short amount of time, but in that time that they'd been talking she'd found herself so quickly into him. Having someone who just wanted to talk to her, not for gain or to make an order, but to just be that lullaby that put her to sleep at the end of a stressful day was what she appreciated the most from her companion.

The nearly three decade age difference meant shit all to her and she believed neither for him too but that's where it ended. She so desperately wished that she had someone to talk to but didn't dare coming close to telling any of her friends because of the criticism she knew would surely come her way. They would only think one thing: Sugar-daddy.

And they wouldn't be wrong to think so.

Looking in the mirror at herself as she put her jacket on, tears fell from her eyes.

God help me.

Her virginity she viewed as most sacred, because that's what she'd been taught and that's what she believed it to be – the temple of God. She'd always wanted her husband to be the only one to touch her body and never up until a week ago thought it to be a paying customer.

But she had bills to pay.

Finally grabbing her scarf, phone and wallet she exited the room and got out of her student accommodation. It was only gone five in the late afternoon, but the sky was two shades from being pitch black. Light rain fell and Naomi put on her hood as she walked to the tube station.

Her nerves were bouncing all over the place as she tried hard not to think of what exactly the situation was. When she had texted Saint back three days ago to agree for a meet up she had told him they should meet in a hotel room, he'd asked why and she said because he didn't want anyone seeing them together. Even though he'd complied, Naomi couldn't help but think he'd felt some type of way about the answer but she tried not to dwell on it because she didn't want to care about how he felt especially now understanding how he viewed her as.

London was a big city and two strangers meeting again was hardly ever a possibility but Naomi wasn't about to take those chances. What gave her the most anxiety was the thought of a family friend seeing her entering the hotel and word was sent back to her parents. And so that's why from when she got off the tube and left the station she avoided making eye contact with anyone and kept her head down, the annoying part was that she'd received a text message from Saint saying the room card was needed to get into the lifts and so he'd be waiting in the lobby to get her up. Typing back an okay, she upped her pace as she crossed the streets and entered the hotel.

She saw him immediately. Pretending not have seen her he walked into the lifts that had just dinged open to let people out. Naomi followed suit. Her heart beat hard against her rib as they remained silent but with him watching her so unabashedly it was like he'd lit a match all over her body and she couldn't help but fidget as she waited impatiently for the lift to reach the floor they were going.

When the lift doors finally opened, Saint walked out first leading the way. With every step they inched closer to the room her anxieties were reaching the peak as she constantly kept turning around to make sure no one was around to see them.

Eventually they got to Saint's room and he put the card into the slot before grabbing the handle to push the door open.

It was only when she got inside the room that she let out of a deep breath of relief. The room as expected had Victorian-themed furnishings. She walked over to the window, mesmerised by the view of Mayfair.

“I wanted to stay at the Shangri-La but some people I know are staying there.”

She'd almost forgotten that he was in the room until she heard his voice behind her. Too close behind her. The tension was back again and Naomi had to force herself to look away from the views of the outside to face the reality of the situation inside.

He'd left a little space between them but with his towering height and magical eyes, Naomi was desperate to put more distance between themselves.

“I guess it's fine,” she replied whilst centring her eyes on his middle.

“Why can't you look at me?” he asked gently, so easily, still searing his eyes into her soul. Every single pore on her body was open to his touch when his finger traced her jawline but she slapped his finger away. Barely shaken, he reached behind her and closed the curtains before pressing her against it and with unauthorised access kissed the side of her neck.

“I've missed you so much, madmoiselle.”

At that moment in time, Naomi no longer felt present she felt like she was on the highway to Pleasure Paradise. Her eyes closed surrendering herself to the moment as Saint continued to leave trails of kisses down her collarbone.

It was weird how at home she felt in his arms and it was exactly this thought that snapped her back to reality.

“Saint, this is not what I came here for.”

“I know. I know,” he repeated as he rested his temple against hers. “The truth is Naomi, I don't want you to go. I don't want to stop talking to you. I know this sounds fucking crazy given how different we are and how long we've known each other but I need you to understand there is something about you that I can't put my finger on just yet, but whatever it is it's making me do stupid things. I act with my heart but sometimes the portrayal of my actions do not make my pure intentions clear. Me reporting you to your supervisor was wrong, me being rash with my views on your finances was wrong too and me asking you to be my prostitute was out of order and I ask that you forgive me please.”

With every passing word, her heart swelled or ceased motion, blood rushed to her face from feeling so incapable keep composure. She was out of her depths but willed herself to pretend to be strong in front of him and so without as much of a glance his way she said she forgave him.

“Do you really?”

Shocked by his doubt she leaned back from his contact. “Yes I do.”

“Look at me then and tell me so.”

Having no choice, she lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “I forgive you Saint-Luc.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

Twenty minutes later they were sat opposite each other on the desk eating in silence. Usually Naomi had a big appetite and her size 14 figure would have been an ode to that testament but Saint's presence, even though he wasn't doing anything was so intense and she could barely stand the sight of the spaghetti carbonara her plate.

“Why are you not eating?”

“I am eating,” Naomi replied defiantly as she rolled some of the spaghetti on to her fork.

Not wanting to aggravate an argument, Saint looked at her a moment before saying, “Okay.”

They stayed in silence some more. Naomi stared down at her plate still not wanting to look in his eyes, but when she did she was surprised to him standing up from his seat, grabbing his water bottle.

Her head had still not totally wrapped around the fact that she was here with him. Not at a football match, not at a strip club but in a hotel room.

She watched as he went into the closet and brought out a small zipped back. When he opened it, he took out a syringe and attached new needles onto it.

Confused as to what he was doing, Naomi was forced to break the silence. “What's that?”

Getting up he pulled down his black yoga pants, before sitting back down again on the bed leaving Naomi briefly distracted.

“I have to inject myself insulin because I have diabetes.”

Before Naomi knew what she was doing, she found herself seated next to him on the bed.

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

Surprise was clear on Saint's face at her question. “If you want.”

“I do. Just in case.”

At her reply, Saint passed her a rubber glove from the bag before instructing her how to properly administer the shot. Few minutes later Naomi pinched the skin of his thigh before piercing the skin with the insulin shot. A wash of concern fell over her as she found herself wanting to ask if he was okay but seeing the unaffected look on his face she stopped herself.

She needed to stop caring about him so much.

“Thank you.”

“No worries,” she replied tossing the glove and needle into the nearby bin, “so do you have to do this everyday?”

“Everyday and with most meals.”

“Oh wow.”

“Naomi.”

It was just this thick, heavy gust of tension that made her feel like hot bursts of electricity were pricking her skin, and just the low, seductive pronunciation of her name from Saint had her feeling like she was in a totally new realm.

For few seconds they stared at each other, moving closer, gauging each other's reaction to see if either would pull back, but neither of them did and at last Saint brought his head low and captured her lips with his.

It didn't even register to her that she was having her first kiss, but her primal instincts had taken over and she was totally out of her mind as her tongue fought its way into Saint's mouth.

His hands, his lips were on her, all over her, very slow, the gentleman-ly kind, the one that tortured yet titillated her senses. Still very much into their kiss, Naomi's hands roamed underneath Saint's shirt to feel his warm naked flesh. And soon enough Naomi's clothes became an obstruction for Saint but within seconds he'd fixed the problem.

And then eventually the only thing left to be unveiled to him, was the gates to her Holy Temple. Just as his fingers reached out to her panties, her hands grabbed onto his.“Wait.”

“What?” He asked looking visibly frustrated but still concerned as he took in Naomi looking uncomfortable.

“I've got bushy pubes.”

It took him a slow second to realise what she said, but instead of replying Saint let out a low chuckle which Naomi found extremely sexy to listen to as he slowly slipped off her panties and leaned back a little soaking in her spirit, soul and body with his eyes.

And in low whisper, he said, “You're God's masterpiece.”

Hearing that, brought tears to Naomi's eyes as the inevitable materialised.

“I need money Saint-Luc, but I am not having sex unless I'm married.”

“I am not the marrying kind, Naomi.”

“Okay. At least we know where we stand,” she replied and was about to get up off the bed when his voice stopped her movements.

“I don't.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're implying I would have to pay to have sex with my wife? That makes no sense. ”

“That makes perfect sense. I'm a Christian and I've always believed in holding myself until marriage. Unfortunately because of circumstances the one I'm marrying might not just not be the one I'm in love with but one who can provide me financial stability as in turn I satiate his sexual needs.”

“Naomi , pourquoi êtes-vous si blasés?''

Looking confused to what he'd said she waited for him to translate.

''Why are you so jaded?''

''Life.''

''But you're only 19,'' he said before softly kissing the curve of her neck.

''I guess I'm a little bit more mature than my years.''

A sad look that matched hers was on Saint's face, before he lightly brushed his lips with hers. ''Let's get married next week.''

CHAPTER 5

“J'ai rencontré une femme à Londres.”

“Ah oui?”

For a few moments they sat in silence in front of the crackling fireplace in the château of their jointly owned vineyard sipping on the fruit of their own labour. His business partner and old friend from university smiled slowly as he watched the annoyed look on Saint's face grow more pronounced.

She had missed the flight on purpose. Saint had called her several times in the morning to make sure that she was okay and set to depart that evening, but she hadn't picked up his calls – all fifteen of them. He'd been rushing to get to the airport on the assumption that she was on the flight and planned to drop her off at the hotel before coming to meet Youseff at the château but of course on the way to the airport he received a call from Naomi saying that she couldn't make the flight because she had an assignment she had to urgently finish. Saint had called total bullshit on her excuse and they'd had an argument. Eventually Naomi resolved it by saying she would take the first flight out the following day and he could take out the cost of the ticket out of the monthly allowance he'd agreed to give her in their prenuptial agreements.

“Vas-tu me parler d'elle?”

(TRANSLATION: So are you going to tell me about her?)

“No.”

A short chuckle broke out from Youseff's mouth not surprised at all by his response. Even the closest of his circle weren't privy to all that was Saint-Luc and they'd come to accept and respect him the way he was.

“Rappelle-toi l'univ, quand tu dormais pendant les cours et que je devais te réveiller quand c'était fini?”

(TRANSLATION: Remember back in uni when you would basically sleep through lecture and I'd have to wake you up when it was done?)

Saint said nothing but managed to have a grin back on his face as he sipped more of his white wine, reminiscing on simpler times. Times when financial success was all that stormed through his mind. Every night without fail, the brick manufacturing and distributing company he now proudly owned was what he'd been working towards. When all his friends would wonder why he was always falling asleep in class that he'd have to use their notes, he never shared with anyone even Youseff his closest of friends.

“Je suppose que cette fille que tu as rencontré à Londres dont tu ne veux pas me parler est un de tes projets secrets.''

(TRANSLATION: I'm guessing that this girl you met in London that you don't want to tell me about is one of your secret projects.)

“Peut être.''

(TRANSLATION: Maybe.)

At that, he put matters of his heart to the side and swiftly changed the conversation.

She was getting married. That fact had not solidly planted itself in her brain. She was getting married and no one knew of it – not her parents, not her friends, not anybody and conversation between her soon-to-be husband was rather tense.

He was still pissed at her for missing her flight and she knew he knew that the real reason had been because she'd grown cold feet. How could she have not, at nineteen years old she still watched cartoons and ate cereal for dinner, so how could she without question, without doubt, without a head full of insecurities walk the rite of passage into adulthood and be a married woman?

Trying to spare her mind from a total mental breakdown, Naomi gazed outside the window of the car at the sights of Bordeaux as Saint drove them to the council office.

“Are you still sure that you want to do this?”

“I'm here aren't I?”

Naomi removed her eyes from the window, glancing back at Saint in his custom-made black suit, making her feel under dressed with her maxi skirt and sweater, but in her defence she thought she'd have time to change into something more suitable for her wedding day, but when Saint had picked her up from the airport he'd said there was no time to do so.

“It's a no or yes answer Naomi.”

Folding her hands stubbornly, she didn't say anything because she believed her presence to be proof enough. Her conscience bit at her- proof enough of how desperate she was. She was marrying a man for his money, if there was ever a worse gold-digger than her, she'd be amazed. But for some reason, which she knew, she couldn't fully title herself that, because she had an undeniable connection with the guy.

Even when they'd argued about her missing her flight and his voice was all stiff and aggressive, Naomi could still hear a certain gentle undertone, which made her heart vulnerable to him.

And so for that reason, she wanted to believe that if there never was genuine interest in Saint, there would be no marriage.

All of sudden the car skidded to a stop, as Saint pressed hard on the brakes and parked on the side of the road. “Do you still want to get married to me? Yes or no?”

Naomi's heart still felt like it'd lurched out of her chest at the impromptu stop and so without further hesitation she answered with a yes.

“Good. Now we can drive,” he said smiling at her before putting the car back into gear.

It was official – for ten thousand euros a month, she was Naomi Folake Adebayo-Roux. The money had been deposited into her account, but as they both now walked into the presidential suite of their hotel room, Saint knew that his wife was shaking with nerves to fulfill her end of the promise.

"I'm going to take a shower.”

Saint smiled to himself as he watched her speed walk out of the lounge and take a turn in to the bathroom. He settled on the king sized bed, zipping open his kit bag and brought out the blood sugar monitor. With the sharp probe he pricked his skin, making him feel a small sting which quickly passed.

He breathed a sigh of relief seeing that his glucose levels were okay, but for extra measure he drank out of the bottled fruit juice he always carried with him to top up on his glucose. He needed the energy.

She thought a shower would help relieve her of all the anxieties but it only proved to be a useless exercise. Her mind raced and raced.

Oh God what am I doing? I've barely known the guy for a month and I'm now married.

She thought she was going to have a panic attack. Having no choice but to eventually come out of the shower she grabbed on to the complimentary towel, wrapped it around herself and walked in to the room to see her husband taking a business call.

Husband. That word sounded foreign to her she found it so hard to claim it to be true. For the last hour she had been a wife to a man.

Seeing him occupied and ignorant to her presence in the room, she quickly took out her home clothes out of her carry on bag, remembering how Celine and Miriam had looked at her when they'd seen her in the hallway of their flat as she was about to go out with her bag and suitcase and she'd lied to their face telling them she was going home to do laundry to save money. Their faces were full of suspicion but they hadn't said anything and just hugged her bye.

Snapping back to her married reality, she put on a fresh pair of panties and didn't bother with a bra as she wasn't planning to go out. Of all the dirty talks she'd had with her friends about how they would seduce a guy, their fantasies, when it actually came down to it, she was a total prude.

She'd barely taken two steps into the bedroom when she hears Saint's voice from the lounge. “I want to see you with your legs spread wide open on the bed when I'm done with this call.”

His words cut deeper than she let on, on her face but because he was in the other room he didn't see. And because the marriage was just a business transaction she did as she was told.

In an instant she'd cleared herself off of any emotion. In her mind, she was not present, in her mind she pictured her haute couture on the runway of the fashion capitals of the world.

Everyone has to sacrifice to make their dreams come true.

The bed dipped.

As instructed, he'd found her with her legs spread when he'd ended the call. For a moment he watched her, her chest rising with every breath she took. He didn't know why but he felt like a monster wanting to take her virginity and he wasn't a monster. He was her husband and she his wife.

He'd always appreciated the figure of a thicker woman, and he could only guess that was because of his Turkish roots. There was more to love on such a woman and Naomi though tense, her body was all types of lovely.

He climbed on top of her and started caressing her – body part by body part.

"J'adore tu yeux. J'adore tu nez. J'adore tu lèvres. J'adore tu cou. J'adore tu seins. J'adore tu ventre. J'adore tu cul. J'adore tu jambes. Merde, tu cuisses sont si parfaites. Et le dernier mais certainement pas moins, j'adore tu douces, douces chatte.”

In a move so sudden, he grabbed by the back of her foot, pulling her forward to him. He wanted to have her legs hanging off his shoulder so he could pleasure her at a better angle but just as he pulled her legs off of the bed, she let out a loud fart out of her vagina.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry,” she shouted out covering her mouth in extreme embarrassment, but felt hopeless as she was held like a ragdoll her head upside down.

In an attempt to savour some dignity, Naomi tried to take her legs off him so she could close her legs but Saint held them still in place, chuckling. “It's okay. It's only air. It's my fault anyway for having you open your legs so long.”

And at that he took a long swipe of her sweet spot, making Naomi scream out in pleasure.

Thirty minutes later, their marriage had been consummated and Naomi felt like utter shit. She didn't understand why because the attention and efficiency of Saint and intimacy between them, even though she wanted to deny it, it was all there. But something wasn't right. She hadn't orgasmed but that wasn't the reason why, she was close, but she'd had to stop because she knew Saint wasn't feeling okay.

Naomi could tell it wounded his ego that he hadn't fully satisfied his wife but he didn't voice it. In the week that they'd spent apart she'd researched everything she needed to know about diabetics, and the warning signs of Saint's glucose levels dropping on his face were clear as they sexed.

So gently tapping him on his arm, she made him roll over as she with an ache between her thighs went to grab the sandwich and chocolate bar she'd bought at the airport whilst waiting for Saint to pick her up, but hadn't bothered to eat because of all the anxiety she was feeling.

As she walked back onto the bed to pass the food to a nearly passed out Saint, she saw crimson dots stain the bed sheet and looked down at her thighs to see blood lines stopping short of her knees.

Holding onto tears that were forcing themselves out of her eyes, she handed the food to her husband, but when he tried to kiss her she quickly moved away, mumbling she was going to have a shower, before walking away.

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

New York. 08:24

London. 13:24

Paris. 14:24

Hong Kong. 21:24

Sydney. 12:24

There she was sitting amongst fellow students eagerly taking notes on the relationship between Hamlet and Ophelia, when all she did was stare up at the five clocks hanging on top of the classroom board, wondering what her husband was doing.

She had been close to texting him but had soon stopped herself.

Don't care too much, she silently said to herself as she deleted the beginning words of the text.

The following day after their wedding, they'd flown to Paris on separate flights per her request and she'd stayed holed up in his house. The few times when he wasn't busy working they'd made love over and over and over again, so much so that she'd taken painkillers afterwards because of the ache in her thighs.

She still experienced post-coital tristesse each time they were intimate and it frustrated her because she couldn't figure out why and because of that it was intensifying an already dysfunctional energy between them, where he'd figured she'd reject cuddling or kissing after sex and so he would just go about his business but that's not before Naomi gave him his insulin shot.

The day before when Saint had walked into his room at two am in the morning, she'd told him she needed to go back to London to attend her lectures. After she'd said that, for a brief moment they both seemed a little shocked by her statement, and she could speak for both of them to say for the last 72 hours it'd felt they were living in a bubble and it was only when she verbally concluded that she needed to go back did the bubble burst and she'd felt uneasy inside at her unexpected reluctance to do so.

He'd quickly recovered and had casually asked her the days when she was in uni, but Naomi had to take a pause on answering his question. For someone who was a stranger to her a month ago, and now completely in his life but not for love but for love of financial freedom, she still found herself wanting to hold back a lot about herself which baffled her because when he was just a companion on speed dial, she felt completely given to him.

In the end, she'd told him she went into uni on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays and for some reason he'd been visibly happy by her response. From then on, despite being tired, he'd asked her multiple questions until he fell asleep. For a long while, she'd stared and studied Saint's sleeping face until she felt compelled to run a finger along the edge of his face, under the curves of his lips, his earlobe and down to his strong shoulders.

It would have been the first time she'd touched him outside of foreplay and excited by that fact she couldn't keep her hands off him – until he woke up.

“Do you want me?” He'd asked and before she knew what he was doing, Saint took her wandering hand and placed it on his crotch. “Because I always want you.”

Shocked she'd been caught red handed she'd remained silent and snatched her hands back and under the dim lighting from the lamp by her bed side, she could see his bi-coloured eyes swirl in desire.

“I'm sorry. Goodnight.” And with that she'd turned over and brought the sheets closer to her nose, trying to calm her racing heart for being caught red handed.

There was still so much her head needed to process but was forcing to the back of her head. Within three months of her leaving her parent's house she'd gotten herself married, de-virginised and had become a closet gold-digger. Telling her parents that she was a wife – that was a totally different story, one that would involve her parents having a stroke, heart attack, or something else to that effect.

So there she was on a Tuesday afternoon back in London after Saint had driven her to the airport early in the morning. When he'd tried to kiss her, she'd pushed him away because even though his car was tinted she was paranoid someone could see but before she knew what was happening she'd performed fellatio on him.

A small smile curved on her lips as she remembered how he'd shifted away and told her to stop because she didn't realise she was grazing his erection too hard with her teeth causing him pain and what she'd loved was how patient he'd been with telling her how to do it.

“Don't over think it,” she remembered him saying sensing her anxiety when she started again but that was quickly replaced with the eagerness to do it right, because his pleasure had quickly become hers and when eventually he'd combust it pleased her.

After landing and sending a quick text to Saint telling him so, she'd taken a train straight to Victoria and as soon as she got to her room she took a shower needing to wash away his smell.

For obvious reasons, she hadn't had enough slept and so with half an hour to go before the seminar finished, she took her things and left.

When she returned back to her accommodation she took a nap before waking up and attempted to sketch some designs, or tried to but her head was full with Saint. She wanted him.

Frustrated at not being able to work, she left her room and went into the kitchen to eat. Not even five minutes later Miriam walked in looking all dressed up wearing her polka-dot dress and light make up.

“You look nice,” Naomi said as her friend opened the fridge and took out an avocado.

Grasping the fruit by its side, Miriam sliced it open. “And you're rude.”

Surprised by the claim, Naomi stopped eating her brownie. “How am I rude?”

“Today's my birthday and you didn't even wish me happy birthday.”

