Page 122 of The Pact
“It’s certainly not staying away!”
“James, calm down,” my mother scolds.
“May I remind you, Saint and I have been friends for years? And honestly, if you didn’t want us being with footballers, then you shouldn’t have encouraged us to work for the family business, where we’re literally surrounded by them every day,” I state loudly and then turn to Saint, who is looking down at the floor as if he’s second-guessing every decision he’s made over the last week.
“Don’t be smart, Presley Grant. You may be a grown woman, but I can still question your decisions,” he says, pointing at me, but Mom grabs his arm to cool him down.
“I think what your father is concerned about is what this means for your future. If you’re friends, then this is a marriage of convenience. Presley, is that what you want? You’re not getting any younger, and if a family of your own is something you’re planning for?—”
“Saint is my family,” I interrupt her.
Saint’s head pops up. I give him a small smile.
“He’s the greatest man I’ve ever known and the best thing that’s happened to me. He needs me now, and I can’t imaginedoing anything else in this life than being here for him. As his wife. I don’t see this as just a marriage of convenience, but a marriage of dedication. You know Saint. You know me. You know that if we made this decision, we didn’t take it lightly, and we took it with the best of intentions. Saint and the kids are my whole world right now. What tomorrow looks like I can worry about later. For now and the foreseeable future, this is my everything.” I take Saint’s hand in mine. “This is what I want.”
I’m not about to mention the foundation or my trust right now, because that will add fuel to the fire.
Saint’s scowl turns to a small smile as I lock eyes with him and let him know with everything in me that I mean it. All of it.
My dad doesn’t budge. He just stands there, looking at my and Saint’s joined hands and processing our words.
Mom, however, looks like she’s about to cry … in a good way. She lets go of Dad’s arm and claps her hands in front of her, hiding a growing smile behind her hands.
“Well”—she steps forward with her arms outstretched—“I wish you had included us in your decision-making, but I suppose you two know what you’re doing.”
She hugs me, and I fall into her embrace.
Then she reaches for Saint. “Welcome to the family.”
Saint’s shoulders drop with relief, and he gives her a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant.”
My dad steps closer then and comes over to us. His footsteps slow as he walks up to Saint with the determined face of a man who has run a billion-dollar business and owns an NFL franchise team. He’s a good man, but he can be callous. At this moment, I’m not sure what side of my dad Saint is about to get.
Dad holds out his hand. Saint stares at it for a beat before taking.
“I think you can call us James and Kate now, don’t you, son?”
I nearly burst into tears as my dad rests a hand on Saint’s shoulder and adds, “Maybe not in front of the team.”
My mom waves him off, then turns back to Saint. “You were already family, but this just makes it more official.”
I can see a flash of emotion cross his face, so I step beside him and take his hand, again, in mine.
My father clears his throat.
“So,” he says, voice a little gruffer. “Courthouse?”
“Yes,” I answer simply.
My mother’s brows lift, like she knows there’s more to the story.
Saint’s mouth twitches, and she sees it.
“Okay then. We’ll still do something,” she says.
“Mom—”
“Nothing big,” she says. “But we should do something. A dinner celebration of sorts. It would make me and your dad happy, and besides, it will only help your case.”
