The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(28)
I laugh. “Fuck you.”
She chuckles. “How are you really?”
“I’m good,” I say, and strangely, I almost believe it. “It must be all this smog-free air. I’m sleeping better, drinking less coffee, walking and swimming a lot. Haven’t had a panic attack since I got here.”
Not a major one, at least.
“That’s awesome,” she says with rare solemnity. “I’ve been really worried about you.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about—”
“Stop apologizing,” she interjects gently. “You were out of your mind, and obviously Sebastian is a huge emotional trigger for you.” A pause. “Have you talked to him since the night you got there?”
“No. He made it pretty clear he wants nothing to do with me.” I take a deep breath. “You still haven’t told me about the gala last night.”
“Oh! Jesus, I’m sorry, you must be dying to hear. It was beautiful. Perfect. Bethany and the committee told me to pass along their thanks. They raised all the necessary funds and then some.”
I grin. “That’s great news. Did the governor make it?”
“Yep, and Alex and Thea were there. They're so freaking cute. I kept purposely running into them, shamelessly plugging my friendship with you.”
I frown. “Huh? Why? They know we’re friends.”
“I was angling for an invite to the wedding! You know, in case you find a plus one in the interim.”
I almost fall off the chair. “What?” I shriek.
Silence, then, “Oh fuck.”
A discomforting mix of hurt and joy slices through me. “Oh my God, my brother’s getting married? Was she wearing a ring?”
“Oh yeah. A solitaire, nothing extravagant. But it was blinding.” She clears her throat. “I think he asked really recently. Maybe even yesterday. Sorry, Candace, I didn’t think—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly. “I’m thrilled for them! I’m sure Alex will call soon.”
“He definitely will. Hey, before I forget, he mentioned something about Nona’s birthday that I thought you’d want to know.”
Thinking of the small, surprise dinner party I’m hosting tomorrow night for her, I ask, “Did he say he was coming? I texted him about it but he never got back to me.”
“I don’t think so, no, but he said someone might be flying back from Cambodia for it.”
For the second time, I almost fall off my chair. I sent the email invitation to Sebastian, of course, but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might actually show.
“Are you sure that’s what he said?” I demand.
“Pretty sure. Alex mentioned that he was bummed he didn’t think he could make it, but hoped Sebastian could get the time off from filming.”
As if the man in question might suddenly appear poolside, I wrench my head around and survey the backyard, then stare at the house for signs of movement. Seeing nothing, I relax back into the chair, swallowing against the pounding of my pulse.
“You okay?” asks Vera with thinly veiled amusement.
“Great,” I say dryly, “except for the heart attack I just had.”
She laughs. “Not surprising. The few times I’ve been in the same space with the two of you—when you’re not being sedated for screaming at him—the sexual tension is off the charts. Are you going to sleep with him again?”
“No,” I say immediately, while my thighs quiver at the prospect. Then my rational brain kicks on, reminding me of our last conversation. And this time, I mean it when I say, “No, I doubt it.”
“Okay,” she says skeptically. “I’ve gotta run. Sorry about spilling the marital beans. Love you.”
“No worries, V. Love you, too.”
We hang up. I turn again, staring at the house until my eyes burn. Finally, when I’m convinced no one’s lurking inside, I walk to the edge of the pool and dive in. Twenty-five laps later, I’m sane again.
The rest of the day passes without fanfare, save for a phone call from Alex late afternoon. After squealing my head off, I run into the guesthouse and put him on speakerphone. Nona and I happily listen to a play-by-play of the proposal. By the time the call wraps up, we’re both teary. If there’s anyone who deserves a happily ever after, it’s Alex.
Since my dad is out on the town, Nona and I don’t bother with the big house for dinner, instead sharing pasta primavera and warm, crusty bread at her kitchen table. After, we watch trashy television for a bit, and when my eyelids start sinking I trudge upstairs to bed. I pass out within minutes, curled in the bed that’s become mine, and it doesn’t cross my mind—not freaking once—that maybe I should be sleeping in my old room tonight.
Which is why, when a male body slides under the covers with me several hours later, I scream bloody murder.
19
Or rather, I try to scream. The sound that comes out of me is a laughably weak yelp. Sebastian curses as he leaps out of bed, stalks across the room, and flips on the overhead light.
In other circumstances, his expression would make me laugh. I can’t recall a time I’ve seen him as genuinely astonished.
“Candace? What the hell are you doing in my bed?”