“I'm so sorry Miriam, I've been like so busy trying to finish all my coursework I forgot,” she said feeling a pang of guilt at having told an half-lie to her friend.

“I'm guessing you forgot that I got us a VIP table at the club in Mayfair.”

The guilty look on Naomi's face was prominent that needed no verbal answer but fortunately Miriam not one to get easily mad, simply shook her head in fake disapproval.

“You're still gonna come right?”

Yes as soon as I let my husband not to be expecting me, Naomi wanted to say but only said a simple yes to which an excited Miriam clapped her hands. “We have to be there by eleven.”

After engaging in a few minutes of conversation with Miriam, her other flatmates came in and she was able to make a swift escape back to her room.

Saint was flying into London in the evening and she'd told him before she left Paris that she would see him that night but that was before she remembered she had other obligations.

He would just have to sort himself out.

If she was being honest with herself, she'd admit that she didn't really want to go out with her friends instead she wanted to be with her Saint. She wore less masks when she was with him.

Sighing nervously, she dialled his number and waited for him to pick up.

“Hi.”

The sound of his voice, always did something to her. “Hey.”

“Are you...okay?” She heard him ask after a moment's pause of her trying to figure out how she was going to say what she wanted to say.

“Erm can we talk?”

“Is that not what we're doing now?”

Saint always had a way to make her feel silly. Despite that, she tried to calm herself to avoid an argument.

“Yes but I mean, there's a lot of noise coming from your side so I'm wondering if you're busy.”

“People are still getting on the plane.”

“Oh I see,” she said before continuing, with not a lot of time on her hands, “so I'm not going to be able to see you tonight.”

“Why not?”

“It's my friends birthday and we're going out tonight.”

“On a Tuesday?”

“Yes?”

After a brief second he replied. “Okay, but on one condition.”

Naomi dreaded the old 'conditional terms'. “What's that?”

“You come to Paris on Thursday and stay till Monday.”

“And that's all?” She asked surprised because she had expected resistance from him.

“Yes, until we work out...living arrangements.”

Naomi sighed but complied as that one was one other topic she was pushing to the back of her mind.

“Alright, my flight is about to take off. I'll speak to you later madmoiselle.”

Her heart burned, with how low and seductive his voice always got at the end of a conversation. “Bye Monsieur Roux.

And that was the calm before the storm.

CHAPTER 7

"...for this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the church. Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband...”

Saint quietly shut the door to the bedroom, thinking how convenient it was that his wife was asleep during the part of the scriptures she should have been most attentive to. Walking away from the door, the sound of the audio bible playing from Naomi's phone gradually faded away as he made his way to his home office.

It had been a long day and with the way things were going it was going to be an even longer night. The only reason he had come home early was because he'd received a text from Naomi, saying she was taking a taxi to his house, having flown in from London earlier in the day, but because he had been in a meeting he had only seen her message two hours after she'd sent it. He'd tried to call her back several times but she didn't pick up, and so worried he decided to check up on her, but now he was home, he wanted to stay home – with her.

Sighing heavily, Saint dropped his briefcase on his mahogany desk and sat on the chair, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He was exhausted.

The mud brick plant he'd recently acquired in India a few months ago, was turning out to be a pretty bad business decision as because of the typhoon, the plant was basically in ruin, some of his employers had been injured and a lot of the machines needed to be replaced and so that had been the cause of his headaches for the past weeks. Many a times he'd forgotten to eat and take his insulin shot, only remembering when he was at a dangerous point of passing out.

He needed a break and his wife had come at his time of need.

She had told him that she wanted to stay with her family over Christmas, that had been two weeks ago, but for some reason he was still yet to know why she'd come earlier than the planned.

Saint had never felt lonelier in his life than on Christmas morning, waking up in a house that could fit a city but with nobody but himself present. He'd spent the morning texting his wife before she had to end the call because her parents were present, and that left him trapped in his office working for the rest of the day.

“Qul lli, tubarraeatikum tubqi lakum dafiatan fi alllil?”

(TRANSLATION: Tell me, does your money keep you warm at night?)

Saint tried to silence his mother's voice in his mind but couldn't with the pangs of guilt hitting his heart. Usually he'd spend Christmas with his mother but because of the pressing issues he couldn't go to Antalya, which inevitably left his mother highly vexed at him.

Opening his eyes, he reached for the middle drawer of his desk and took out the red, small velvet box before placing it in front of him and opening it.

For long moments, Saint stared at his wife's wedding ring. In the limited time that he had to sort out all their wedding arrangements he'd gotten a diamond from Angola, that had only been cut three days prior to their wedding - but Naomi barely even looked at it, talk less of wearing it. The last time he'd seen her wear it was on their wedding day, nearly two months ago.

A crystallised mineral hardly ever was solid proof of love, but all that knew Saint knew that everything he did was from his heart. And that's why he'd married the woman currently sleeping in his bed. But now he was reconsidering everything.

Her body was a hot plate of nerves whenever he was close to her. Touching her, feeling her, making her feel not only like a woman but a human. Someone with a voice and not a bitch who is barked down with orders and expectations and terms and conditions, and all the other bullshit she felt she had to adhere to in order to be wanted and accepted, but he, Saint-Luc Roux just took her as she was and that's why at five in the morning she let him - over and over again.

Being a light sleeper, Naomi heard when her husband got up from the bed and went to use the toilet, but she pretended to still be asleep. Truth was she was extremely tired from all the constant travelling but when her husband lifted up her shirt and latched his mouth on one nipple whilst stroking her other breast, she couldn't deny her want for him.

This was their bedtime position and usually with great difficulty she would suppress her arousal but she missed him so much that it was hard for her to just brush her hands through his hair and not seek for more after their time apart. It had been two long weeks, two long weeks of slow burning and she needed the candle on her cake blown out.

“I thought you weren't coming until the 3rd of January?”

“Yeah...I just needed to get away,” Naomi replied avoiding Saint's intense gaze as she took a bite out of the French toast, pretending to be interested in the business news channel her husband always had on in the mornings.

She thought she could stay at her parents house, but as it turns out, they still irritated the fuck out of her, and it was harder for her to remain for a further week in the midst of their stifling selves when she had other options and so that's why two days after Christmas she lied to them saying she had to go back to London to get a book for a module assignment and she could only get it from her uni.

Closing her mouth as she let out a silent burp, she drank the rest of her orange juice before collecting both their empty plates and taking them to the sink to wash.

It had been over an hour since their love-making and like always the aftermath she was left with strung out emotions of sadness, something she was getting used to. Something she wasn't used to though was sensing how tired Saint seemed. Apart from his eyes lacking their typical shine, everything seemed okay on the outside but Naomi knew better and she found herself wanting to know what was wrong and help him fix the problem – but she resisted.

She was only his wife for one reason, even though her heart told her another.

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CHAPTER 8

"What are you doing?”

With high curiosity, Saint watched as his wife slammed the notebook she'd been writing on shut.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Yet you act otherwise.”

Breathing in deep air, she didn't bother to comment and tried to avoid his questioning gaze and towering stature emphasised by the fact that she was seated on the soft carpet. Stood by the doorway, Saint silently watched her as she hastily gathered all the stacks of fashion magazines and the sheets of paper scattered across their bedroom floor, clearly not having appreciated his unexpected intrusion.

The empty house had been a safe haven for her to be creative. With everything that had gone on for the last few months it was the first time since a long time that the ideas in her head were so clear for her to see that she could put them on paper.

Having always been a light sleeper, Naomi hated the fact that as soon as she heard her husband wake up her body wouldn't allow her to go back to sleep, despite her being bone tired from being intimate with him in the early hours of morning.

Even though she was actively ignoring her husband, thoughts of their lovemaking uncurled sizzles of pleasure from her insides but quickly repressing those thoughts she banged her laptop shut harder than she intended.

It was for this same reason that after Saint had left at seven am in the morning to go to work she forced herself out of the Roux Residence and walked along the river at Pont Alexandre III. She was glad that she did so because she came home more awake and less hung over her husband and inspired by the fashion vogue of the Parisians, for ten hours, in between eating crap food for breakfast, lunch and dinner she had been cooped up in her own world.

Now that he was there, doing more work was thrown out of the window. Finally having put all her stuff in her backpack she rose up from the floor finding herself heavier than usual to do so. Stood to her full height, she stretched a little to ease the numbing pain of her butt at having sat for so long.

“I didn't know you can draw”, she heard him say as she went to his closet to drop her bag.

Naomi hadn't wanted him to walk in on her but she had been lost in herself so much being creative that's she'd lost track of time. Even though she revelled in his implied compliment, having a part of her that she hid from everyone unwillingly revealed to him only made her defensive and so with great reluctance she bit out a thanks.

“So you want to be a fashion designer?”

Her heart beat faster at his question, but on the outside she portrayed calm as she grabbed the pillows that she'd sat on offthe floor. “I'm just shopping for clothes.”

“You're ignoring my question.”

“Great observation.”

The wall that she'd built around herself throughout the day was easily crushed by his presence and she really was not in the best of moods to deal with his pushiness as now everything her mind had been trying hard to avoid hit her from all sides.

“As a matter of fact, there seems to be much I don't know about you.”

“I could say the same to you,” she retorted, finally holding his gaze that never failed to have her heart and body respond.

“You know more about me than I know about you and if you don't, you can ask. I'm an open book – unlike you.”

Saint knew the last part of his statement would get to her and with masked triumph he watched as his wife flashed him a dirty look.

Naomi smoothed the pillow on the bed, thinking it best not to say anything but still the concern she felt for him had grown over the last few days at seeing the marked stress on his face whenever he came back from work, but yet she resisted asking because she could feel the brewing tension between them and she didn't want to feed into it any further.

“And I still don't know why you need ten thousand euros a month.”

But he was making it hard for her.

Breathing out slowly to ease her growing irritation she said, “That's none of your business.”

“Yes it is my business. You're my wife.”

“For sex.”

The sharp retort left a bitter taste in her mouth and as Naomi got closer to her husband because he was standing in her way to get out, she could see the fire in his eyes. He was in the least bit pleased.

Although the situation with the brick plant in India was taking a toll on his stress levels, he'd come home in a relatively good mood feeling enthusiastic about telling Naomi about their evening plans but of course that was no longer the case.

Her comment though true had pissed him off, because he knew it wasn't the whole truth. Saint followed her into the kitchen and taking a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, used the few moments in silence to control his emotions.

Squeezing the now empty plastic, he screwed the lid back on before throwing it into the bin.“We're going out for a dinner tonight.”

Immediately an unimpressed look settled on Naomi's face.

“No we're not,” and with an afterthought she said, “or rather I'm not going.”

The tension was high – Naomi popped several green grapes in her mouth, pleased with herself to have made her stance clear.

“We both read the same Bible and doesn't it say a wife should reverence her husband?”

“Our marriage isn't exactly conventional or one for reverencing anything.”

At this point Saint's anger spiked, watching her so casually pour herself some pear juice.

“Why is it that when I could only hear your voice through the phone, I just wanted to fuck you but now I find you so fucking irritating.”

“I guess my sex can't be that irritating if you wanted to see it speak three times this morning,” she replied staring him down, before heading out of the kitchen, urgently needing to get away from him.

“Don't flatter yourself mon chéri. Je ai eu mieux.''

“What did you say to me?” She spun around startled at not expecting him to be right behind her.

“I said I've had better.”

It hurt her hearing how comfortable he was saying that and out of spite, jealousy, anger and all the pent up ugly feelings that resided in her she wanted to throw the glass cup in his face and have deep shards cut into his skin, like he was cutting into her emotions.

But words always cut deeper.

“Alright you can go fuck yourself and go on to your better halves.”

“And you can go back to your £6.70 an hour job that you were hardly competent enough to do.”

“Oh so now you're going to use money to control me?”

Saint said nothing. Naomi took it as his answer. “You know what since you don't mind throwing money around, how about you hire yourself an escort for the night.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“No you're fucking crazy if you think that I'm going to go anywhere with you. I don't want anyone finding out we're married.”

They were back in the bedroom, she put down her juice and bowl of grapes by her bedside before sitting up on the bed getting a nearby magazine.

“No one needs to know we're married, you could just be seen as my date,” Saint said with less edge to his voice, trying to reign in on his anger.

“Oh yes, but I'm sure this dinner is not just any dinner, I know it's some fancy, business investors bullshit and if pictures are taken and somehow my parents manage to get hold of them what would I say to them?”

Her parents were already in the least pleased that she was not going to be able to go to church with them as she always did on NYE and the last thing she needed was for them to find out exactly why she wasn't with them.

“Merde! You are just being dram-”

“My parents are Nigerian, you don't know how this shit works. So do us both a fucking favour and find yourself another girl.”

And in a quiet voice he says, “You're stupid and naive. I know that you're nineteen but you should be old enough to know that no responsible wife tells her husband to find another female to be seen with him.”

“Erm, I don't think we should be so hasty with adjectives. You're forgetting the fact that you're paying me to fuck you and a wedding certificate only makes it official.”

“You're a fucking bitch.”

“And you're a fucking dick, sir.”

Having no more to say, with one nasty look, he walked out slamming the door to their bedroom closed.

“Love you too baby!”

She laughed out but inside she felt torn up and twisted.

“Bonne année! Louez Jésus!''

(TRANSLATION: Happy New Year! Praise Jesus!)

Shouts of joy, laughter, praise and worship echoed througout the church as people hugged each other and called their friends and family. Shortly after midnight, the service ended and she was back in a taxi to the Roux Residence.

Two days had passed and she had not seen Saint, talkless of talking to him to know where he was and he hadn't bothered contacting her. Their argument rang deep and loud in her heart and having him not around put her in the worst state.

Let not the sun set upon your anger.

She wanted to make amends.

It was the first day of a new year, in many things she was unhappy, but there were many things she knew she had a lot to be grateful for and Saint was one of them. And for the first time in so long, she wanted to make a great effort to stop being so worried about how things would turn out and let God take control.

Naomi's heart raced with excitement when the taxi dropped her at the house and she saw Saint's car parked in front.

He was home.

She walked in and most of the lights downstairs were turned on although there was no sign of him. With nervousness at how her husband was going to receive her apology she climbed up the stairs, smelling heavy traces of alcohol.

When she reached the master room, she hesitated in opening the door, but when she heard soft giggles from the inside she yanked the door open.

From that moment her heart stopped working. The bed was unmade, dresses, bras and thongs lay on the floor along with torn condoms wrappers.

He was in the en suite bathroom – or rather he and her.

She nearly tripped on an empty champagne bottle as she opened the door to the ensuite. Three pairs of eyes stared at her.

Her husband naked in the jacuzzi tub between a blonde and a redhead. Barely acknowledging her presence with glazed eyes, he looked at her up and down showing off a drunken smile.

“Would you like to join us madmoiselle?”

CHAPTER 9

Saint sniffed as he roughly wiped away the lone tear that fell from his eye with his thumb. Long moments passed as he stared at the framed picture of his father on his desk. Saint Marc Roux - the man, who by example, had taught him everything he didn't want to be in life – a drunk, fickle husband and failed businessman.

Bringing his glass cup to the edge of his mouth, Saint sipped. He had a meeting in an hour and he'd already had three straight shots of vodka. For the last month being a functioning alcoholic had become the norm. Luckily for him his tolerance had always been high so he was okay as long as he ate on time and had his shots.

As he continued to stare at the picture of his father holding a lit cigarette between his two middle fingers, and a care-free laugh towards the camera, Saint's mind took him back to countless times when his father would return home depressed and with a bottle of dark rum because yet again he hadn't made enough money selling his sketches to tourists.

Though young, Saint still remembered the arguments – it always revolved around money. His mother would tell him to look for a proper job and his father would say he was an artist and the idea of working under anyone for his wages just to pay the bills was an act so against his nature.

Given the situation, his mother was always the breadwinner working as a receptionist at an insurance company whilst his father acted as a stay at home dad. And despite being an alcoholic, he was a great father but a great father never did equate to being a great husband or quantify to paying the rent or paying for new school shoes for him and his brother when the soles got worn and rain got into them and the children from school made fun of them.

Again, Saint needed to feel the alcoholic burn at the back of his throat as a migraine centred on his head.

For the next eighteen months his diary was completely engaged. The situation in India was gradually moving forward, his end of quarter reports for the last year had totally sky rocketed, more than he could have ever predicted.

A seven year old Saint, going to the church's food bank with his mother to get their food package for the month never dreamed of the position he was in today, though the longer he sat at his desk in his top floor office at his headquarters in the financial district of Paris, the more he wondered what it was all for.

Grabbing the bottle from his desk drawer, he poured himself some more vodka. The image of his wife throwing up in the toilet soon after finding him in the jacuzzi with the lawyer and architect he'd met at the NYE dinner he'd attended had stuck with him and no matter how much he drunk he couldn't quite erase it from his conscious.

In the weeks after his infidelity her attitude had been completely nonchalant which unnerved Saint. With his several business trips overseas and her back and forth to London, their main communication had been via phone and because it was easier to hide her emotions she always made their conversations very curt.

Naomi demanded he wore condoms when they sexed. Saint clenched his fist to stifle his anger because he knew that was her way of creating more distance between them. Now when they sexed it was like Bitch and the Beast. Many a times after they were intimate, she would lock herself in the bathroom and come out an hour after with bloodshot eyes clearly from crying.

Saint no longer knew what to do and when the crushing guilt he could no longer take, he drank.

He didn't understand Naomi. She was pious, loyal to her friends who he still hadn't met, but to him she was dismissive, blunt, almost emotionally unavailable to him, yet she was the complete opposite before they got married. His mind swirled and swirled trying to find reasons as to how they got into such a dark place, but found none. In bed, when they made love, was the the only time that she gave him the pleasure of seeing her let herself go.

There were so many textures to her personality, all so intricately detailed but yet so obscure. She confused him, she irritated him, she was borderline passive aggressive, yet he still wanted her but he couldn't go on allowing them to live this way- he had to know if she wanted him too – post coital.

With about ten minutes to go, before he had to make his way over to his meeting, Saint rose up from his desk chair, and walked to his private bathroom. For few moments he stood in front of the mirror to fix his tie but couldn't stare at the mirror for too long when he saw his father.

After freshening up, he walked back into his office, grabbing his leather satchel, ready to head to his meeting, but then picked up his phone to dial his wife because for the last two days she's had a bad cold and headache but it went straight to voicemail.

Naomi had her phone turned off the whole day. She didn't want her parents pestering her with calls to remind her how shitty of a daughter and in general, a human being she was. It was past ten at night and she'd basically spent more than half of her day underneath her covers. An earlier attempt to do an unfinished assignment failed, and for some time after that she drew some designs in her sketchbook but stopped when memories of her grandmother got too intense for her.

The constant travelling was really taking a toll on her. Her body was achy and her nose frothy with snot and she'd gained quite a bit of weight over the last few months with her very unbalanced schedule. Thankfully because of the heavy snow, her flight back to London had been cancelled until further notice so she had more time to relax.

She watched her favourite show on her phone as she bit into a pink coloured macaroon. Because she was craving sugar, she'd forced herself out the house to go to the nearest cafe. Find anything sweet in the house was a joke. Her husband had a very bland diet; brioche with black coffee for breakfast, salmon and salad, and then something starchy for dinner and if his taste buds were feeling adventurous he'd have some doner kebab. Point is that, he was very mindful of his diet but ever since they'd gotten married he always stocked up on her junk, until the last few weeks...since everything.

She didn't want to think that far, she didn't want to think that deep, but her heart was too hurt and her mind had against her will taken her there.

With her mouth she'd told her husband to break her heart and defile their marriage bed, so the only person she could truly be mad at was herself, herself and only herself.

Slow tears seeped out of her eyes dropping onto her pillow because even though she was full of resentment towards him, she was still prone to him. Her eyes became blurry with tears and her chest was heavy and weak, before she knew it her body caved in to sleep exhausted from the month of crying.

The sound of the bedroom door being opened jolted Naomi out of her sleep. Saint walked in.

“What time is it?” she asked her voice groggy.

“Ten past two.”

“In the afternoon?! Shit, I've missed my flight.”

Saint let out a short snort watching amused as his wife quickly jumped off the bed, nearly knocking the cup on the lamp stand over. “No, it's ten past two in the morning and you told me that your flight has been cancelled.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay. Thanks,” she replied feeling anything but okay.

Now that she was more awake her nerves and emotions were also awake, but like she'd been doing for the last three and a half weeks, she didn't let them show and instead climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over herself tightly.

He was tired of the cold war.

Quickly changing, into some night boxers, he slipped into bed beside her. Her back was to him and he lied on his back. He tried to sleep but he couldn't, though his day had been mentally taxing, his mind still raced with things he needed to get done. His thoughts went back to his father, to her on his bed softly breathing and then back to his father, until he couldn't just take it any more.

“Why can't you admit it hurt you?” Saint asked looking at the ceiling, feeling it the right time to bite the bullet.

“Because that'd be me admitting giving a fuck about you.”

“But you do.”

“But I don't.”

“Do you want a divorce?”

Naomi didn't respond.

“You're thinking about the money right?”

Saint lets out a bitter laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Do you want a divorce?” Naomi asks, swiftly avoiding his answer, but with her heart thrumming in anticipation of his answer.

“No I don't.”

Clearly shocked, she turns her head to face him. “You don't?”

“No I don't. I'm in love with you,” Saint says twisting his neck to look at his wife's shocked eyes, brim with tears.

In a move so quick, Naomi sits up on the bed looking down at Saint's eyes, ignoring the tears slipping out of her eyes, she pointed an accusing finger to his face. “How dare out of your mouth you say that you're in love with me. You cheated on me!”

“Let's not forget the part you played in that.”

“Oh please, don't even try to feed me that bullshit pie.”

“Did you or did you not tell me to go and hire myself a prostitute?” Saint asked unabashedly the hurt and anger evident on his face.

For brief moments Naomi was rendered speechless and she couldn't help but notice his glazed eyes and the smell of alcohol in his breath. “So if I told you to jump off a cliff would you do that?”

“Anyone's that's been long enough with you probably would.”

“Maybe you should then.”

“Oh, so you can be in possession of all my assets as my legally married wife?”

“You know what, go fuck yourself Saint- Luc. There's more to life than money.”

“And who better to speak on that subject other than my wonderful bride who married me because she loves me. Pour plus riche et plus pauvre.”

Yanking the covers away from herself, Naomi swung her legs out of the bed. “You know what, I'm not doing this.”

Before she could stop it, she burst into tears in front of her husband.

CHAPTER 10

“Passport and boarding pass please.”

Naomi's heart was heavy with sadness as she handed her travel documents to the air hostess at the gates. Returning her itinerary with a smile, Naomi grabbed it and got into the shuttle bus cramming herself in as it was already full with passengers.

Her breathing ceased for a second as her lower belly squeezed in pain. Grabbing the pole tight, she lowered her head and shut her eyes close, waiting for the pain to pass.

The doctor did warn her of the cramps. A soft whimper left her as the pain worsened, and she must have been too obvious because an older woman, tapped her on the shoulder to ask if she was okay. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed Naomi nodded her head, faking a smile not wanting to attract any further attention.

Soon enough they got to the plane and she located her seat by the window with little difficulty, for the first time wishing that she'd bought a business class ticket as she was getting tired of people taking their sweet time trying to fit their overweight hand luggage into the cabin locker, with no consideration of the people behind them waiting to be seated.

It was a couple of minutes later after popping two pills to douse the pain, praying for forgiveness and waiting for the medicine to kick in that her phone vibrated, alerting her of a message from Saint.

FROM: SAINT

Are you on the plane?

FROM: NAOMI

Yeah, just got to my seat.

FROM: SAINT

How are you feeling?

For the last five days that's she'd been in London sorting everything out, her nerves had been shot and it was hard to put a title on all the emotions that she'd been feeling from the audacity that'd she'd had in doing all that she's been doing.

FROM: NAOMI

Numb.

FROM: SAINT

It gets better.

FROM: NAOMI

I hope so.

FROM: SAINT

It will. I'm going to a meeting in the evening so I'll see you when I get back.

FROM: NAOMI

Okay.

It was just at that point that the announcement to tell everyone to turn their phone off came on as take off was about to commence. The pain in her stomach had ceased a little but she rubbed her belly as tears sheeted her eyes. I'm sorry.

Blinking away the tears, she looked out the window, as the plane steered its way to the runway, a hollow feeling taking place in her. She was leaving the life that she knew behind. Yes, she knew that she could visit but Paris would now be her home, where she would attempt a new life - with her husband.

In front of him, she'd cried and cried until she'd exhausted all the liquid in her body. She cried and cried until her head ached with intensity, cheeks were pasty and lips chapped. Right then and there it felt like it was the first real conversation she'd had with Saint, and they'd spoken right into the early hours of the morning. In the dim lighting of his room, he'd rubbed her back soothingly as she cried into his chest, listening to her as she poured her heart out. It was right there and then that they'd made their first decision as a married couple that she would discontinue her university studies and permanently live in Paris.

Even though she'd felt weak, he'd made her feel strong about her situation and when they'd made slow love after, it was like they could touch each others soul with their fingertips.

And two days after she'd taken the first flight back to London and made a same-day appointment with her programme convenor. Balls of nerves and anxiety and fear had straddled around her heart as she signed on the paper to confirm her exit off her degree course but as she sat on the plane, white soft clouds hovering over the sky creating a foggy view of the make up of London, it made everything seem small, it made her problems seem small.

She was one amongst billions of others trying to live by the words of their heart.

The only thing that'd hurt about her moving away was that she hadn't said bye to Miriam and Celine because she knew it'd be hard for her to do so face to face, so she specifically chose a time to move out when they'd be at their lectures.

It was safe to say that her parents weren't taking the news of her leaving uni well and because of that she'd thrown her phone in the airport bin making sure to keep numbers that she might need later in the cheap phone she'd bought the day before until she got a French phone number.

She was just immensely fed up with the control, with the restrictions, with the suffocation that her parents had obliged her to all her life. She was still clueless as to what she planned on doing but she believed that with God at the head and Saint on her side she'd be okay.

He'd said he was in love with her and even though her young gullible heart wanted to believe it, her mind wouldn't allow her to because...Naomi sighed her as her chest tightened with deep hurt and breathed out slowly to avoid having another breakdown. They were still a pilgrimage and marathon away from being okay.

Consumed by tiredness, numbness, pain, love she eventually found it more comforting to close her eyes, her palm still flat on her belly, surrendering herself to sleep.

A few hours later she was entering the Roux Residence, and the first thing she did was change her sanitary pad, her eyes blurring with tears once again as she saw a huge clot of blood drop in the toilet bowl as she took a piss, before flushing it.

Having washed her hands she came out of the bathroom and sat on the bed in the master bedroom, staring into space for what seemed like eternity as it now fully hit her that she was in her matrimonial home- not ust for the weekend. Blocking her number, she sent a quick text message to her parents to tell them that she was okay and she was staying at a friend's house even though she knew that they would take great issue in that but she had no intention of replying them for the time being.

Taking her luggage, not that she'd had much to begin with, she dragged it over inside the walk in closet and zipped it open before arranging her clothes in the space that Saint had provided for her. When she was done with that, she went to the kitchen to make herself something to eat, a reluctant smile surfacing on her lips as she opened the kitchen cupboards to see that over the last days that she wasn't there, it had been replenished with her favourite junk foods.

Apart from the chocolate muffin and tea she'd had when she was on her way to the airport, she hadn't eaten anything throughout the day. Opening the fridge she got the grated cheese and butter, and then went to the bread bin to get out four loaves before putting it on a plate, almost salivating at the anticipation of satiating her crave for grease.

Her body stiffened and a soft scream left her mouth, when she suddenly felt lips kiss the nape of her neck as she sprinkled cheese on her bread.

“Hey, I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you like that,” Saint said embracing her from behind.

Soft sighs left Naomi's lips as she let her head fall to the side forgetting all about her cheese on toast as he continued leave trails of kisses all around her neck.

With the way he'd got her, she was probably twice as hot than the oven that she'd turned on to pre-heat. Wanting more she turned around, feeling emotional all of a sudden from looking into his beautiful eyes before putting her arms around his neck finding it such a relief to be able to crumble on his chest and he not feel any way about it.

“I thought you wouldn't be back til later.”

“I cancelled the meeting. I wanted to see you,” he replied with a full smile lighting up his face as he grabbed her body closer to himself and she so willingly let him.

“Well do you like what you see, monsieur?”

Looking down at her with such fiery intensity, he kissed her with great desperation. “Oh oui, je l'aime, madmoiselle.”

For a few more moments they continued kissing, but just when Saint knew that kissing wouldn't be enough it they didn't stop, he detached his lips from hers.

Naomi was totally not impressed by this, and she surprised herself when she tugged on his suit jacket and pleaded for more.

A light chuckle left his lips, as he squeezed her ass pulling her closer to him. “So do I, but I really need to eat now.”

A frustrated sigh left her lips as she really did not want to stop she but knew he needed to take his insulin shot on time and so with great reluctance, she let him go and got on with her own meal.

Naomi watched as he washed his hands and opened the fridge, getting the vegetables he needed to make his salad, before seasoning his salmon. She still found it quite interesting that a guy like himself, did not have a maid or at least a personal chef to make his meals and he always seemed to enjoy making them.

“You should watch what you eat a bit more, Naomi.”

At this uncalled statement from Saint, Naomi immediately stopped what she was doing giving him a dirty look. “Are you saying that I'm...fat?”

“No, I'm not, but as someone who is your husband and is also diabetic, I don't think it's such a bad thing that I say you should watch what you eat.”

“So if you don't want me eating it, why are you buying it?”

“Because you want it, but that doesn't mean you should make it the biggest part of your diet. You're not a child -”

“Exactly, so I'll eat whatever I like,” she replied as she sprinkled some chilli powder onto the cheese.

Hissing out a curse, Saint took a long breath before saying anything. “Y'know what Naomi-”

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the tense atmosphere, which aggravated Saint's vexation, as he grabbed his phone out of his back pocket. Not bothering to look at the caller ID he accepted the call.

Sliding the tray of the cheese toasts into the oven, Naomi pretended to be unphased by the sound of a woman sobbing on her husband's phone whilst speaking in quick French. When she turned to look at him, she heard him softly swear as he realised he'd accidentally pressed the loudspeaker option, before walking out of the kitchen to have his, clearly, private conversation.

CHAPTER 11

After a three hour drive to the outskirts of Brussels, Saint sighed in relief as he wound his car into the driveway of the two storey glasshouse.

Cutting off the engine, he grabbed his keys and climbed out of the car, for a moment taking in the quiet leafy surroundings. The ground beneath his hard-soled leather boots was made up of crushed rocks, so it made crunchy noises as he walked up to the front door. Seconds after he rang the bell the door swung open.

Seeing the bruised cheeks and dark circles underneath her lack-lustre brown eyes welcomed Saint to his other reality.

“Il est allé au travail.’’

(TRANSLATION: He’s gone to work.)

“Prenons les enfats ,” he said as he made his way into the house.

(TRANSLATION: Let’s get the kids.)

The winter sunlight filtered through the huge stainless glass windows, trapping all the natural light to illuminate the simplistic beauty of the house, though looking at her face, Saint knew the house had seen darker days.

Her physical pain was nowhere close to the perpetual brokenness of her heart. She swallowed half a bottle of mouthwash but then threw it back up. She snorted two lines of table salt for a moment revelling in the sodium burn in her nose, but that euphoria faded as quickly as it came and so she poked herself with needles like she was a voodoo doll. With no resolve to her depressed state, Naomi sat cross-legged on the shower floor, her shoulders shaking and chest heaving, as the tears pouring out of her soul were relentless.

She watched through clouded vision as her crimson blood and water mixed together, going down the drain, from her earlier attempt to use a razor to shave her skin off. After what seemed like hours on end, the tears stopped and she managed to get herself out of the shower.

Grabbing a towel from the rack, she dried herself, careful not to rub the towel too hard against her skin because of the self-affliction she’d subjected her body to.

She just wanted to feel something, something other than lost, something other than love. Naomi heard when her husband left early in the morning. He hadn’t even slept in their room. Ever since their argument the day before, he’d become distant and Naomi was not used to that.

Though their relationship could be classed as long-distance up until recently, she could always feel his fire, his fire when he looked at her, when he talked to her, when he was angry, when they made love- she could always feel him, but now it was a cold breeze. She’d cried to herself thinking that he was turned off by her body. Maybe she was fat. Maybe he was getting tired.

That thought disturbed Naomi a lot because she couldn’t stop wondering and thinking about the woman who was on the phone to him. Maybe she was a second wife. Maybe he had a family somewhere else and kept her as his second wife. It was totally possible, given how frequent they were away from each other.

The anxieties, that she’d married a man she barely knew hit her full degree and frightening thoughts, rapid thoughts of Saint’s second life came flooding into her head, and she once again stood in the middle of his carpeted walk in closet crying into her palms, ignoring her body pains.

How could she think that a man like Saint could stay faithful to her? She only had her body to offer him and even then he’d proved that that wasn’t enough for him. So the question was, why were they still together?

He’d slept in his office and had left early in the morning without a word. Maybe he was bringing her replacement home and then kicking her out.

She could not let her thoughts go that far – she loved him. Despite everything, it might have been foolish of her to do so but she couldn’t deny it – she loved him deeply she just didn’t know how to show it.

Saint only wore one cologne. The citrus smell with forest leaves undertones that permeated a musky, masculine aroma wafted through his closet. It made Naomi feel closer to him and with the towel cinched around her body, she welcomed the smell of her husband as she surveyed through his lengthy collections of suits.

Her thumb grazed on the shoulder pads of a purple suede jacket, wanting to feel his masculine energy emanate from it. The prototype of a perfectionist, her husband had his closet arranged by colour, by material, by designer, making it look more like a department store.

Naomi knew that Saint got most of his suits custom made, and on one occasion she had seen the seamstress that he would call to his house to take his measurements when he had an important function to go to. And even though the woman was mature in years and professional she found it rather uncomfortable when her fingers neared his groin area to take measurements.

She finally got to the black section of his suits. There was nothing like a man in a black tuxedo and her husband knew that oh so well. Naomi’s hands mindlessly browsed through the outfits, until she felt an interesting stitching on the lapel of one of the suits.

Crowns and bees.

The gold details of royalty and courage, immediately sprang up her grandmother to mind.

Usually with a little effort she could supress thoughts of her grandmother, but as her teardrops embedded themselves in the careful stitching of the crowns on the breast pocket of the midnight velvet suit, memories upon memories followed.

Sade. Her grandmother was a queen. The best she ever knew, who taught her everything she needed to know, that no curriculum could ever teach with such heart.

She missed the long summer trips to Naples, where she would stay at her grandmother’s villa that she had on the Amalfi coast. Every summer her parents would send her over there, because that’s when her grandmother would come from Lagos to do her yearly shop of shoes and bags.

Those days she would become her grandmother’s apprentice. Grandma Sade would take the time to teach her about the different materials most especially lace because her clients were Nigerian and would also accompany her to the textile factory where she would by her material from.

Her grandmother always knew how to make her feel of importance and a small sad smile stuck to Naomi’s lips as she remembered one of the things she always told her.

Wear yourself first and always.

Drying off her tears, Naomi took the jacket off of the hanger and wore it. Wanting to see how it looked on her, she entered their ensuite bathroom to stare at herself in the full length mirror. It was a little too big for her, but regardless she loved the feeling of wearing something of Saint it was like wearing a warm hug from him.

Looking at her reflection she couldn’t deny how drained she was but as if she hadn’t just initiated herself in a series of self-destructive behaviours an hour ago, she felt a stroke of inspiration.

Still wearing her husband’s jacket, she went to get her bag, tipping out the contents on the bed and smiled big as she finally found what she was in such a hurry to find.

A tape measure. Shrugging of the muse jacket, she laid it out on the bed and took the measurements. When she was done with that, she got out her laptop and ordered herself a sewing machine.

It was about time.

Saint was going to be her first client. Maybe she was being foolish. She let that thought go, as she folded the complete suit into her carry-on bag, where he wouldn’t notice it missing.

There was an unwelcome throb all over her body as scabs began to form due to her earlier episode and so reaching back in to her purse she grabbed two painkiller tablets and swallowed it dry.

The twins excited to be in Paris, talked animatedly as they went inside the house, putting a relaxed smile on Saint’s face, the only smile he’d worn the entire day. No matter how many times they came to Paris they always requested to go up the Eiffel Tower, but with the long queues and freezing temperatures Saint was very reluctant to take them.

Their mother shushed them as she was carrying the sleeping six month old in her hands.

“J'ai juste besoin de réchauffer son lait,” she said passing the baby to Saint without warning, before taking the baby bag and heading into the kitchen.

(TRANSLATION: I need to warm his milk.)

Undisturbed, the baby snuggled closer on Saint’s chest, his tiny hands hovering over where his heart would be. He placed his hand on the back of the baby, watching him sleep so peacefully, blindly following the rest into the kitchen.

A scream rang through the kitchen, making Saint curse out silently as now the baby woke up in terror crying loudly. Everybody including him looked up finding Naomi, with her hands on the middle of her chest, wearing her long rose coloured silk robe. Saint handed the baby over back to Amirah. The shocked and apologetic expression on Naomi’s face was quickly overtaken by nothingness as she silently watched the interaction. The twins too, confused, had quietened down and turned round to him for an explanation.

Coddling the baby as his cries turned to soft whimpers, Naomi watched in surreal as the woman stepped forward and shook her hand, but Naomi could only return a lopsided smile as she could not understand what she was saying because she was speaking in French and her heart felt like it had been guillotined – again.

Shortly after, grabbing the bowl of green grapes that she’d been busy plucking from its branch, Naomi excused herself out of the kitchen.

Sighing heavily as he watched his wife leaving the kitchen, Saint turned to Amirah. “Je reviens.”

(TRANSLATION: I’ll be back.)

Walking up the gold marble steps, trailing behind his wife, Saint could feel the boiling tension. With one hand, she flung the door open into their bedroom, not bothering to close it, as Saint followed behind, shutting it himself as he prepared to privately argue with his wife.

“That’s my sister-in-law.”

Naomi scoffed popped a grape into her mouth. “Right, you’re sister-in-law.”

“Yes, my sister-in-law. Why are you saying it like that?”

Saint could already feel a pulse in his temple gaining speed as the tension in the room fired up.

“Given your past records, you can’t exactly blame me for not being so easily convinced. So where’s her husband?”

Naomi cringed as she heard her voice break. Tears veiled her eyes, and she scrubbed at her eyes hard as she was determined not to give him the pleasure of seeing her weak and on her knees.

After everything, she was right.

She didn’t deserve this.

He hadn’t bothered to answer her question, and so Naomi rose up from the bed, scatter-brained and all, trying to find a few of her things so she could get the fuck out of this place. Sister-in-law, my ass, she thought.

“And on that note, I’ll find myself somewhere else to stay to allow you and your ‘sister-in-law’ to get better acquainted.”

“Where are you going?”

“That’s none of your concern, but I’ll be staying at a hotel.”

Saint burnt in frustration at Naomi, the frail, weak girl, he was supposed to identify as his wife who was running away from him - as always.

Still he stood there watching her remove her clothes, unconsciously, because that was so unlike her, even after they made love she always put her clothes back on, hiding her nakedness from him. But as she flung her silk robe on their matrimonial bed exposing her voluptuous supple body that many a night he’d enjoyed eating his dinner from – he could only see a woman. A woman with a broken spirit and piercing anger marking her face.

Before he knew it, he found himself drawing closer, he needed the affection only she could provide.

She had her back to him and as he ventured closer to her he noticed a few fresh cuts on her arms and knees, but a decision that Saint would later on regret, he ignored it and brought his hands forward to touch her.

Before he could stop himself he cupped her waist with his two hands, but in that same second, she ceased up before turning round and slapping his hands away hard.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Caught off guard by the outburst, Saint stepped back. For a moment he looked into her glazed eyes seeing all his hurt reflected in hers. Never in his life had he ever felt as rejected as she made him feel in that moment.

He let her be. Going inside his closet, he opened one of the drawers to grab the bottle of dark rum and sat on the floor, hearing as his wife quickly got dressed before opening and slamming the door of their bedroom shut.

Finding an inexpensive hotel in the centre of Paris was a pointless exercise and so without questioning the price as she would have normally done, had she not found herself a wealthy husband and a generous monthly allowance, she accepted the first hotel that she went in.

As soon as she got to her room, all she did was dump her bag on the bed and she followed suit. She needed someone to talk to.

She missed her friends.

And she almost did end up calling Celine and Miriam, but for some reason she stalled.

She was just scared that they would not understand and because she would be misunderstood, they would judge her.

Feeling both helpless and hopeless she grabbed her husband’s crown and bees suit out of her bag and sobbed her way into the jacket.

CHAPTER 12

“Merci de me recevoir.”

(TRANSLATION: Thank you for having me.)

The auditorium rang loud with cheers and claps from the three hundred plus business undergrads giving Saint a standing ovation as he left the stage.

For months his alumni had been trying to invite him as a keynote speaker but he had been too busy to do so until then. Saint's former lecturer shook his hand, placing his other hand on top of their conjoined ones whilst his aged eyes shone with immense gratitude and pride.

Saint smiled to himself thinking of the funny turn of events, it made him almost sad. Here was the lecturer who had thrown him out his class for sleeping and told him he'd never amount to anything in front of everybody and here he was over twenty-three years later Saint-Luc, the fourth wealthiest person in Europe.

He could only give thanks to God and move on. He'd had a long day and so without further ado, he politely ended the conversation saying a few more goodbyes to others before finally leaving the campus.

On a late Friday evening, traffic was bad on Champs-Elysée but Saint didn't mind, it'd be the first time in the day that he'd had time to himself.

Most of the day he'd spent on last minute preparations and going over his upcoming engagements. In the next two weeks he was flying out to seven different countries in three different continents. It was a total mind-fuck for him. It wasn’t so much the travelling or his work, he loved both, but the loneliness that accompanied him at night sleeping on a hotel bed.

Uneasy lies the head who wears the crown.

Remembering one of his favourite quotes, a bitter smile cradled itself on his lip.

For one day, he wished he could shut everything off. To go to an island – maybe buy an island in the Caribbean, take a long nap, maybe read a book, fry lobster that he’d caught fresh from the sea, drink coconut water, eat mangoes, just him – just him and Naomi, talking, laughing, being lovers, loving each other under the sweltering sun.

In Saint's head it was all so simple, she just chose the hard way.

The lights turned green but Saint stalled. Loud, impatient horns sounded from behind him. He needed the spinning in his head to stop. He needed to get home in one piece, and not with a camel load of stress weighing him down. Saint knew that he'd taken his insulin shots, so why he was feeling this way he didn't understand. Eventually and with prayer, Saint was able to get home but he was beyond tired.

One step in and he could already hear his niece's loud voice. At five years old, she was a spitfire. For the last couple of days Amirah and the kids had gone to Toulouse to visit relations of hers that had just arrived from Algeria. Despite the fact that he'd spent years in solitude those few days he'd returned to an empty home had felt awkward for Saint, so knowing that they were back was welcoming for him.

The twins were in the living room watching their favourite Arabic cartoon, but when they saw their uncle they ran straight for him. Ignoring his exhaustion, Saint felt full.

After catching up with the twins, and them returning to watch their programme, he entered the kitchen knowing that's where he would find his sister-in-law, who looked to be making dinner.

His little nephew was joined to his mother’s hip and the only reason he would not be found there was if he was sleeping, which appeared to be the case.

“Comment ça va?”

(TRANSLATION: How are you?)

“Je suis bien. Comment était-Toulouse?”

(TRANSLATION: I'm fine. How was Toulouse?)

“Il est d'accord...” replied Amirah though Saint could sense there was more she wanted to say.

(TRANSLATION: It was okay, y'know...)

“Ce qui s'est passé?” Saint asked knowing she needed that extra push to blurt out what it was that she was finding trouble verbalising.

(TRANSLATION: What happened?)

“Seulement mes tantes indiscrets toujours dans mes affaires. Je dis aux enfants de ne pas leur dire que nous restons avec vous. ”

(TRANSLATION: Just my aunts always prying into my business. I told the kids not to tell them that we're staying with you.)

“Ont-ils réclament leur papa?”

(TRANSLATION: Have they been asking for their dad?)

“Oui, constamment. Il m'a demande jusqu'à vingt fois par jour, mais je ne suis pas prêt à lui parler.”

(TRANSLATION:Yes, constantly. He's been calling me up to twenty times a day but I'm not ready to talk to him.)

Seeing the broken look on Amirah's face really made Saint wish his brother was present so he could punch him to an inch of his life and that's what made what he was about to say even harder.

“Je comprends, vraiment et je ne vous blâme pas pour cela. Merde, si ma mère savait que le type de fils, elle avait... ” that thought very much worried Saint and not wanting to think too much on it, he redirected his thoughts, “mais vous ne pouvez pas utiliser les enfants pour le punir. Je pense vraiment que vous devriez laisser parler à leur papa.”

(TRANSLATION: I get that, I really do and I don't blame you for it. Damn, if my mother knew the type of son she had – but you can't use the kids to punish him. I really think you should let them talk to their dad.)

For a brief moment Amirah did not say anything as she washed the utensils she used. “Oui je sais, je vais leur parler de lui après le dîner."

(TRANSLATION: Yes I know, I'll let them talk to him after dinner.)

Saint almost missed what she'd said afterwards as the sweet smell of the beef bourguignon baking in the oven overwhelmed his senses for a bit.

“Je ne comprends pas pourquoi je l'aime toujours,” she said as slow tears slipped out of her eyes, “ce temps il a m'a frappé parce que je accidentellement lavé sa chemise préférée et il rétréci.”

(TRANSLATION: I don't understand why I still love him – this time he hit me because I’d accidentally washed his favourite shirt and it shrunk.)

Saint couldn't collate in his head how that would be deemed as an appropriate excuse to hit his wife.

Sniffing a little she lifted one shoulder to dry her eyes. “Vous savez comment il est ... il essaie de démarrer sa propre firme et de travailler sur ce projet à Copenhague, puis il-”

(TRANSLATION:You know how he is…he’s trying to start his own firm and working on that project in Copenhagen and then he has -)

“Arrêt! Arrêter de faire excuses pour lui. Il est responsable de lui-même et comment il agit. Vous n'êtes pas obligé de le défendre.”

(TRANSLATION: Stop! Stop making excuses for him. He’s responsible for himself and how he acts. You don't need to defend him.)

Saint walked closer to his sister in law, giving her a side hug. “Je vous dis, Saint Yann est un homme chanceux d'avoir une femme comme vous. Si cela ne tenait qu'à moi, il serait en prison maintenant.”

(TRANSLATION: I'm telling you, Saint Yann is one lucky man to have a wife like you. If it was up to me he'd be in prison by now.)

“Je ne peux pas faire cela, vous connaissez la culture ...”

(TRANSLATION: I can't do that, you know the culture...)

Saint got really frustrated from her response.“ Encule culture. Il oublie la culture aussi quand il a mis la main sur vous.”

(TRANSLATION: Fuck culture. He forgets culture too when he puts his hand on you.)

“Mais les gens vont parler.”

(TRANSLATION: But people will talk.)

“Qui se soucie?”

(TRANSLATION: Who cares?)

“ Les enfants...”

(TRANSLATION: The kids...)

Saint-Luc was rendered speechless and let out a sigh. That was something he knew he had no say on. He knew the effects of being a child of divorced parents and it wasn't something he wished for his nephews and niece.

Before he could say anything else, Amirah spoke first letting out an angry sigh rubbing at her eyes.

“Je suis malade et fatigué de pleurer, je besoin d'un changement de sujet,” she said whilst grabbing some tissue and blowing into it. “Donc, à propos de votre femme?”

(TRANSLATION: I'm sick and tired of crying, I need a change of topic – So about your wife? )

His least favourite topic of discussion, simply because it was nobody's business. Saint had admitted to Amirah of his marriage after the brief encounter she had with Naomi, but had refused to answer anymore questions that day, but knowing his sister-in-law it was only a matter of time before curiosity got the best of her. “Qu'en ma femme?”

(TRANSLATION: What about my wife?)

“Commençons par vous me dire comment diable vous vous êtes marié et ne pas laisser quelqu'un sait?”

(TRANSLATION: Let's start with you telling me how in the hell you got married and not let anyone know? )

He was man enough to admit to himself when he was hurt and the truth was he couldn't even think about his wife without feeling a stab of pain in his heart. A nineteen year old and she’d crushed him until he was her foot size.

“Il n'y a vraiment rien à dire.”

(TRANSLATION: There’s really nothing to tell.)

“Aimez-vous les uns les autres?”

(TRANSLATION: Do you love each other?)

“Je l'aime.”

(TRANSLATION: I love her.)

“Elle ne vous aime?”

(TRANSLATION: She doesn't? )

“Qui sait?''

(TRANSLATION: Who knows?)

“Vous pensez qu'elle est après votre argent?”

(TRANSLATION: You think she's after your money?)

At the question, Saint snorted. “Elle est.”

(TRANSLATION: She is. )

“Et vous êtes d'accord avec ça ?!” asked Amirah with an incredulous look on her face.

(TRANSLATION: And you're okay with that?!)

“Je jamais dit que je l'étais.”

(TRANSLATION: I never said I was.)

“Et vous ne dit que tu étais pas aux navires: combien de temps étiez-vous deux ensemble avant que vous êtes marié?”

(TRANSLATION: And you never said you wasn't either – how long were you two together for before you got married? )

“Un mois.”

(TRANSLATION: A month.)

“Je suis si confus Saint Luc. Comment pourriez-vous ... comment pourriez-vous prendre une décision soi-”

(TRANSLATION: I'm so confused Saint Luc. How could you...how could you make a decision so- )

“Spontané?”

(TRANSLATION: Spontaneous?)

“No. Stupide, Saint-Luc, très stupide.”

(TRANSLATION: No. Stupid, Saint- Luc, very stupid.)

It was at this moment that Saint wanted to point out that her and his brother dated for five years and it was only after they got married that the bastard showed his true colours, but he relented. He didn't want to hurt her feelings.

Not commenting on her response he said, “Je l'apprécierais si vous avez gardé cela pour vous. S'il vous plaît.”

(TRANSLATION: I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. Please.)

Amirah knowing that asking him anymore questions would be pointless, she nodded her head in agreement.

An hour later after having his dinner he finally went up to work, but not before Amirah told him of a package that was delivered earlier in the day that she left in his office.

Now in his personal space, Saint rang his friend. Whilst talking to Youseff on loudspeaker about his impending trip to Doha, he'd picked up a pair of scissors to open the medium sized cardboard box on his desk addressed to him.

It turned out to be a sewing machine. He looked at the invoice and saw that his wife had bought it with her card.

“Saint-Luc! Saint-Luc, écoutez-vous ?!”

(TRANSLATION: Saint-Luc! Saint-Luc, are you listening?!)

Momentarily distracted, Saint had forgotten about his friend on the other end of the phone. “Oui.”

As he bent down to place the box on his floor, he became seriously dizzy just like he'd been on the way home and Youseff's voice now started sounding like echoes. He closed his eyes tight once again, trying to keep his balance by gradually standing still.

“Saint êtes-vous d'accord?”

(TRANSLATION: Saint are you okay?)

The dizziness once again dissipated a little and he managed to get himself seated. “Vous vous inquiétez trop Youssef, je vais bien.”

(TRANSLATION: You worry too much Youseff, I'm fine.)

“Tu le son ivre.”

(TRANSLATION: You sound drunk.)

Funnily enough, he wasn’t. Though now that Youseff had mentioned it, the thought of having a drink didn’t seem so bad to him.

“Je suis bien,” Saint said reassuring his friend again though he knew he was far from fine.

(TRANSLATION: I’m fine.)

After ending the call, Saint put the phone back on the receiver, sighing a little. He got up and walked over to his mini bar to pour himself a little whisky but he wished he was slurping on his wife. Swirling his cup gently, Saint chuckled to himself at how pathetic he sounded to himself.

Returning back to his desk, Saint turned on his computer and got out all the necessary files from his briefcase. When all else failed, there was always more work to do.

By the time Saint knew it it was past one in the morning. There was still so much research he needed to do for a negotiating deal he was working on but he was not used to sleeping this late at night, and he was struggling to stay awake.

Talking to himself out of going to bed, he set his timer to fifteen minutes for a power nap. Clearing some of his notes to the side, he put his arms on his desk as pillow before placing his head on it and almost immediately dozing off.

CHAPTER 13

The lights in the house were turned off. She cringed a little at the creaking sound that the door made as it opened wide.

Quickly she shut the door close and turned on the torch on her phone to provide some light on her way. She'd been notified of her delivery earlier in the day of its arrival and not wanting to be in anybody's way she decided that at two am in the morning would be the perfect time for her to get it.

Naomi hadn't been in the house for almost a week, she missed it, she missed him but until he made a grand proclamation and demonstration of his love for her, she would not move back.

He always made the first move.

She walked over one of the staircases but then not expecting to see the silent figure walking down the other staircase she jumped in fear and nearly toppled down the steps.

“Merde,” Naomi heard Saint's alleged sister in law curse as she shined her phone on her to see who it was. The baby whined and whimpered a little bit before hushing.

“What you doing here?” Amirah asked in very awkward English.

“To collect something.”

Naomi did not like the tone in her voice, it was like she already had some preconceived ideas about her, ones that maybe Saint had put in her head but Naomi let it go. Confrontation was not her best suit.

“He love you.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No need.”

She was all cried out. She didn't want to be thinking about Saint. She just needed to get her sewing machine and leave.

In the near week that she'd been away researching her options of going to fashion school, outsourcing fabric makers and trying to get cosy with the upper echelons of the fashion world by visiting haute couture shops only to be shrugged off, she'd somehow coped with suppressing her misery and giving space for her muse to grow.

She wanted to be like Armani with his elegance for all occasions, she wanted to be like Chanel with the little black dress, she wanted to be like Trussardi and Dolce and Gabbana.

She wanted to be like everyone but herself.

At night she would sleep with her husband's jacket. She missed talking to him, she missed his voice, she missed seeing how he strutted to his side of the bed as the moon spotlighted on his nakedness.

“Why you no love Saint-Luc?”

Naomi was totally unguarded to Amirah's blunt question, but before she could gather a response, they both heard a loud thud.

It came from the Amirah's side of the house.

An alarmed look gelled itself on both of their faces as they both simultaneously ran with Amirah's baby still in tact to her bosom, to the twin's room.

Despite the extra baggage, Amirah reached there first as Naomi had to get to the opposite end of the staircase. When they both barged in the room, they found that the twins were both sleeping peacefully.

Closing the door gently, Naomi asked, “Is Saint at home?”

“Oui, oui but he should be zleep in room now. He went to ze offiz when we had zinner but -”

At this moment in time, Naomi had already stopped listening and was already walking towards her husband's office completely ignoring Amirah's questions of where she was heading to.

Her heart was pounding out of her chest, and it was separate life that was carrying her legs towards her husband. She almost had a panic attack knowing that what ever the loud thud had been was not good news.

Yanking the door open, she saw Saint slouched on the floor, his mouth half-hanging open.

“Amirah!”

What happened after that was a blur to Naomi.

But the image of Saint's lifeless looking body on the gurney been taken inside the ambulance, would be one that Naomi would never forget.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 14

She sat fourth row at the Grand Palais watching models show off the latest collection of haute couture. Naomi would have been happy sat on a seat full of thorns if only that meant that she was able to breathe in the same air as the collection.

“I can't believe we're here!"

Naomi just about heard what her friend said over the loud ethereal music being played. The moment was surreal for her too.

After the hell that she'd gone through the past three weeks, she finally felt that she'd entered heaven.

Things had certainly changed between her and Saint. Whether it was for good or bad, Naomi was still yet to find out.

Trying to remain in the moment and not in her memory bank she watched as a model strutted by with a rolling suitcase fitting in with the airport setting, wearing a multi-coloured tweed tunic jacket and skirt and a matching snapback cap.

This is all she ever wanted to be doing - making high art, making love with the material things of the world and not studying some stupid psychology degree diagnosing people's brains.

Each time Celine saw an outfit that she liked she would squeeze her arm tight and talk loudly to get her attention. It was a struggle between them to act all bourgeois and Parisian-like with the extra load of excitement bubbling inside them. Naomi wished Miriam could have been there with them experiencing this moment as she knew her loudmouthed friend would have had something to say with the irritated looks they were getting from the other spectators sitting near them. But it was not to be so as she had an exam and would only be able to come the following day.

“Fuck Naomi, look at that one!”

Naomi followed Celine’s pointed finger with her eyes to see the outfit that was making her have a limp arm again, it was an elegant white suit jacket but with thin lace embroidery running from the shoulder to the hem of the jacket and a pairing skirt.

“It’s gorgeous.”

Celine mumbled her agreement. “You need to thank your husband for me.”

“I’ll let him know,” Naomi said forcing to keep her voice light.

The rapid flashes of cameras only served to flash images in Naomi’s mind of IV drips going through an unconscious Saint, and with that in mind she got out her phone to send him a quick text message.

She couldn’t stop worrying about him.  If Amirah hadn't been there that night answering to the ambulance workers she didn't know how she would have coped. It also had been her sister-in-law who had made the doctor and nurses attending to Saint believe that she was indeed his wife and could stay with him outside of the visiting times.

It had been the first time that she’d admitted that fact in public but it had all seemed very trivial to her compared to knowing that her husband had suffered a hypoglycaemic shock due to him drinking too much. Her mind raced – was it because of her? Was it because of her that he drank so much?

And she couldn’t help but wonder how she could not have noticed, but it made sense too with the amount of time that they spent apart.

Despite the doctor’s advice to rest, Saint had only stayed at home for less than a day after being discharged from hospital before he left to go overseas for business. Because she didn’t want to start an argument she didn’t say anything, but Amirah had very much made herself clear to him that he wasn’t supposed to be working but he didn’t pay her no mind.

In those hours under the same roof they barely talked. They had slept on the same bed but purely for sleeping, so when the following morning came and he presented her tickets to the Chanel show she'd been beyond surprised.

She wanted to hug and kiss and make love to her husband to show her appreciation but all those things were totally out of the question. As soon as he’d left to go to the airport Naomi had called her friends for the first time in one month telling them to come to Paris for Fashion Week. All expenses paid for by her.

In the time between, she'd gotten herself acquainted with her sewing machine, the new love of her life. All she did was sketch, saw, sketch, saw. Early in the morning she’d go to the fabric store, buy more materials and then make her sketches a reality. To cope with her racing mind, she knitted in the evenings whilst watching shows on her laptop.

The sound of the roaring applause, pulled Naomi back to the present. The show was finished. Seeing the creative director take a bow to his standing ovation filled her with so much motivation.

That’s going to be me one day, she thought to herself, touching people with my art.

Naomi had access to the after-party but decided against it because she really wanted to check up on Saint, so when they got back in the taxi on the way home, she planned to call her husband since he still hadn’t replied to her text.

The doctor had changed his insulin dose and it was hard reassuring herself that Saint was okay especially when he was thousands of miles away but hearing his voice made her feel better.

Their conversations on the phone were back to how they used to be, to how she always wanted it to be before the heartbreak, before the confusion, before the lies. They still hadn’t talked about the deeper issues in the marriage, but hearing his voice always calmed her down.

Naomi was thankful that she would be going to an empty house. Amirah and her kids had returned to Belgium a few days after Saint left, much to his disappointment. As of yet, Naomi still did not know the reasons why she had been there. Either way, she was glad when she dropped them off at the airport. Even though the house was pretty big, seeing the twins and the infant triggered certain emotions that Naomi was not prepared to deal with. Also just the noise level, the house was constantly loud, and then there was also Amirah who seemed to be constantly on the phone.

“I’ve always thought Paris looks prettier at night,” commented Celine as the taxi drove past the twinkling river Seine.

“I agree.”

Celine had come late the previous night and though they'd talked late into the early hours of the morning, they’d both spent hours contemplating what to wear to the show. They'd danced all over the big empty house, playing music, and the sound waves throbbed through the loud surround speakers. She’d felt like a teenager again.

Even though she was nervous by what her friend’s response would be she knew Celine respect her choice if she so decided not to disclose the details of her marriage whereas Miriam would probably use forceps to pry it out of her mouth.

It would be when they got to the house that Naomi would completely divulge into how she got herself married off within two months of being in university.

Saint was amusingly watching his business partner and hotel magnate lose twenty grand in one sitting of roulette when he felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. It was Naomi.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” the sound of his wife's soft raspy voice would always be nirvana to him.

“I just called to check up on you. I texted you earlier but I figured you were busy. Have you taken your medication?”

The guilt pierced his heart, as he stared at the unfinished glass of whisky on the round table next to him. “Yes.”

“Oh okay, good. Where are you now?”

“I’m at the casino but I'm heading over to some strip club later on to have a meeting.”

“A strip club to have a meeting?”

“Yes,” there was silence on the phone for a brief moment before he interjected again, “do you not want me to go?”

“Saint-Luc, I want you to go wherever you heart desires.”

The fact that she’d called him by his full name, made him know that she did not want him to go but he wanted her to say so but knew she wouldn't.

“Okay. Did you go to the show?”

“Yeah I did…err I’m going to have to go now cos I’m with my friend. I’ll call you later. Have fun.”

Saint hadn’t even said bye to her before she’d cut off the line. She was upset and he felt bad about it, but wished she was as honest as he was with her.

He was in Monaco for a few days with Youseff to discuss distribution of their wine to hotels in the vicinity but had made a quick stop to the casino to relax.

“Enfin l'idiot décidé d'arrêter,” Youseff whispered to Saint, as their unlucky business associate told them they were leaving.

(TRANSLATION: Finally the idiot decides to quit.)

Saint silently chuckled as he finished the remains of his drink and grabbed his coat.

All he wanted to do was get to his hotel room and fall into a blissful dreamless sleep. Lately his dreams made him feel like he was still awake and by the time he woke up he'd feel like he’s already done half a day’s work.

The jet lag was hitting him big time. He missed his wife. So much water under the bridge.

He’d travelled and worked so much in the last three weeks that him being put into hospital was a very distant memory. He was annoyed at himself for not being a responsible drinker, he always knew his limits.

The doctor had said that he needed to slow down on his drinking as he was taking more insulin than he needed and causing his low blood pressure. He drunk like a fish, but he was always in control. He knew he was okay without a drink in his hand.

Naomi on the other hand, had done a total 360. It was like how they were in the beginning. But it bothered him that she was doing it out of a guilty conscious. Saint knew that she loved him, but whether she was confident in her love for him, that was a total matter altogether.

They talked more, more intimately, more deeply but still there was something unspoken between them. What were they?

And that’s why he couldn’t bring himself to make love to her, without knowing once and for all. She didn't want to make her feel guilty or feel like he was exploiting her guilty conscious to make love to her on top of him paying her to do so. That’s not how he wanted to live anymore.

He needed to know – what were they? Because he didn't know where her head was at and there was a stripper right at that moment giving him the bedroom eyes, who knew where she wanted him – on top of her.

Saint held the redhead’s eye contact as like a panther she walked straight in his direction before bending down her head to whisper in his ears soft, seductive words in French, but when for a moment he closed his eyes, to calm himself of the building tension in his pants, he only saw Naomi's face.

He wanted Naomi through and through. He wanted all of her, not just some of her but she was really leaving him high and dry.

The stripper went back to the stage. But he knew that the show that she was about to put on would only be for him.

The meeting had gone smoothly and Saint was back in his hotel room. He scrunched his face as the bitter taste of the whisky washed around in his mouth before sinking into the sad, hollow depths of his belly.

He kept on drinking, more and more, he kept on drinking until the warm glow swam through his bloodstream giving him the illusion that there was a heart that wasn’t broken.

He needed to get more drunk. He needed to sleep. He needed sex. He needed love. He needed alcohol. Alcohol could satisfy those needs.

Reaching out for his phone, Saint went to one of the adult sites that his friend had referred him to. He typed in the address and pressed enter. Almost instantly the page appeared with all that was sexually immoral.

He clicked on the section for the fellatio, whilst readily grabbing his already throbbing genital dripping with warm precum. He closed his eyes in anticipation for the explosion. He needed this. Saint missed reaching these heights with his wife, but she had reduced him to this.

After a short while he reached his peak. It was horrible. The sinking feeling buried all the feelings of sexual high he'd experienced mere seconds ago.

Sighing he got up from his bed and went into the bathroom. After wiping his hands off, he took his insulin shot before entering the shower.

They couldn't keep doing this to themselves.

CHAPTER 15

At eight am in the morning, it was a nice silent drive to the airport.

She'd gotten her license back last summer but barely drove except for when she went home and her mum treated her like a chauffeur.

Naomi was surprised when Saint had asked if she was able to pick him up from the airport. Hearing his tired voice speak to her on the phone made Naomi yearn for her husband more and do anything to make him happy.

Celine and Miriam had gone home a few days earlier and it had left her all by herself for a full day. Sketching, sewing and Saint was what was on her brain from the moment she woke up to when she slept and needing to give her mind a break and not feel lonely she went to Versailles for the day.

Naomi took a deep breath as she drove into the airport's parking lot. Picking up her phone she wanted to text Saint of her arrival, but he'd already beat her to it, so she just replied to his text message saying where she was.

Within a few minutes she saw her husband approaching the vehicle. He looked exhausted. It'd be the first time since she'd known him that Naomi can admit that her husband was showing more of his age.

Instead of him entering the passenger's side, she had a puzzled look on her face as he walked over to the driver's side where she was and was forced to roll down the windows.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I'm driving.”

Naomi didn't want him having to drive he looked pretty worse to wear. “Saint it's okay. I'll drive you safely back home.

“No it's fine. I want to make a quick detour somewhere before we go home.”

To this a puzzled look entered Naomi's face. “Detour?”

“Yes.”

“To where?”

“Just trust me.”

At last, Naomi complied shifting her weight over to the passenger's side, whilst Saint put his stuff in the boot, before entering the drivers side.

Naomi wanted nothing more than to give her husband a welcome home kiss but instead she settled with asking him about his flight but then after he answered it was silent in the car for awhile.

She felt awkward. She was waiting for him to start conversation, but he hadn't. Stealing side glances she watched the deep-in-thought expression on his face as he focused on the road ahead. She'd seen it on her husband many a times and the intensity on his face always made it a subject of her arousal.

Desperately needing to forget her lustful thoughts, she decided to break the silence.

“Thank you again for the tickets. I still can't believe I went to Paris Fashion Week, like what the fuck?!”

The sound of Saint's laugh filled the car and Naomi revelled in it. It'd be the first time in a long time since she'd heard him laugh in front of her, or they'd shared in on a light moment.

“So has that inspired you for your own collection?”

That's one of the primary things that she loved about Saint. He believed in her and her dreams,

“Oui, oui,” she added with a laugh, “I've come up with a whole load of sketches that I'm working on now. By the way the house is a little messy so please don't get your tits in a jingle when we get home, I'll tidy it up.”

He had the patience of a saint, no pun intended, but when it came to cleanliness it just itched him the wrong way to see things out of place and since she didn't have an assigned working space, she'd used their room to work and upon entry it looked more like a textile shop.

“My tits in a jingle?”

“Yeah, it's a saying.”

“Who says it?”

“Me.”

To that he let out another laugh as he gained speed on the motorway.“Would you like to tell me what sort of things you've been designing?”

Naomi still felt quite shy being so open about her aspirations so she lagged a bit in answering and only vaguely told him what she was doing before switching topic and recounting the events of Fashion Week.

Listening to her talk warmed his heart and easily made him forget about how exhausted he was. He would have loved nothing more than go back home and make love to his wife before sleeping fully satiated. But no he had to do this.

The past few weeks had gone by without so much of an argument but even as optimistic as Saint was, he also knew it to be important that they took care of business of their hearts. Only then would they be able to move forward.

"Hey are you listening?"

He shifted his gaze to meet Naomi's questioning ones. "Yes I am."

"Oh okay. It's just that you've been quiet for a while giving me impression that I'm boring you."

"If you were boring me, I'd tell you," was Saint's reply which wasn't all that encouraging to Naomi and the car went quiet again for a moment.

"Why d'you stop talking?"

"Cos I've finished what I was saying."

"You were in the middle of telling me about your plans to go to fashion school."

"Well yeah..."

"So you never finished what you were saying."

Sighing softly, she fiddled with her fingers, feeling a little uneasy explaining her dilemma. "I don't know if I want to go to fashion school. I don't like the formal education route. I'd prefer to work as an apprentice or something."

The greatest teacher of her life was no longer living and she did know it was important to have some sort of mentor to shape her hands into being the fashion designer that she wanted to be known as.

"Do you think I'm stupid for having left my degree?"

"Don't second guess Naomi. You've made your decision, so stop looking back", was Saint's reply as his eyes bored into her a moment longer before concentrating back on the road. Knowing she had his full attention made Naomi feel at ease to say what she wanted to say.

"I'm not looking back...its just that I'm...I'm scared."

"Why are you scared?"

"Because my parents keep saying that I'm going to regret it and cos I haven't told them where I am they think I'm prostituting myself."

Saint realised it'd be the most open his wife had been in talking about her family, more so her parents. Even during the phone conversations whilst she was still in London, she'd only disclosed to him that she had a married older sister in Nigeria whilst her and her parents lived in England.

And he'd respected her privacy though he always knew that her relationship with her parents had a profound effect on how she saw herself as a person, and it saddened Saint seeing the broken look on his wife's face at her parents assumptions. In Saint's mind, they couldn't be more wrong.

Naomi couldn't help but think that her parents were right. She was in fact a prostitute. She was a prostitute under the guise of being a man's wife.

"That's an awful thing to say to your child."

"Pshtt, you think?"

Saint turned his head giving Naomi an incredulous look, thinking Naomi was mocking him. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," the short tense exchange prompted silence for the rest of the ride.

When they reached the town of Vernon, Saint found somewhere to park his car before hiring bicycles for the both of them.

He could see by then that Naomi's curiosity was getting the best of her as she watched him with a studious gaze as he helped put on her bike helmet before he put his. She could have done it herself, but he needed a reason to touch her.

“Just trust me Naomi.”

“Easier said than done,” she mumbled as she got herself settled on her bike.

Saint had heard but hadn't commented.

There was a gentle breezy and the sun was out but not intensely so, just enough to brighten the day. It was the most perfect mid March spring day.

Naomi couldn't deny it. It did give her pleasure riding in silence side by side with her husband passing hazelnut and berry trees on an almost empty road giving her the illusion of perfection.

Almost thirty minutes later they finally journeyed in to the village.

"Just in case you're still wondering we're in Giverny. Claude Monet's residence and muse.”

“I don't know much about Monet but this place is wonderful. It's like rainbows have pissed over all the flowers.”

Saint chuckled to himself before proceeding to tell her about the artist, as they rode their bike through the small pathway that led to the house. He loved seeing how entranced she was. It brought on fresh memories of the first time his father had brought he and his brother there. The memory of the constant chirping of the birds, the crows of the hens had stuck with him and had become an eternal memory in his mind.

Placing their bicycles in the reserved place, they started their exploration. It only occurred to Naomi then that this would be the first time that she'd been out publicly with her husband, but that fact didn't bother her at all, it felt so natural.

They entered the house. Naomi's eyes had to adjust to the picturesque brightness of the yellow themed dining room that made her feel like she'd just walked into the sun.

They silently continued the tour of the house with Saint interjecting here and there the history and function of the room but for most of the time they appreciated the house in silence.

As it got closer to midday the house became more and more crowded with tourists and school groups so they decided to go through the under pass that connected the house to the water bridge.

Naomi really felt like she was walking through the garden of Eden. Inhaling the smell of nature around her and seeing the pond reflecting the vast array of water lilies made her feel like God had reserved this place for them and no sort of negativity could trespass the place.

"Saint why did you decide to bring me here?" she asked as they slowly walked across the arched bridge.

A melancholic look surfaced on Saint's face at her question. They both knew that this wasn't just any ordinary outing.

“I just had a feeling you'd like coming here,” he replied though they both knew it not to be the primary reason.

“Well I'm glad you did. Thank you.”

“You're always welcome,” he said his voice deep and Naomi needing to divert her gaze from the longing look in his eyes.

The events over the past month hung between them and it was about time that they discussed things, so after a while of Saint showing her around and finding something to eat so he could take his medication they finally took a seat on a bench in front of Monet's house.

“Did you tell your friends about...us?”

Shifting uncomfortably first, she answered. “Yeah.”

“And what did they say?”

“They said it was very brave of me.”

“What was brave of you?”

“The fact that I left my degree, left the country and my parents and married a guy I barely know.”

“Do you feel brave?”

“I feel numb.”

“Why?”

“None of it seems real, almost like a dream.”

“Is it a good dream?”

A humourless smile appeared on Naomi's face instead of offering an answer.

In a tone above a whisper she heard her husband talk again. “What makes you feel alive Naomi?”

The way his bi-coloured eyes seared into her heart reminded her of why she was in love with this man. He calmed her senses and the fact that they were in God's garden it made it easy for her to be honest.

“You make me feel alive Saint-Luc. Just this, me and you. Us talking like when we first met. And I can't deny that the way you touch me, they way you look at me. Like right now,” and she stopped to make her point.

“How d'you mean?” Saint asked with an amused smile.

“I don't know Saint but you just make me feel. And that's how I know I'm alive, because for the last few years I wasn't so sure about it but now I know.”

“I love when you just let yourself go and trust me to love you but the truth of the matter is this - it took me having a hypoglycaemic shock for us to stop tearing each other's hearts apart.”

There were tears in her eyes at thoughts of how stupid she'd behaved in her marriage, but she quickly blinked them back. There was no point crying over spoilt milk.

“And I believe we need to have a break so you can evaluate what you really want. I know what I want Naomi, it's always been you. I love you and I'll always support you if you need me but until you're ready to love me, it's best for us to separate.”

This time Naomi let the tears fall. “I know.”

CHAPTER 16

The influence of her grandmother was still there and when she'd gone to the old fabric stores where her grandmother used to buy from they were all more than willing to donate materials after learning of what she wanted to do.

Coming to the decision that living in a comfy condo in the Amalfi coast, with a nice view and wallowing in self-pity would do nothing to save her marriage, Naomi found a place to rent in Napoli to figure out how to make herself useful.

With her monthly allowance she bought second-hand sewing machines and other sewing equipment and supplies.

On the far end of the room there were four sewing machines set up on stools being used and in the middle was the long dining table where the hand stitching, decorating and sketching happened. Fanning herself with her hands she slowly walked around providing help when asked. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, she looked up briefly to the large fresco of the Lord's Last Supper plastered on the ceiling which was probably one of the few saving graces to the whole building, as from the outside it could be said to be in a total state of dereliction.

The general noise of the thirty or so teenagers talking animatedly amongst themselves, brought a smile on her face.

They could be children again.

The world wanted to sterilise their creativity and summon them to the rigidity of being an adult – but no. Seeing them laugh with one another when there was so much they could be crying about filled her with great joy. For a couple of hours they could leave the battleground of their families behind.

The only difference between being a child and adult is money and sex, Naomi had concluded. Many of the teenagers currently sitting in the church's prayer room, had dropped out of school, loitering around the neighbourhoods, biding their time by pick-pocketing or prostituting until they were inducted into the Mafia lifestyle.

The Camorra was a part of many kids lifestyle at home and her motive was too save as many as possible before they got in too deep.

For a few days after coming to Napoli and getting the approval of the church to run a weekly sewing class, she went round with her handmade poster in her apartment block to advertise it and also to the market stalls.

So on the first day when about fifty children between the ages of four and eighteen turned up, she knew she couldn't do it by herself.

And for that reason, she had got the church to ask the fashion design students in the university to volunteer their time. At first seeing the sketches and the way the undergrads taught a class made her undermine her talent and have doubts creep into her mind.

And the only person she'd turned to apart from God, was Saint. He was always a call away and reassuring her that she was more than capable enough to handle it and she shouldn't be intimidated.

It'd been over two months since she'd last saw him. And with each day, she missed him more intensely so than the last and so the night before during their phone conversation – she'd told him she was putting on a fashion show in one month and had invited him to come.

The idea of having a fashion show had only come to her that morning whilst having her silent time in church. It was a very vague idea, one that she didn't really have solid plans for but once she opened her mouth to tell her estranged husband Naomi knew that she had to follow through.

Because even though it taken her time to realise this but the truth was – Saint was her Boy Capel and she could not lose him.

CHAPTER 17

“'Aeza' li, kayf halik?”

(TRANSLATION: My darlings, how are you?”)

With his phone held at arms length, their mother could see both her sons and the large smile on her face warmed Saint's heart.

“Wakan yan aijtimae fi baris ldhlk nahn natanawal alghada' maeaan qabl lah lilqabd ealaa rihlat eawdatih.”

(TRANSLATION: Yann had a meeting in Paris so we're having lunch together before he has to catch his flight back.)

At that answer, deep frowns settled in his mum's dark brown eyes as they focused on his younger sibling. “Qaribaan jda? kunt la albaqa' alllaylat mae 'akhik , Yanni?”

(TRANSLATION: So soon? You're not staying the night with your brother, Yanni?)

“Ya mumia', wldy 'atfal wazawjat alladhin yatawaqqaeun li albayt w tud sant luk rbma yakun mashghulaan jiddaan mae eamalih liqada' bed alwaqt maei. "

(TRANSLATION: Oh mummy, I have children and a wife who are expecting me home and Saint-Luc would probably be too busy with his work to spend time with me.)

Saint didn't miss his brother's subtle taunting of having his own family and he had to brace himself from giving his brother a dirty look and if they weren't on a videocall with their mother he surely would have.

At the mention of her grandchildren, Yann had stolen full attention and so Saint just passed the phone to him as his arms were starting to ache.

Saint would be lying if he said that he didn't feel even the slightest bit of envy of his brother who was currently promising their mother that he would bring the children to Antalya for the summer so they could spend time with her.

It still provided Saint with much guilt at the thought that he still hadn't told his mother about his own nuptials. Something he knew his mother would be deeply hurt by for keeping her in the dark for so long. It wasn't that Saint didn't want to tell her but, despite everything going seemingly well between him and Naomi, he still didn't know if he had a marriage worth talking about.

In the midst of his brooding envy, Saint couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in their mother. Ayda's signature black turban hat was on her head, but Saint could see how his mother's face appeared more gaunt like and her naturally bronze skin looked more pale.

And it wasn't lost on Saint how much weight she'd lost, but knowing Ayda she would be too prideful to admit to her own son that she was finally doing something to lower her blood pressure, so Saint let it be for the moment, but his spirit wasn't totally convinced.

Forking up a lettuce to his mouth, a small smiled played on Saint's lips at the thought of Naomi's verbal distaste of his diet. More thoughts of his wife's quirks found their way to the centre of Saint's mind as he continued eating.

A few minutes later Saint-Yann handed the phone back to him and after promising their mother that he would stop working so much and take more time to rest, they said their byes.

Both brothers knew how important it was for Ayda to see her children getting along and spending time together. For her sake they'd agreed to put on the act of being the closest of brothers but as soon as the call ended they were back to being a little more than kin and less than kind.

Their parents had always babied Saint-Yann and allowed him to get away with things which they wouldn't have otherwise with him. They shared a room growing up and they'd each demarcated the room in half with an invisible line. Saint always kept his side of the room tidy but of course baby Yanni didn't, instead of just reprimanding their 'baby' his mother would say Saint should have the responsibility to make sure the whole room was tidy as he was oldest which was clearly unfair and because he'd failed to do that he would get his priviledges taken away for the week.

Despite their unsolvable differences there was unspoken love that would take the equivalent of a metal detector to discover and make itself more manifest in their relationship as siblings.

“Allez-vous la colère des classes de gestion?”

(TRANSLATION: Are you going to anger management classes?)

“Allez-vous des conseils de mariage et des groupes anonymes d'alcool?”

(TRANSLATION: Are you going to marriage counselling and alcohol anonymous groups?)

Saint felt the stab of shame that Saint-Yann had perpetrated in his gut but was determined to show indifference. Signalling the waitress for the bill he dug into his pocket to take out a few notes, before answering his brother.

“Je ne suis pas un alcoolique.”

(TRANSLATION: I am not an alcoholic.)

He knew he wasn't. It was just on few occassions after Naomi had left their home and the loneliness had knocked him several steps backwards, he consoled himself with several rounds of whisky.

Many a times he had just wanted to beg her to come back - he would take the series of arguments over the loud silence, but he knew they couldn't continue living like that. She would have to want him, want them, want their marriage and so when she'd invited him to Naples he knew it to be only by divine intervention.

“Cessez de vous dire que Saint-Luc, vous pourriez être en mesure de projeter dans l'existence.”

(TRANSLATION: Keep telling yourself that Saint-Luc, you might be able to project it into existence.)

“ Comme toujours, il a été un plaisir Saint-Yann. Envoyer mes salutations à Amira et les enfants.”

(TRANSLATION: As always, it's been a pleasure Saint-Yann. Send my regards to Amirah and the children.)

Glad to have the short rendezvous done with his brother, he left his brother alone at the table and walked the short trip back to his office.

Startled out of her sleep, Naomi woke hearing loud, desperate knocks on her neighbour's door. She looked on her phone and saw it was just past one in the morning.

These were her neighbour's opening hours.

When she'd first moved to the apartment and had heard the same impatient knocks at nearly the same time that lasted for several hours in the early morning, she'd have her eye glued to the peephole, watching as her neighbour's customers displayed some erratic behaviours, clearly having withdrawal symptoms.

After some time Naomi couldn't continue watching, because the scene before her was just sad and heartbreaking, but she couldn't go back to sleep either.

Non vedo, non sento, non parlo.

And so minding her business, Naomi set up shop with her wool and wood stick and made her blankets for the homeless, that she planned to drop off at the church later on in the week.

Still even in her heart of hearts, Naomi was not settled in the act of pretending nothing was going on outside her apartment door, but she didn't know how she could help the situation.

Just like how she didn't know if anything she was doing was going to resurrect her fragile marriage.

Naomi had been five years old when her mother had stabbed her father with a kitchen knife after finding out about his affairs with other women. She remembered the crimson stain on her dad’s blue polo shirt. She remembered the knife. She remembered the panic on her mother’s face at realising what she'd done.

Her father never pressed charges.

In a weird way, Naomi knew her parents loved each other but there’d been so much water under the bridge that her parents no longer knew how to show it other than living under the same roof and disguising sexual frustration with passive-aggressiveness.

Pausing her knitting, Naomi pressed her fingertips against the throbbing pain on her forehead that seemed to threaten to pierce her skull in two. Thinking about her parents always did this to her.

It would be over five months since she last saw her parents and the sad part was that she didn't even miss them. Constantly they'd begged for her to come and see them and as usual in their typical Nigerian way tried to bully her to come back, but with one text promising to cut off all contact with them, they'd backed off.

Now for their sanity and hers, she sent text messages once every two weeks to say she was okay.

Naomi felt better off without them.

Before she could hold them back, tears fell and she watched through bleary eyes her tear drops drop onto her nail beds and cover it like a nail polish would.

She was happy, she was free, she was healing.

She always wondered how her parents could have lived and decided to leave such a beautiful country such as Italy. With all the good and bad, Italy will always be her home regardless of her having lived most of her life in England.

The noise of the motor cycles weaving in out of the tiny cobbled streets. The smell of the decaying bricks.

The symphonic chatter of the market sellers in the morning.

The beauty in the mess. The heat!

It was just one big whole community. La famiglia.

And she wanted to capture the essence of it all.

So she'd decided that that's what she would do with her fashion show.

This was her home after all. The Gran Palais, Guggenheims, Tate Modern and all the upper class stuff was nice, but with hers, Napoli – that's where real life was.

On those rare days, where she took a few hours of the day for not working, she went out to her balcony staring at the clear blue sky and enjoying the sound of the waves crashing against the islands coasts.

It all felt real to her then.

And she could only hope and pray that once her vision for the fashion show has been executed, it could all be real for her and Saint.

Not wanting to give room for her self-sabotaging thoughts to lead her to a dark place, she packed her away her knitting equipments and picked up her pad that she left on her bedside table and started sketching.

CHAPTER 18.1

Saint couldn't help it. Upon seeing Naomi in the airport arrival lounge, he threw his arms around her and squeezed her tight. "I've missed you so much madmoiselle."

Both of them had been overcome with great emotions that all the anxieties they'd both had at seeing one another for the first time in over three months promptly dissipated.

Inside the taxi he'd pounced on her like a hungry bear in search for his honey. They'd barely said a sentence to one another, but what wasn't said in words, was sincerely and absolutely spoken in deed.

It was only when the driver interrupted their intimate reunion to informtheir arrival at their destination, did they finally become conscious of reality as if someone had popped their utopian bubble. With startled and mildly irritated gazes, they'd looked outside the car window to see the hotel that would be Saint's home for the next few days.

He could clearly see that Naomi was having conflicting thoughts about whether she should stay or go, but Saint had already made that decision for her.

Handing a few notes to the taxi driver and telling him to keep the change, he grabbed Naomi's hands to follow him out of the car but she resisted.

"Saint,I don't know if it's a good idea...I mean I have so much -"

Leaning his head towards her ear so the taxi driver wouldn't hear what he was about to say, he fought a smile seeing Naomi shiver at his proximity. "You smell Naomi, come to my room and use the shower at least."

Letting out an embarrassed laugh, Naomi shifted further away in her seat and abruptly lifted her arms and ducked her head side to side to smell her armpits which Saint found hilarious to watch.

"Oh my gosh, do I smell that bad? I've been so busy getting everything ready for tomorrow, I haven't had a bath in two days."

"You need to wash out that chatte, madmoiselle," he said feigning disgust, which Naomi let out a loud snort to.

Judging by the driver's face, he could tell he was becoming impatient withthe couple so opening the car door he let himself out before nodding his head to the side for Naomi to follow suit.

Saint hid a smile at having got his way – even the so-called 'body odour' that he'd used as bait to spend a little bit more time with his wife, appealed to him in a sexy, feminine way.

When they finally entered his hotel suite, Saint carelessly dumped both their suitcases by the door and led Naomi to the king-sized bed. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he pulled Naomi towards him and got her to straddle him before touching, kissing, caressing her some more.

Displeased by the lack-lustre way in which his wife was returning his affections, Saint detached his lips from hers. Trying not to let his frustrations get the best of him, that it had been an overly long pause since he'd had his wife and that being in her presence only heightened his need, he let out a deep sigh to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry Saint, I'm just feeling all over the place right now," Naomi said whilst bringing up her hands to massage her temples.

Knowing the answer already, but still taking his chances, he asked her if there was anything he could help her with.

"Saint, it's your money that's funding the whole thing. You've done enough," she replied with a tired smile.

"You've only been relying on the 10K I give you. How have you even been able to afford materials, sewing machines, models, licensing permits forthe location you're using, your make-up artists, photographers?That's a lot to depend on 10K for."

It slightly irritated Saint he was in a position to help but she refused it.

"Well that's what you, Saint-Luc, are going to find out tomorrow."

Despite their regular correspondence over the phone, Naomi decided best to leave the finer details of the fashion show out.

"You're so stubborn. I love it and I hate it."

Not saying anything, a playful smile crossed her face as she tendered a finger to a faint wrinkle line sprouting from the corner of his eyes."It's time you started investing in some anti-aging cream monsieur."

"I've missed receiving facials from you madmoiselle, it's all the anti-aging cream I ever need," he replied in a deeply arousing way whilst penetrating her with just his eyes.

Laughing uneasily but unable to hide her want from him, Naomi pulled herself up from his lap, giving the excuse of needing to go and have ashower. Unable to hold it in, Saint laughed out loud at her awkwardness whenever it came to them being intimate.

Twenty minutes later, intent on not allowing things to get too out of hand again, Naomi was shutting the door to the room, much to Saint's disappointment.

He now stood staring at the three-button, velvet black tuxedo with a shiny satin lapel, with the words 'ADE' stiched in small bold letters on the breast pocket, laying on the bed along with the fitted trousers.

"Now do you have a white shirt?" he had recalled her asking as he still tried to figure out how he didn't see her carrying the small suitcase and still at the same time in complete awe of his wife.

"Actually why am I asking, of course you have a white shirt, you always carry awhite shirt with you, wherever you go," she'd rambled again, a capital sign of her nervousness.

"How did you know my measurements?"

"You're my husband it's my job to know. I made this for you and I want you to wear it tommorow please."

Saint couldn't forget the way she had looked at him, her dark gaze had pierced the deepest level of his soul and with one peck on his cheek she had gone on his way.

Fanning herself with a Japanese paper hand fan she'd bought at the market a few days ago, Naomi prayed for fresh air amongst the flurry of activity that was going on half an hour before the show commenced.

Her nerves were shot to the roof. She'd only been sipping on lemon iced tea and chewing a piece of gum for the whole day because she didn't have the stomach to eat.

She'd called in the favour of so many people, and she only had one chance to make it work or many people would be left disappointed in her.

Everyone was tired and everyone was giving their all and this is why she could not afford to mess up, so every detail, every slight, every turn ,counted massively.

The market traders were still about their business and because of all the noise she'd needed to use a megaphone to communicate, which wasn't the easiest. For a brief moment she silenced the anxieties in her heart and the commotion going on around her by closing her eyes and lifting her head up towards the sun and letting its radiant heat bathe her soul with renewed energy.

Nobody could ever understand why this show was of such great importance toher, except herself...and the priest.

Opening her eyes again, seconds later, she felt calm and in control. It was going to be a glorious occasion whatever may happen.

Tears swelled in her eyes, watching the first of the models wearing her art on their body. Something that was just a figment of her imagination,and then a sketch on paper, and now was tactile.

Am I really about to have my own fashion show? She thought to herself.

Something that she hadn't given thought of was the challenge brought on by having hundreds of wooden fruit racks serving as the stage. It was only during dress rehearsals whilst the models were practising their catwalks and several of them had tripped and fallen due to them having their heels stuck between the gaps of the racks did she realise there would have to be a slight change of plan.

Naomi had had no choice but to buy very cheap sandals for everyone to wear as her budget was barely enough, which had only added more stress to her.

Small canopy tents lined the backstage – it was all the money she could afford. One of the university undergrads that had turned to a friend along with some of her friends were applying the last touches of makeup to the models.

But the moment was finally here. The moment that she'd told her husband in sheer randomness was now a living reality.

With few minutes left before the show started she called everyone to hold hands and pray to centre everyone's hearts into the present.

When they prayer was done, everyone clapped, took a group picture and once again she was overcome by emotion just at the sheer thought of all the people standing before her who were here solely to support her dreams.

A large white stretchy material served as the divider from the chaos that was happening backstage and the eager audience and curious market traders. Wiping the corners of her eye, she walked infront of the first of her models to have a peak through – the atmosphere was just how she had envisoned it.

Finding her husband sitting in the first row, Naomi made a head gesure to her music technician to press play.

Saint watched as the words, "Proggetto: Amore," were sprayed inred on to the white backdrop, by two children, a boy and a girl, who couldn't be more than ten years old before escaping back behind the stage as the tarantella music began to play.

Saint looked around feeling nervous for Naomi, as on both sides of thestage, there were still people selling in the market, but admittedly seemed pretty distracted by the action on stage.

Even though Saint thought it was due to financial reasons that Naomi decided to do the show in the market square, he also thought there was something authentic to the whole thing. Still, he wished she'dcome to him to ask for the money, so he could have paid for a better venue, but he knew his wife was way too stubborn and proud to have done so.

He could notice some people murmuring in Italian about the heat whilst fanning themselves and wiping their brows and foreheads with theirhands, but nevertheless were too intrigued as to what was occuring to go on their way.

A few seconds later about seven young girls, with beautifully decorated headbands and above the knees lace dress, with a white cotton underlay and a crewneck, held baskets on one arm and started throwing soft white petals on the stage floor.

Everybody clapped as the children all looked adorable and were clearly loving the attention. Saint guessed that there were many parents in the audience as he heard some women and men call some of the children by name before waving back at them.

With their gold sandals, they all walked in a straight line to the centre of the stage before walking round back again in a straight line off the stage.

Next came Saint's awe as teenaged boys and girls paired themselves up and walked the runway.

All around him, people were awwing and oohing, like "ma guarda quella bella vestito!" People even started clapping along to the beat of the tarantella as two at a time the models continued walking down the runway.

Of course, the young people were capturing all the action, noise, celebration, on their phones that were taking the place of thepaparazzi. At this thought, Saint wished Naomi had been more forthcoming with information to do with the show so that he could have hired press people to promote her. Yet, everytime he tried to find about the progress of the show she said it was a surprise and couldn't divulge any details.

Her designs deserved a place in department stores like Harrods and between all the designer shops that trailed down Champs Elysee oreven by Milan's Duomo – they were that good.

Feeding on from those thoughts, Saint's head was filled with ideas on how he was going to have a prompt business meeting with his wife to maybe buy her a shop space.

He observed that for the men, just like the suit he'd made for her, it was the perfect fit and minimalist, whilst for the women she chose vibrant colours and the styles that brought attention to but didn't over-sexify their bodies.

Before Saint was really made aware of, as his mind was reeling with names of creative directors and tailors in the industry that could help spin off his wife's fashion career, the show had come to a close and there was an uproar of applause and standing ovation. All the models started coming out, first the females and then the males joined their partners again at their side.

Instead of seeing Naomi coming out from the backstage to take the final bow and credit as the designer and creative director, it was the priest, in his full get-up, holding a cordless microphone.

Saint's Italian wasn't great, if good at all, so he tried guessing at certain words but instead grew increasingly frustrated when he couldn't understand what was being said.

He decided that if his wife didn't make an appearance soon enough he would have to go backstage to see what was going on.

At something that the priest said, the crowd started oohing and aahing again, as if something about to happen was going to be even more thrilling and exciting than the success that was Naomi's couture collection showcasing.

Then what Saint didn't expect, was for the priest to turn and set his gaze at him and speaking in what seemd practised but still awkward English, "Saint-Luc would you please come onstage?"

Saint-Luc hardly ever felt out of place but the heated gaze of the sun and the pairs of eyes staring at him was starting to make him feel not so comfortable and he wished then he brought his security detail along.

But afterall the man who had called him was a priest, Saint thought, he couldn't be in any danger. And it must have been his wife who must have informed the priest of his name so he was most likely in good hands. The priest probably wanted him to present his wife with a recognition award for her contribution in the community, which Saint thought would be well deserved.

But still for some reason Saint felt a little nervous and he seldom did so. Masking his somewhat uneasiness he took off his sunshades, buttoning his suit jacket, he walked up to the stage.

The priest gave him a gentle smile, but the words that came out of the priest next, had him completely bewildered.

Addressing him only, the priest said as a small smile uncurled from his lips,"Dear beloved, we are gathered here today for the holy matrimony of Saint-Luc Roux and Naomi Adebayo-Roux."

And that's when the music started and he finally saw her.

CHAPTER 18.2

As 'The Barber of Serville – Overture' reached the climactic section with the violin strings, the couple became close enough to see their faces reflected in each other's eyes.

Amongst the cacophony of applauses and enthusiastic yells that almost overpowered the music, it was as if there was a bubble that was allowing everyone to experience but not understand the serenity felt in that moment, but that knowledge was exclusive for the two star-crossed lovers.

She silently watched as his gaze hovered up and down the white sheer lace dress that slipped around her curves. Saint made her feel like falling glass and under his pressing gaze her skin started breaking out in sweats, not from the heat of the sun but from looking into his expressionless eyes and not being able to determine his thoughts.

As the priest spoke directly to the crowd inviting them to witness the holy matrimony, Saint-Luc reached out to hold her hands.

“What is this Naomi?”

“You said I needed to be sure that it's you I really want – well, I'm here,” she said her eyes now welling in tears as she slipped out one of her hands from his gentle grip and rested it on the velvet of his suit jacket, “for plus riche et plus pauvre, I will love you Saint-Luc Roux.”

Before Saint could respond to his wife's declaration, the priest turned to them to say their vows. This time she meant them, with each and every word her heart swelled in adoration and was powered by the love that both scared and comforted her.

Her only regret was that Grandma Sade was not alive to see it all. Naomi knew that her grandmother would have insisted on making her dress and she would have had it no other way.

She briefly wondered how her grandmother would have reacted to her getting married at such a young age?

And to a man very much her senior?

Would her grandmother have been upset at her for not completing her degree?

Would she even be proud of the fashion show she did in her honour?

Only God knew. All she knew was that even though her grandmother was not present, her legacy very much was. ADE. Through blurry eyes as she continued saying the remainder of her vows, she saw the yellow letters she'd stitched on the place of her husband's jacket directly underneath where his heart was.

Her grandmother had been the crown of her childhood, God had placed her there to be the rock that would help see through the many shaky starts and situations and just when she was on the cusp of adulthood she'd lost her.

The crown that God had now placed in her life was standing before her and she knew her stars were finally aligned. This was her calling.

If not for the priest handing her a fold of tissue from his breast pocket, by the time she'd finished saying her vows, she'd almost embarassed herself with having people see the snot bubbles forming from her nose.

Having wiped her nose clean, she let out a long breath as she held on to both her husband's hands waiting his turn to say the vows.

“Signore are you ready to take vow?”

“Just a second, sir,” and ignoring the confused looking priest he grasped Naomi's hands tighter. “I can't do this without knowing that you have forgiven me for everything.”

For a brief second Naomi was confused at what he meant and why he would ask such a question, but just as soon mental images of walking in on her husband's adultery on New Years' Day brought back the same old tattered feelings of hurt that she'd buried so far deep in her mind to not remember, and the event seemingly so far away that it was as if it never happened.

That was the past.

The smile on her husband's face knowing that she'd forgiven him, though dazzling, rehashed her own guilt that the mere thought of what would happen if he found out what she did to both of them, chilled her core. And because of this she felt obliged to repeat the same question to him.

“Do you forgive me?”

Now it was Saint-Luc's turn to be confused. “For what?”

“For a lot.”

“I love you too much to ever feel you need to be forgiven by me.”

She only hoped that the day he found out about her deceit his heart would be as open as it was currently.

Not wanting to let stupid things she'd done overshadow the best day of her life to date, she let out a big smile as Saint-Luc commenced his part of the vows.

This was the present.

Her vision for the show was to marry her two loves together – fashion and Saint-Luc.

Naomi had only planned it up until she came on the runway claiming to be Saint-Luc's bethrothed, everything that followed after was solely improvisation.

All the pent-up anxieties that she'd had over the last month and a half, eveything just melted away. Because she wasn't sure if Saint-Luc would even accept her proposal she hadn't allowed herself to be overly ambitious to think about the food, reception, cake or anything else that goes on after a marriage ceremony, as she didn't want to deal with the embarassment that would go with him declining her.

But everything had turned out perfect, and lifting up their joined hands together they faced the cheering, applauding crowd, as the priest exclaimed, “Cent'anni!”

Naomi looked further into the crowd to see that the market traders were not even really selling their produce instead they were all fully invested in the celebration and were dancing along to the tarantella that began to play once again.

She was just overwhelmed with gratitude and she couldn't go away without voicing how she felt, so making signal for the priest, she asked him to pass her the microphone.

“Mio marito non può capire tutto che sto dicendo adesso perche lui e francese. Dovevo insegnare lui, haha. Ma davvero, dal profondo del mio cuore, voglio dire grazie mille a Dio per tutti vuoi che avete guardato mio show. Anche vuoi i venditori del mercato, loso che ho disturbato il vostro affari per il giorno quindi voglio solo ringraziarvi per la vostra pazienza.”

(TRANSLATION: My husband cannot understand anything I'm saying because he's French. I have to teach him, haha. But honestly, from the bottom of my heart I want to thank God so much for everyone of you who watched my show. Even you the market sellers, I know I have disturbed your business for the day and for that I just want to thank you for your patience.)

For the next couple of minutes she thanked the priest, the children, the teenagers, the undergrads and everyone else who had participated in anyway to make the show a success and last but not least she turned to her husband.

Still speaking into the microphone she spoke in English not caring if the crowd didn't understand.

“Saint-Luc, I want to thank you for not giving up on me. For being there for me...despite everything and with God on my side, I want to continue honouring you as your wife and my beloved for the rest of our days together.”

She saw the swirl of emotions magnify on Saint-Luc's face as he gave her the most beautiful smile in response. The glaze in his eyes was proof at how much her words had gotten to him. Knowing if she stared any longer she'd find it hard to keep her tears at bay, she turned to the crowd once more, and lifted up their joined hands, “Cent'anni!”

After endlessly taking pictures and receiving so many congratulations over her couture and nuptials, with several people asking her if her collection was pret-a-porter and when it was going to be available for sale, she made the models remove the couture.

Her heart had raced in anxiety seeing the parents of the children who were holding glasses of wine in their hand, calling their children over.

“Saint-Luc, I need to get my clothes, before these kids and their parents spill shit on it.”

He chuckled in her ear, seeing how maternal she got over her material but he understood because it was made with labour of love and he acted the same way with his business. He loved seeing the spark in her eye, ignited by her passion. This Naomi was reawakened.

After all the models had changed in to their own clothes and she'd changed out of hers, she said she wanted to help with the break down and clearing of the stage, but everyone backstage gave her a crazed look and made it a unanimous agreement that she should spend the rest of the night with her husband.

Back in the middle of the square, where many people were still gathered, drinking vino and eating pizza, and music was still playing, they'd made Naomi and Saint-Luc dance the tarantella before allowing them to go. Laughing, they'd both surrendered, and although Saint-Luc didn't know the dance, his natural confidence made him a quick learner when others, in typical Neapolitan drunken cheerfulness had showed him how to move.

The journey back to the hotel was silent. They both were reeling from the surrealness of the events that unfolded before them, between them in the space of a few hours. Naomi more so, everything was still blurryin her head. Turning her head to the back, she made sure all her clothers hung up on a rack, were all still in tact, as the taxi car hit a few bumps on the road.

When she glanced at her husband sitting a distance away from her, her heart immediately swelled just watching him coolly look out the window, deep in his own thoughts. She looked down at her bare, dark brown hands, knowing that despite the absence of a visible ring, they were bound together for however many breaths she had left in her.

Half an hour later, they were finally entering Saint's hotel suite and she was grateful that she could take one night away from the constant disturbances of the drug addicts who's noises kept her up nearly every night.

Saint-Luc followed behind her as he trolleyed the rack of couture inside and that was when the silence was eventually broken. “I can't say I've actually gone to a fashion show where people get married.”

“Well now you have,” said Naomi as she sat on the edge of the king size bed, taking off her shoes giving her husband an exhausted but satisfied smile.

It was gone past six in the evening and Naomi realised that save for the ice tea and chewing gum, she hadn't eaten anything else. Crossing one leg to rest on her thighs, she massaged the soles of her foot with her hand as she stretched her neck to the side watching her husband, who was now approaching her.

“Wait!”

Surprised, at the command, Saint stopped. “What? Why?”

“I want you to pretend you're on the runway, and do your best catwalk for me.”

She fisted her hands and held it below her chin pretending it to be a microphone. “And now for the closing act!”

Saint lightly chuckled at this before saying, “Oh but I need music.”

“Ha okay,” she said grabbing her phone, before selecting an uptempo song off of her playlist, “alright walk to this.”

Complying, Saint walked to the other end of the room. Buttoning up his jacket properly, he started panthering his way over.

Although Naomi had suggested her husband pretend to be modelling for her out of some light hearted fun, the strong gaze that shined from his blue-greeny eye and the unabashed, offensive, unapologetic masculinity that pounced on him really had the ability to make Naomi want him the way only a wife can only want her husband.

She loved watching Saint-Luc's love faces, his large manly body covering hers, overwhelming her.

“They're all yours Saint-Luc, nobody else's,” she'd told him.

“Look at me,” the sexual hypnotism in his voice gave Naomi no choice but to do as she was told, “you're not a cocotte.”

“What does that mean?”

“You're not a prostitute, you're my wife.”

Something in the way Saint-Luc said those words made Naomi pause in her hazy heaven to look into her husband's intensely beautiful eyes to see the need of reassurance.

She knew if she were to climax, her tristesse could ruin things so sitting up she knelt infront of her huband and reached for him, running her hands through his hair, she brough his head closer kissing him, before making him lie down.

“I love you Saint-Luc.”

And after they'd loved on each other Saint-Luc was about to roll over on his side knowing her need for space post-coital but before he could do so, Naomi had encircled her arms around his neck, and as a result their sweaty, sticky body were pressed together.

“Are you okay madmoiselle?”

“Now I am.”

But then just as quickly she gently pushed her husband away for him to sit up. “Saint, you haven't taken your insulin. You need to take your insulin.”

“Alright, madmoiselle, I'll do as you say,” he said getting off of the bed and reaching for the menu card by the bedside.

Naomi didn't appreciate the humour he seemed to find in all this – the image of him unconscious, was one she couldn't ever take for granted.

Twenty minutes later and they were eating their dinner, two plates of spaghetti carbonara for her because it happened to be that the more expensive the meal was the smaller the portion of food will be.

For Saint his plate was bland as usual, a chicken Ceasar salad. They ate in silence by the large window, looking over at the darkening blue skies illuminated by the stars.

“Won't your parents be mad that you had a wedding without them?”

At the thought of her parents her heart constricted but not wanting Saint to notice that the thought of her parents finding out about her marriage gave her anxiety, she let out a small smile.

“Hey feel lucky, you would have probably been in debt from the dowry they'd demand you pay. Twenty goats, 100 yams, 5 bottles of the best palm wine, 80 sacks of basmati rice, probably 100 plantains since my dad loves it so much.”

Saint couldn't keep a straight face as Naomi counted off with her fingers what her parents would require of him to have their daughter in marriage. “That's funny because in my mother's culture the bride is the one who pays the dowry to the groom.”

“Oh where's your mum from?”

“From UAE, but her family moved to Turkey when she was six.”

It occurred to her then that other than his his sister-in-law, she knew little of his family. Determined not to allow negative thoughts to penetrate the joy between them, she grabbed his hand.

“I love you Saint-Luc.”

“I love you too Naomi.”

The tenderness in which Saint-Luc proclaimed those words back to her, made her want to cry all over again. Reaching up over to him, their heads met in the middle of the table as their lips sank in to one another for a kiss.

Her cup was finally full and running over.

CHAPTER 19

The originality, creativity and romanticism of the show has garnered her much attention from all over.

Lace is the main component of all her coutures, and every detailed inch of it symbolises the beauty and grace only a woman of class can wear.

Overnight she has become the sweetheart of Napoli. Her husband is one of Europe's wealthiest men, CEO of Roux corporation a brick manufacturing and distributing company. He also has his own brand of wine and has several investments in real estate and else where.

Italy might have just got its own Madame Coco Chanel.

“Saint-Luc you're my trophy husband now,” she said smiling appreciating the approaching figure of her husband who wearing a plain white top, dark blue shorts and white leather boat shoes not looking a day over thirty.

Chuckling at her statement, he sat down on the sun lounger next to her as she passed him her phone to read the reviews. Passing the phone back to her, he said, “Madmoiselle, for you I'd be a toilet seat husband.”

“Ew Saint, that's disgusting. Though you're the only one who seems to be able to put up my shit,” she said it jokingly but she meant it with all seriousness.

“Oui, how do the English say it – you like to take the piss, but I'm not perfect either,” he replied his eyes telling a story his mouth didn't want to recount but Naomi understood.

Patting the wide gap between his legs, he invited her over to sit with him. Naomi more than willingly accepted the invite. His legs were on either side of the lounger and Naomi wanting to be comfortable sat facing him, with each of her legs on top of his laps, so her foot dangled on either side of him.

It was just past seven in the evening, the intensity of the sun was not as scalding as it was in the afternoon because of the gentle breeze that flowed allowing Naomi to revel in the heat on her partly naked back.

“Oh my gosh Saint, you're so tanned. You're looking more Arab now, ” she said as she took in her husband's darkened features.

“I tan easily, that's why, ” he said leaning back on the lounger using his arms as support.

“I wasn't complaining.”

“Okay good,” he replied smiling back at her that Naomi knew was forced not because of the conversation but because he seemed to have a lot on his mind.

She'd been waiting all day for his return brimming with excitement at the news she'd received earlier in the day and was barely capable of stopping herself from texting or calling her husband, insisting the moment she announced her news would be much better enjoyed face to face. Saint-Luc had flown in to Rome in the morning to visit his branch office but now that he was back all thoughts of her news came second seeing the dejected look on his face.

“How was your day Saint?”

“Tiring.”

“Why, what happened?” Naomi asked concern etched on her face, briefly distracted feeling water splash on her back and turned her head to see a group of some bikini clad girls sqealing as they jumped in the hotel pool.

With an annoyed look she turned around to Saint-Luc waiting for his answer.

“I have to go back to Paris on Thursday.”

The look of displeasure at the news was immediately effective on Naomi's face. “That's two days away. Why do you have to leave so early?”

“I would love to have stayed here until next week, but there's a lot of headache going on in the company.”

On the day after the fashion show, Saint-Luc had insisted that they discuss their living arrangements. After much negotiation on both sides, they'd agreed that for the time being they will live in separate cities but will each take turns to fly out to see the other every week and after three months they would re-evaluate their situation.

But Naomi didn't expect to part soon and that was evident on her face. “What exactly is happening that is stressing out?”

“Naomi I don't really want to be talking about that right now. So let's just move on to your day,” seeing the displeased look on her face, he sat up holding her hands in his, “please.”

Even though she wanted to insist and probe further, the pleading in the hypnotic swirls of his eyes, gave Naomi no choice but to give in. She wanted Saint-Luc to feel like she was the wife he could talk to about anything but when it came to such things, he was old-fashioned in the sense he believed a man should handle his own problems and not divulge to his partner like a woman would typically do with her husband.

“Fine but I want to remind you that I'm your wife, in case you forgot.”

“That's signed, sealed and delivered. Even if I forgot, the whole of Naples would remind me.”

At this, Naomi couldn't help but laugh. “True, but I want you to want to tell me about your good and bad days.”

“Okay madmoiselle,” he said and though Naomi was not the least bit convinced in him adherring to her words she let him be.

“Are you going to finally tell me what the good news is?” he asked referring to the message he'd received from her when he was on his way back to the hotel and she told him to meet her in the hotel's rooftop pool as she had something she wanted to tell him.

Jumping up and down and clapping her hands, like a child, she grasped Saint's shoulders and with all the excitement she could muster, she told him.

“The Mayor of Napoli wants to honour me! Like are you kidding me Saint-Luc, I'm only 19!”

“You've accomplished more than a lot of people your age have. You more than deserve it.”

“You think so?”

“Oui, I know so.”

Naomi could not believe the series of events that had unfolded since her fashion show had taken place four days ago. It seemed that from that moment on someone had pressed the forward button to a video of her life.

She'd been invited on local radio stations, news channels for interviews, fashion bloggers had reviewed her clothes. The one question that they'd all had on their lips is when her collection was going to be put up for sale and where. Her inbox was full daily of people asking her the price of different pieces of her collection when she had not even put a price tag on any of them.

The truth of the matter is that Naomi did not have any definite answers so she gave a response that danced around the questions and left ther interviewers in suspense.

The couture in question was safely locked in the hotel's vault. Even though she was still mostly unknown with her growing popularity she took no chances when it came to her clothes.

At first she had wanted to decline all the interviews but thought better of it after seeking advice from Saint and him telling her it would be good to reach her potential customers or at least be interested with the brand with all the free publicity it was attracting.

At the end of each day Naomi had a hundred questions that sexing Saint didn't answer but left her head clearer to think out her options.

Knowing she was with someone who was well versed when it came to anything business was an extra re-assurance for her. Though with all the media engagements she'd had she'd barely even had time to figure out what her next step was.

Two nights ago, after a round of their nocturnal activities, Naomi had admitted this to Saint-Luc. And staring into his wondering eyes at that moment that questioned her silence and repeated sighs,she cast down her eyes, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Saint, I'm overwhelmed.”

“Hey,” the gentleness in his voice forced her eyes back to him, “remember I told you to take your time to figure out what you want.”

“I know. I would love to have my own fashion house. That's my dream but I'm only 19 and most designers I know first started off working for another designer before venturing on their own. I feel like I would be jumping the gun too quick if I struck out on my own.”

“Naomi in case you haven't noticed ADE is already a fashion house. You just need to get rid off this belief you have that you're not capable enough. You're more than capable, you've shown it to me, you've shown it to the children and teens who you provide hope for, you've shown it to Napoli but most importantly you've shown it to yourself.”

She could vow that everytime Saint-Luc opened his mouth to say something to her she fell deeper in love with him.

It was when she'd gone to the church earlier in the day after Father Giamoco's secretary called requiring her presence, that he'd told her about the mayor wanting to honour her for her contribution in the arts and community in two weeks.

It would be the longest time that she'd been away from the church to teach her lessons, so when she saw all her students, she was overcome with joy and especially at how happy they were at seeing her. Together they'd all become a family.

Unknowingly to them, they'd been her saving grace, just like they thought of her as their saving grace. In the times when she still was trying to figure out if there was marriage worth saving, they'd been right there. In the times when the depression wanted her to be chained to her bed the thought of the students coming to the classes to escape their nightmare at home and have a chance at improving their lives, was what forced her out of bed.

Seeing eveyone's excited faces talking about the fashion show, asking about her husbandeveryone was so pleasantly surprised to see her. The classes were getting bigger, and the space to accommodate them all was getting smaller. She knew that would be something that she needed to figure out soon.

Three of the teenagers who had walked in her show had ran up to her; two girls and one boy and to her amazement, they said that they'd been scouted out by a modelling agency, and they were going to Milan the following week to take pictures for their portfolio.

At this news, they'd jumped-hug in celebration but out of nowhere one of the girls suddenly burst out crying. Taking her to the side to comfort her Naomi knew why. Although the girl was just fifteen she'd experienced a lifetime of heartache. Her father was in prison serving life for Mafia-related crimes and her mother had died a year earlier from a brain tumour, leaving her to live with her aunt and her family, so it was a bittersweet moment for her.

She knew what she wanted: to heal people with fashion.

“You're so lost in your thoughts right now madmoiselle. What's going on?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

A slow smile appeared on his face as he leaned into her, grasping her head to meet her lips for a kiss. The kiss turned passionate, as their legs entangled, Naomi in a semi- straddling position with both their groins pressed.

The kiss had been for her than for him to make her stop thinking and overthinking whatever was on her mind, but with the stroke of her tongue on his lips, it became more about his constant need for her.

After a few moments, he withdrew wanting to reign in some control and whispered close to her ears, “D'you want to go back to my place?”

“Oh my gosh, Saint Luc you sound like those fuckboys in clubs trying to chat up a girl for a one night stand,” Naomi couldn't help but laugh out loud and thanked God that fuckboys were a thing of the past for her.

“Ha ha, I know. But I'm not them, I'm your toilet seat husband, remember?”

They laughed together at this and grasped her hand, urging her to get up. “Come on let's go upstairs and celebrate our win.”

“Our win?”

“Yes your wins are my wins and vice versa.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Just as Saint was about to say something, they both heard the ringing tone of Naomi's phone on the table next to them. Stretching a little to reach it, Saint passed the phone to Naomi.

A glance at the number caused the grimace on her face and with heaviness she had not experienced in a long time she accepted the call. “Hello?”

Mouthing to Saint-Luc that she would be back, she excused herself and walked inside the part that led to the hotel spa.

As soon as she left, Saint missed the skin-to-skin contact that he'd been enjoying with his wife. The eagerness to know who she was talking to was on his mind but the day he'd had overshadowed that.

Crossing his arms across his forehead, he laid his legs on the lounger, closing his eyes to rest his brain, even for just a little bit.

But he couldn't. An environmental charity group had made a documentary,“The Mices Who Work for The Men” showing the working conditions of several big corporations with factories in developing countries and their mistreatment of their employees - Roux's company had been featured. Specifically, the plant in India that Saint had purchased a several months ago and had caused him a lot of money to rectify the situation.

The video was circulating really fast and Saint-Luc was beyond livid that this charity was out to damage his reputation, when there was no truth to the sights shown but many will choose to believe that as the current reality.

As much as he wanted to be with his wife, he couldn't let the situation fester. He had too much to lose for that to happen.

He wasn't looking forward to sleeping alone on his bed and their living arrangement wasn't one that he was satisfied with but he agreed to appease his wife. But he prayed that before the three months she would change her mind.

Even though he had been extremely happy for his wife at her news, for some reason, he thought she was going to tell him that she was with child. He knew it would be illogical since they'd been apart for three months and even though they'd been recently unprotected in their intimacy it would still would have been early to know. But if she was, Saint-Luc's happiness would have been unrivalled.

Before his thoughts could wander too deep on being a father, he saw Naomi sitting back down on the lounger.

With a sunken look on her face, she drops her phone carelessly besides her. “That was my sister. She's in England for two weeks and wants to see me.”

CHAPTER 21

“Votre mère est avec nous.”

(TRANSLATION: Your mother is staying with us.)

Saint-Luc sat up straighter in his seat. “Où est-elle maintenant? ”

(TRANSLATION: Where is she now?)

“Dans la chambre. Endormi.”

(TRANSLATION: In the guest room. Sleeping. )

There was silence on both ends of the phone. It was unlike his mother to be asleep at half one in the afternoon.

Saint-Luc listened as Amirah told him how Saint-Yann and her had spent the previous week in Turkey with the kids. Upon first sight of Ayda they'd noticed the subtle but evident changes in the aging woman. How she walked a little slower than usual. How she ate less than usual. How a thin patch of sweat was pasted on her face at all times. Despite the observations, Ayda claimed she was fine.

The same changes that Amirah described were what Saint-Luc had noticed when he and his brother had videocalled her during that unfortunate lunch. He'd talked to her several times after that day but with everything that had been happening with his marriage up until then it was only the thought of working to forget the heartache that occupied his mind. But now he couldn't help but feel guilt at not closing in on to his mother's health.

Amirah revealed how when Saint-Yann had tried to make their mother go to the doctor, she had outright refused denying that there was anything wrong with her.

Obviously neither of them had been convinced but Saint-Yann had decided to let the matter go much to Saint-Luc's annoyance.

In a tactic to keep her eye on the Roux matriarch, Amirah suggested that Ayda return to Belgium with them so she could spend more time with the grandkids. Saint-Yann hadn't been pleased but Amirah paid him no mind. She knew with her mother-in-law's presence he would be on his best behaviour.

Not that he hadn't been recently – Amirah had said quickly coming in defence for her husband when Saint-Luc's suspicions rose.

“Amirah, vous devez trouver un moyen d'obtenir un médecin dans la maison pour diagnostiquer ma mère. S'il vous plaît.”

(TRANSLATION:Amirah you need to find a way to get a doctor in the house to diagnose my mother. Please.)

“Je sais. Notre médecin de famille vient à la maison demain matin, alors je vais vous dire comment ça se passe.”

(TRANSLATION: I know. Our family doctor is coming to the house tomorrow morning so I'll let you know how it goes.)

“Encore mieux, merci. Et Amirah? ”

(TRANSLATION:Even better, thank you. And Amirah?)

“Oui?”

“S'il vous plaît, ne dites pas à ma mère de mon mariage. ”

(TRANSLATION:Please don't tell my mother about my marriage.)

“Je ne vais pas.”

(TRANSLATION:I won't.)

“No, je veux dire. Vous avez dit que vous ne le feriez pas la première fois et vous avez fini par dire à mon frère.”

(TRANSLATION:No, I mean it. You said you wouldn't the first time and you ended up telling my brother.)

“J'étais énervé avec lui et il a glissé pendant que nous discutions. Je l'ai blâmé pour ce qui s'est passé entre votre femme et vous - parce qu'elle n'a pas cru d'abord que je n'étais que votre belle-soeur. Mais je suis désolé pour ça.”

(TRANSLATION: I was pissed off at him and it slipped out whilst we were arguing. I blamed him for what happened between your wife and you – because she didn't believe at first that I was just your sister-in-law. But I'm so sorry for that.)

Saint-Luc accepted her apology with some detachment knowing he couldn't completely trust Amirah as she had the habit of blurting compromising information when she was in her fits of intense emotions.

He knew that if his mother should come to the knowledge that her first son, no less, had gotten married in secrecy she'd be devastated. And Saint-Luc wasn't ready to deal with the consequences.

He heard his baby nephew crying in the background, Amirah's cue to disengage from the conversation and attend to the whimpering baby.

When Saint-Luc ended the call he closed his eyes and drew circles at the bridge of his nose with his finger.

He flicked his wrist to check the time on the black leather strapped watch, it was nearing two and he still had not had lunch. Saint decided to eat and take his insulin shot before commencing work.

Half an hour later he was about to look through financial reports on his plants in Europe when his phone, that only a handful of people knew the number to, started ringing. Naomi.

“Mind telling me why I'm finding out through a third party about this documentary featuring your company talking about the shitty way you treat the people who work for you?”

Once again Saint-Luc's posture straightened in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“I did an interview today for a fashion magazine and the interviewer asked me how I would make sure that the way my fashion house is run is going to be ethical unlike my husband who's company was recently featured in a “highly-publicised” documentary as having exploited the plight of the unfortunate in India. Working in those brick plants with no proper footwear, many of them barefoot. Like really Saint?”

“Nao-”

“Earning less that 2 euros a day. What the fuck Saint-Luc?”

“Naomi are you going to allow me to speak?”

“Yes,” she said but she might as well have said no because the tone in her voice was full of grudges.

“Remember three weeks ago when I had to come back to Paris, shortly after your fashion show?”

“I do.”

“That was the shit I was dealing with. It's just this socialist groups with the agenda of trying to push corporations to pay higher taxes. Long story short, the charity group is being investigated for defamation and corruption within their organisation. Last week they made a public apology.”

“I read that but are you telling me there's no truth to be found in the documentary I saw?”

Saint-Luc sighed. He could feel a headache thrumming in the forecentre of his brain.

“Naomi over eight thousand people work for me, in about fifteen different locations around the world. Mistakes happen. But with the brick plant in India it was down to mismanagement from the previous owners who I had acquired it from. And it was a lot of headache at the start but now everything is sorted. My company offers a competitve employee package. Free uniform, pension scheme, maternity-paternity pay, apprenticeships, career progression, I don't know what else they could want. ”

“Okay it's just I feel when it comes to your work or things that stress you out you leave me in the dark and you don't like when I do that with you. D'you know how embarassing it was to know what the woman interviewing me was talking about?”

“After we got married you never really seemed interested about my job, what I do-”

At this Naomi stalled a bit. “Regardless. Now we are. I want to know. I want you to stop doing this old man antic of protecting the little girl. I'm a woman. Your woman monsieur. Open up to me. That's a command.”

Saint-Luc couldn't help the smile stretched on his face. She was his woman damn right. It was nice to hear it from the source herself, he mused. Because for a long time, he sternly believed she wanted nothing to do with him except his money.

“Oui madmoiselle,” he said unable to stop the chuckle falling from his lips.

“It's not funny Saint-Luc. Communication is key.”

“Absolument. So what did you end up telling the interviewer?”

“I basically told him that his allegations were untrue and when he tried to prove shit to me, I asked him if he still wanted to discuss my fashion brand or was the interview done?”

“That is sexy madmoiselle.”

It made Saint-Luc proud that even when evidence was stacked against him, his wife had his back.

“Saint-Luc I'm serious from now on I want you to tell me what's on your mind just like you want me to tell you what's on my mind.”

“Okay madmoiselle,” he said, “I'm not happy with our living arrangements.”

“Saint-Luc we've discussed this.”

“I only agreed because I know it's what's going to make you happy. But right now when I'm hearing your voice and I don't have the eager expectation of seeing you when I come home – I'm not happy.”

“But we discussed this at length Saint-Luc,” said Naomi getting exasperated.

“Look you're the one who just said communication is key and you want me to be able to tell you what's on my mind.”

Naomi stayed silent at the acknowledgement that her husband had used her words to bite her in the ass.

At this Saint-Luc's voice softened. The last thing he wanted was to upset his wife. “I know how important your fashion line is to you. I know all your arguments for staying in Italy and I agree with you. You're young and you need to know yourself outside the borders of our marriage but - I want you home with me. Preferably everyday. In Paris.”

“You've done a great job of making me feel guilty.”

“I'm not trying to make you feel guilty madmoiselle,” he said just as he checked his watch realising his meeting to be in half an hour, “I'm just telling you how I feel.”

“I know.”

Saint-Luc changed the topic of conversation wanting to keep the tone light and after a few further minutes talking about each other's day, they ended the call.

Their living situation was highly unideal but the fact that she wanted him to be an open book was a step in the forward direction he thought.

Being overtly emotional as a man was perceived as a character flaw and growing up he had to curb that trait in him. Saying what he felt he naturally had no problem with but with Naomi he wanted to be more careful because he realised he could be too intense at times.

Saint-Luc couldn't help but to think of when he and his brother were still children and Saint-Yann would make fun of how easy it was to make him cry. His mother too was always quick to disprove of his sensitivity making comparisons to his father.

Someone who, at the age of fifteen though he loved dearly but realised, he didn't want to be anything like. The apple really did not fall too far from the tree.

With a heavy sigh, Saint-Luc rose up to pour himself a drink from his minibar.

CHAPTER 22

Naomi watched him sleep. Beautiful.

She had sat in the balcony sketching for nearly two hours, enjoying how the sun crowned her body before deciding to take a break.

His flight had been delayed an hour and he'd landed late in the night. Saint-Luc had barely entered the taxi before he started falling asleep.

Naomi felt guilty that besides his frequent business travels, their living situation did not help matters. By the time they had returned to her hotel suite, he was about ready to jump into bed. She had him take one of his glucose tablets beforehand insisting also to check his blood sugar levels, even though Saint-Luc protested that he was fine, she needed to do it for her own peace of mind.

The knock at the door riled her out of her thoughts. With quick steps she went to the door as not to wake her husband up. Opening for room service the overpowering smell of the double espresso that her husband could never start the day without, was the first to greet her senses.

Tipping and thanking the maid, she closed the door and pushed the service trolley into the living room that she only bothered to use when her husband was present. After setting up their breakfast on the dining table, she went back into the bedroom to finally wake Saint-Luc up.

She sat on his side of the bed and for a moment resumed her earlier position of watching him sleep. Bringing up her arms Naomi gently rubbed his sleeping face with her thumb until it roused movement from him.

“Bonjour monsieur,” she said as his sleep-laden eyes pierced open.

His sleepy voice combined with his sleepy bedroom eyes was enough to make Naomi want it.“Bonjour madmoiselle.”

“It's half-nine Saint-Luc. I got us breakfast. D'you want me to bring it to you?”

Stretching out his arms, he yawned before answering. “No it's okay. Let me say my prayers, then I'll meet you in there.”

Agreeing, Naomi got off the bed and went back into the living room. She briefly thought of asking him about accompanying her to a church service on a future weekend when he came to visit her. Though their unconventional married lifestyle made it difficult because when they finally got some freetime, they wanted to spend every single second together in isolation.

Naomi sat down on the dining table picking up a butter croissant and sipped on her lemon tea. Turning on the TV to the business channel solely for her husband's benefit her brain quickly tuned out when she couldn't understand all the finance jargon that was being used.

Remembering that she'd left her sketchbook out in the balcony, she left her chair and walked over to the partially opened floor to ceiling windows and pulled it wide by its gold painted handle.

Excitement and anxiety brewed deep within her at the thought of having locked in her first client. It'd been something she wanted to tell Saint-Luc when she'd called him a few days ago but that was overshadowed by the interview that had highlighted her husband's habit to leave her out in the dark about his business. And after that it'd simply escaped her mind.

She was making a custom couture dress for the founder of a start-up biotech company who had an awards event to attend in Monaco in three weeks. The woman had told Naomi that she'd watched footages of her fashion show online and read her interview that she did which Naomi could not recall but was thankful for.

Saint-Luc was also working on closing a deal in London but as much as she wanted to talk business, she knew they both needed a day where they could be present with one another.

“Hey.”

Naomi smiled looking up from pouring herself another cup of tea as Saint-Luc made his entrance into the room.

“Merde, I'm so tired,” he said before downing his espresso.

“Saint-Luc I'd planned for us to go out but if you're tired you can just rest up.”

Naomi could see Saint-Luc's face light up in surprise that she'd taken the initiative to plan a day out for them.

“Where are we going?” Saint-Luc now asked smiling as he applied strawberry jam on his croissant.

“To Mount Vesuvius. I've always wanted to go there.”

“So have I.”

“There's no better time like the present is there?”

They talked until Saint-Luc talked Naomi into sitting on his lap. She didn't realise how much she craved his touch until his body heat filled her up.

A quick call to the contractors about reinstalling electrical appliances in her shop she was finally able to dedicate herself to the day with her husband.

“Hey. Thank you again,” she said breaking the attention of her husband who's gaze was fixed on the television.

“For what?”

“For everything...buying my shop.”

It'd been a few days after the fashion show and they were in bed, her overwhelmed and venting about the lack of space in the church and her not knowing what direction she wanted to take ADE in that Saint-Luc had told her finding shop space would be the logical next step and he would finance it for her.

“That's my wedding gift to you.You don't need to say thank you,” Saint-Luc said before grabbing another croissant from the plate.

After breakfast, they both got ready for their day. As someone who was used to taking the lead, Naomi appreciated when Saint-Luc was visibly relaxed after she'd run through the day's schedule which included dinner in the evening and cigar tasting after.

Despite what happened after, the drive to Giverny had been one of the best times they'd shared together, so Naomi decided to rent a car to drive for their excursion. And she would be driving this time.

The forty-five minute drive to the volcano site was mostly rode in comfortable silence as they both enjoyed their surrounding views.

When they got to the car park, Naomi shut the engine and grabbed the backback that carried the bottles of water, snacks and Saint-Luc's diabetes kitbag.

Saint-Luc, of course insisted on carrying it. After they paid for entry they started on the hike.

All that she needed was right here – the blue sky and Saint. They didn't talk much because the sun was speaking intense heat, and the energy exerted to reach the top of the mountain took their breath way.

By the time they eventually reached the steaming crater, they were both sweaty from the walking. Looking down at the gaping hole they remained in awed silence whilst taking huge gulps of water.

“Y'know this is the most dangerous volcano in Europe,” Naomi said finally breaking the quiet.

“Yeah I read that somewhere.”

“Of course you did, Mr-Know it all.”

“No I'm not. I'm still learning about you,” said Saint-Luc giving one of those smile that made Naomi fall deeper in love with him.

“You're still learning about me?”

“I'm at the Genesis of trying to figure you out madmoiselle.”

There was silence once again as they watched the thick fog of smoke condensing slowly and making itself one with the sky.

Turning away from the view, Naomi faced her husband. “What would you do if this volcano were to erupt right now?”

“What can I do than to say my last prayers, lose my life trying to save yours?” Saint said with all seriousness in his bi-coloured eyes.

Naomi laughed but nevertheless touched. “Obviously we'd both die Saint-Luc. You know what I would want to do?”

“What would you want to do?”

“Say my last prayers and kiss you until our bodies melted away.”

“Merde, that'd be incredible. Imagine making love to you with this view as our backdrop.”

“It'd be fucking spectacular. Don't tempt me.”

“I'm already tempted.”

With their sweaty foreheads pressed they closed the thin gap between them and gave their lips to one another.

Little did they know that the biggest volcano of their life was about ready to erupt.

CHAPTER 23

L'Africana was a nightclub carved out of one the natural caves that sat on the coastline. The dancefloor was a few metres above sea level and its views were simply views one wished to live forever in. A weekend in the Amalfi was a much needed reward for all of them.

Naomi had flown in Celine and Miriam, and along with her apprentices Francesca and Magdalina, she'd rented a cosy villa for them and for most of the day spent time at the beach.

Two days ago, her client had come to collect her dress. Seeing the smile on the woman's face and to be financially compensated for the time and effort to create something she loved doing - there wasn't a gratification like it. It was of the best kind.

And Naomi knew she'd really pushed her apprentices, almost to their limit. She'd dedicated nearly all her time to this one assignment, even foregoing going to Paris which Saint-Luc had quite a lot to say about.

But to Naomi, there was a lot riding on the success of a single couture, she wanted her first happy customer but what Saint-Luc kept pointing out to her was she already had a happy audience.

Nevertheless, the night had been a night of celebration and that is why Naomi couldn't have predicted what would happen in the next moment.

The next moment, it was five pm on the Sunday. After dropping off Francesca and Magdalina to their homes, her and her friends were making their way into the hotel lobby when she was approached by two police officers, saying they wanted to take her in for questioning.

In another moment Naomi was in the police station answering questions in relation to her drug-dealing ex-neighbour who was currently in police custody, due to a drug raid that happened in his apartment a few days ago.

They wanted answers. They were aware of her, her fashion, marriage. They'd asked intrusive questions about her and Saint, implications that she was a buttana. They'd wanted her to confirm how long she had lived in her previous address, why she wasn't living with her husband.

Things that should have been of no concern to them.

In relation to her ex-neighbour, she denied everything. She wasn't stupid. This was Napoli.

With nothing to hold against her other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time, it would be two hours later that they'd reluctantly let Naomi go.

By then Naomi's spirit had been deflated. It hurt seeing the suspicion and discrimination in their eyes. It hurt knowing that the country she dearly loved and identified with didn't always see her as one of their own.

All she wanted was Saint-Luc holding and consolong her. But she knew that that would give much reason for her husband to say “see this is why you should be in Paris.”

When she'd gotten to her room, all her friends were waiting expectantly for her. She could barely manage a smile as Miriam rambled off about what she thought about policemen.

The next day she dropped them off at the airport, to get their flight back to London.

From the airport, she had made her way to her store to see how the contractors were doing with the renovations. The walls needed a fresh coat of white paint and she'd planned to go out and buy some but she'd bailed out on the idea.

Naomi decided to have an early day. It had briefly passed her mind that she had been more tired as of late and the August sun was not helping.

A sigh left her lips as she swiped the card to enter her room. All day she had been pretending to be in greater spirits when her emotions were in the pits since the questioning.

Lying down in bed, she dialled her husband's number waiting for him to pick up. All she wanted at that moment in time was to be in Paris.

And now we come to the interlude whether it's the half-way interlude or two-chapters to the end interlude it's up to the reader to find out.

Saint-Luc in Paris and Naomi in Napoli. Two strangers who have become soul mates. Two lovers living in different locations.

Can there be love without pain? Can there have ever been feeling of loss without love?

Are some of us guilty of hurting those who want to help heal us?

Why do we feel we don't deserve to be loved unconditionally by ourselves and others?

Why were we not educated on love and it's transforming power?

Relationships – family, friends and lovers alike, is a test of heart. How many times can your heart be open to forgive without turning bitter?

How loyal can someone be?

Can you still pray for the partner who you have every right to curse?

This is an unfolding of truth and life when it pushes the soul to the edge.

CHAPTER 24

By the time Saint-Luc reached Belgium, it was too late. It was clear that there was something gravely wrong with his mother. And in a month, he and his brother were made orphans.

For the funeral, they'd flown her body back to Abu Dhabi, her birth place and now resting place.

Saint-Luc alone dealt with the headache of his mother's side of the family who insisted on a Muslim funeral, but Saint-Luc unwilling to shift his decision made sure his mother had a Christian burial.

Despite many of his relatives living in the UAE and offering to pay travel and accommodation for the ones living elsewhere only his mother's older brother turned up to pay his last respects.

Saint-Yann had not taken it well at all. He had been crushed over the death of their mother. He barely talked to his wife and children. He'd never seen his brother cry so many tears – not even when their father had died.

As the eldest, that meant for Saint-Luc, he had to be his brother's keeper.

And then there was Naomi. She'd been there from the beginning.

She had been deep in work with working on ADE, and also dealing with the issues of her store caused by the electrical appliances and roof leaking, but with one call from Saint-Luc all that went immediately to the back of her mind.

On the phone, Saint-Luc had sounded cool, calm, collected as usual whilst explaining how her mother-in-law had kept her brain tumour a secret, but at the persistence of Amirah threatening to get a doctor to diagnose her ill-appearance, she had been forced to admit the cause and that’s when he'd had to leave Paris to be with her.

He'd sounded in control but Naomi knew her husband better, and that’s why without a second thought, she'd booked her plane ticket that very night and flew out the next day.

She had been very apprehensive of meeting her mother and brother in law for the first time and not knowing what to expect.

On arriving at Saint-Yann’s house, Naomi couldn’t help but admire the architectural brilliance of the his abode, with its green, peaceful views.

Speaking of which, her brother-in-law had struck her as eccentric. During her first dinner at the house he'd commented on her ‘symmetrical face’’ and then had changed conversation, Naomi thought it strange, but let it go.

Apart from Saint-Luc being there, she felt more at ease because she'd already been acquainted with Amirah and the children who all gave her a warm reception.

If not for her, that fateful night with Saint-Luc could have turned a whole lot different. And for that Naomi will always be grateful to her for it.

And then there was her mother-in-law.

As soon as she saw her, Naomi couldn’t help but notice how weak she looked. She couldn’t really get up from her seat now and speech was slurred but she lifted her arms wide signalling Naomi to give her a hug and then started crying and speaking in Arabic.

Saint-Luc visibly emotional to the words had translated that his mother was praising for being able to see his son married.

There was no denying that she was frail. It made Naomi nervous to even hold her, but despite this there was the ever-present stubborn shine in her eye showing the determined last fight for life that she wasn’t easily giving up.

Naomi could remember looking at her face and seeing so much of her husband in there, except for the eyes.

Not even Saint-Yann had those searing bi-coloured irises, but instead they were a light brown like their mother’s, and Naomi could only guess that Saint-Luc had taken over their father.

As daughter and mother-in-law bonded the rest of the family watched on.

Saint-Luc had told Naomi that after he had first told his mother about their marriage, he’d been worried that she would be upset, but instead she had been positively eager to see her daughter-in-law.

Now that everything was bridge over water, Naomi couldn’t help but feel deep melancholy at how the knowledge of impending death gave less time to spend on the negatives of life.

During that week, the Roux family lived in a bubble.

Nothing else mattered than taking care of the elderly woman’s needs, as day by day she got weaker but her spirit was made stronger and stronger by the love of her family. Whenever her sons were by her, they would kiss her cheeks and in turn she would lay her hands on their head and pray for them.

It made Naomi shed tears of regret, wishing she’d known her longer and only Amirah had had the benefit of that.

A deep sigh left Naomi's lips, as she continued watching the Parisian skyline. Saint-Luc and her had returned to the French capital within short days after the funeral as he felt the need to get back to work.

Two days before her death, Ayda had called Naomi into her room and sat her down.

“My darling, my beautiful daughter.”

“Yes mama?”

“As the woman of the house you have to be prayerful. Prayer is your only weapon.”

Naomi remembered feeling a sort of foreshadowing cloak as Ayda spoke to her, which she immediately rebuked.

“As a wife your two pillars of a sucessful marriage will be patience and forgiveness. Always pray for your husband and with your husband. You two are together to cover each other’s nakedness.”

“I know mama.”

Naomi couldn’t help but feel like Ayda knew more than she revealed, but whatever she knew she took to the grave.

CHAPTER 25

Naomi wiped the tears from her face when she heard the sound of her husband coming into their bedroom.

She looked down at the notes she had been making on revising her business plans to show Saint Luc, realising it had been a while since she'd been concentrating on it as she had been swept away by thoughts of her mother-in-law.

Still just a week into September but she was able to enjoy the spray of sunshine on their adjoining balcony.

“Naomi.”

“I'm out here.”

He was already behind her and she lifted up her head as he brought his head down to meet for a kiss.

Still in his work clothes, he made himself comfortable in the lounge chair opposite her.

Naomi noted the glass half-full with brown liquid in his hand. The offensive smell permeating her senses were the tell-tale signs of whisky.

He smiled to himself as he looked up at the sky, sipping, before turning to her. “Ah should I bring the cigars madmoiselle?”

“No I'll do without,” she responded with a tight smile.

Naomi had noticed that as of late Saint-Luc had been drinking more. And based on past records, she had cause to be worried.

She'd confronted him two nights ago asking if there was anything that was bothering him with work, his mother, and that maybe they should see a therapist. But Saint-Luc was old-fashioned in that sense and had immediately said no, saying there was nothing that she needed to be concerned about.

But he made it hard for her to believe him because lately when they were intimate it felt like he was inside his own head and not present. And yet after he would put his arms around her tight as if pleading not to leave him.

Most nights she'd had to throw the covers away because of how uncomfortable she would get from all the heat and sweat of their bodies stuck together.

Still it was her husband and she loved him and he needed her.

After the incident with the police questioning she'd really had lost some faith in her abilities but Saint-Luc had made her feel so strong and appreciated as his woman and she just prayed she could be the same for him as her husband.

And so as she sat looking over at Saint-Luc she found it hard to calm her doubts about returning back to Napoli the following week even though that had been the agreement between both of them hence the reason why they'd arranged to have this business meeting for ADE.

It was approaching Fashion Week and to her surprise she'd been invited to a few shows in Milan without using her husband's name to leverage, albeit they were fashion shows of designers less well known. But to her it was not a problem, if anything it would serve as inspiration.

“Okay, so there's my business plan and please be honest with your feedback,” she said as she handed over the thin document. “As a preface I want ADE to be a social enterprise. The economy in Italy is a little fucked up, moreso the South and I want to do my bit in investing in my country.”

She watched as Saint-Luc slowly flicked through her business plan knowing that one of the things she loved about him was how good he was at retaining multiple sources of information at the same time.

“I want to be a father.”

Naomi's face went blank. “What?”

“This is a five year business plan that you have. Do you even realise how much work it's going to take for you to reach your goal? And no, I'm not doubting your abilities but as your business partner and husband it's right for us to discuss about when we're going to have children. Despite how I look Naomi, I'm not getting any younger,” Saint-Luc finished with a small smile on his face.

Naomi was trembling inside. It was taking everything in her to maintain calm – at least on the outside.

“Saint-Luc where is this coming from? You've just buried your mother. Bringing a baby into this will just complicate this.”

But Saint Luc was not listening. “It won't complicate anything. I want to be a father.”

Naomi knew Saint-Luc had grown tunnel vision and he would persist until he got what he wanted. She watched as he fininshed the last of the whisky, still holding onto her business proposal.

“Saint-Luc I'm 20 years old. I don't want to have children right now, but...but if it's something you want then we can look into surrogacy.”

“Are your hips broken?”

Stunned by the anger in his eyes that could cut a stone in half, she was defaulted to answer. “No-no they're not.”

“So why can't you carry our children?”

“Saint you're not listening to me. I'm too young to be a mother.”

For stretched moments he didn't say anything. His unflinching gaze left her on edge. “So when do you think you're going to be ready?”

Never. When she was younger she always fantasised about having her own family but growing up and dealing with depression killed her childhood delusions. ADE was now her baby. And Saint-Luc was her beloved and she knew any child would be lucky to have him as a father but she didn't believe in her abilities to be a mother.

This was something they ought to have discussed before being married but their union was nothing of the conventional kind.

“Saint I have to think about it. Please.”

“What were you doing in London two weeks ago? And before you twist your mouth to deny it I had my security tell me they followed you to Charles De Gaulle and found you at the London Heathrow check-in desk before you went through security. You told me you were going to Napoli to check on work the contractors were doing on your shop.”

Each heavy thump of her heart was enough to knock her into unconsciouness. Naomi couldn't think straight and the suffocating guilt made it difficult to hide the tears that glossed her eyes.

In her panic, she'd forgotten about the discreet security personnel Saint had. She berated herself because if she hadn't been so insistent on having her aisle seat changed to the window, the security would never have known her destination.

“I'm sorry that I lied to you but I didn't want to tell you that I was going to see my parents. I knew that you wouldn't be in support of me doing that.”

Saint's earlier suspicious look resolved more at her answer, and that only added to her guilt. “You still should have told me. I'm your husband.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine now. So how was it?”

“It was okay.”

The unconvinced look on Saint Luc's face was back again. “It was okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I don't really want to get into it now,” she said fighting hard to remain eye contact with him.

“Are you hiding something from me Naomi?”

“Saint Luc you're being paraoid for no reason. You need to rest.”

At her answer, he said nothing and she promptly rose up from her chair saying she wanted to get something to eat to which Saint Luc followed suit saying he would have a closer look at her business plan later.

And later that night Naomi was sat round his waist giving him a back massage. She found the act itself and intimate as they made small talk with one another, even though she couldn't stop thinking about their conversation earlier.

These thoughts led her thinking about the marriage dynamic between Amirah and Saint-Yann. There were several instances in the week she was at their home that she was irked by what she saw, especially how Saint-Yann would demand something from her without any room for compromise.

“Hey what did you say?”

Too engrossed in her thoughts Naomi hadn't heard him speak the first time. She raised herself up as she felt him turn on his back to look up at her, and when she was about to move away he grabbed her thighs and pressed her down on his pelvis.

“I said I want us to make love.”

The look he gave her, she knew he would plant a baby that very night if she let him.

Naomi was fighting with all her might to keep her composure intact. Sighing she gently removed his hands on her laps and laid beside him instead.

From underneath the blankets she grabbed her husband's hand and kissed his palm softly. “Not tonight baby.”

And without giving him chance to respond or for her to linger any further on his hurt, handsome face she turned around.

What Saint-Luc couldn't see were the tears free-falling from her eyes as she clutched onto her belly.

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CHAPTER 26

''Alors, qu'est-ce qu'elle veut?"

(Translation: So what does she want?)

Saint-Luc swirled his whisky glass round looking at the bottomless pit that seemed to be his problems as he listened to the response on the other end of the phone.

“Pourquoi devrais-je accepter ces termes? ''

(Translation: Why should I agree to those terms?)

He grabbed onto the glass a little tighter as the anger started to consume him. The pounding in his head was getting worse each moment that went by.

“Et Etienne?”

(Translation: What about Etienne?)

And before anything else could be further said Saint-Luc heard loud desperate knocks from his office door.

“Oncle, oncle!”

(Translation: Uncle, uncle!)

“Pier laisse moi te rappeler. ”

(Translation: Pier let me call you back.)

Without waiting for his lawyer's response, Saint-Luc ended the call.

Placing the receiver back on the handle he got up from his seat. The twins knew not to disturb him when he was in his office but ever since the death of their grandmother he had been at extra alert to make sure they were okay.

Even though they were relatively young at six years old, they had had a special bond with their grandmother and it had been left to Saint-Luc to announce her passing and console them the morning after since their parents had been too distraught to do so.

Spending time with his niece and nephew always stirred his desire to have children.

He could just imagine how beautiful and prescious his and Naomi's babies would be. He had the primal need to procreate with her. To have his seed grow inside her and watch as her belly stretched to accommodate the labour of their love.

Sighing, he opened the door. The forced smile he'd had immediately dropped at one look at the twins' faces. “Quel est le problème?”

(Translation: What's wrong?)

“Maman et papa se battent.”

(Translation: Mummy and daddy are fighting.)

All prior existing problems vanished from his head in an instant. “Où sont-ils?”

(Translation: Where are they?)

“Dans la cuisine,” his niece said with tears glazing her eyes.

(Translation: In the kitchen)

Reassuring twins that everything would be okay, he ordered them to stay in their rooms until they were called to come out.

Saint-Luc braced himself for what he would see as he ran down the stairs heading to the direction of the kitchen.

From the living room he could hear screaming and shouting but before he handled the situation his eyes averted to the moses basket next to the couch. Seeing his baby nephew still sleeping he went in to the kitchen.

What he saw when he got there made his brewing anger return even more potent.

Just as he stepped inside the kitchen he saw Saint-Yann laying a slap on Amirah's cheek. Ignoring her pained gasps he pointed an accusing finger at her speaking in Arabic.

“la tas'alni min 'ay waqt mmadaa.”

(Translation: Don't ever question me.)

Enough was enough.

In a flash he had separated Amirah and Saint-Yann, putting her behind him and without hesitation delivered a blow to Saint-Yann's face.

“Êtes-vous fou Yanni?”

(Translation: Are you fucking crazy Yanni?)

He stumbled back but was able to retain his balance. Saint-Luc looked at his brother's face and couldn't believe he was his blood. There was no soul in his eyes.

In the next second Saint-Yann had punched him in his gut. He heard Amirah shriek as he doubled over in pain.

With renewed energy Saint-Luc stood up straight, and grabbed Saint-Yann by the throat before slamming him against the fridge.

He heard things falling and crashing around them but that was just background music.

Saint-Luc lost count of how many punches he threw but at some point thoughts of their mother came to mind.

A few days before her death, he had told him her and their father had always been proud of their achievements as their children but that now Saint-Luc now had to be the protector of their family.

Despite this, Ayda had said how their father and her had always been worried about the estranged relationship between both brothers, and Saint-Luc being the oldest needed to find a way to live in peace with his brother.

Yet it'd been barely a month since they'd buried their mother and they wre fighting like the worst of enemies.

After they'd come back from Abu Dhabi, Saint-Luc thought it would be wise to have his brother close to keep an eye on him, so Yann's firm had re-assigned him to Paris for a new project.

He thought that all of them living together would be the start to amending their broken relationship. Saint-Luc had felt closer to his brother, closer than he had been in many years the few weeks leading to their mother's death.

But now that was a thing of the past.

The piercing cries of his nephew was what broke Saint-Luc out the angry stupor he was tranced in. He looked from Saint-Yann's bloody face to Amirah's tear-stricken and swollen cheek to back to his brother again.

“Votre femme et ses enfants vont rester avec moi. Je vous donne quinze minutes pour emballer votre merde et partir. Sinon, j'appelle la police.”

(Translation: Your wife and children will stay with me. I'm giving you fifteen minutes to pack up your shit and leave. If not, I'm calling the police.)

Saint-Luc couldn't do it anymore. He could try to be his brother's keeper but he didn't need to keep him in his house.

Or it would be Cain and Abel all over again.

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