The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(40)
Opening the door, he says, “Nona’s in the big house tonight.”
I lift my face, smiling tiredly. “Cooking till the wee hours. She’s a saint.”
Sebastian carries me across the threshold, his foot nudging the door closed behind us. Pausing under the soft entryway light, he tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear as his dark eyes trace my features.
“I’m going to seduce you now, Candace.”
Everywhere that was cold is suddenly hot. And I’m not even a little bit tired. Swallowing, I nod. “Okay.” Then I freeze. “Wait—don’t you have a girlfriend?”
He chews his lower lip, then admits. “No. Haven’t so much as been on a date since I saw you last.”
“Then who’s the model in all the photos?”
His brows lift. “Stalking me, were you?”
“Answer the question!”
My obvious jealousy turns his smile smug. “A favor to my agent. Nice girl, but she isn’t you.”
“But Alex told me…” I trail off, frowning at the sudden guilt on Sebastian’s face. “He lied to me? Put me down!”
I thrash futilely in his arms, which only makes him laugh. “It was my fault.” His tone turns serious. “I’m sorry. Alex only lied because I asked him to. I wanted to know if there was a chance you still cared about me but was too chickenshit to just ask. Not gonna lie, I was glad to hear you hung up on him.”
“You lied to make me jealous? Unbelievable!” I thump his shoulder with my fist, but there’s no strength behind it. I should be angry—I really should. I’d cried myself to sleep that night.
But the truth is I’m struggling not to smile.
“Candace,” he says soberly, “I would tear down a mountain with my bare hands if I thought it would impress you. I’d lie to the whole goddamn world. You’re the only person on earth who makes me feel like I’m not wandering anymore. Please tell me you forgive me for being an absolute coward all those years ago.”
Emotion punches me in the chest, hot and heavy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear. All I needed to know.
Summoning a smirk, I prompt, “And for being an asshole when I laid my heart at your feet?”
His lips twitch. “That too. No more games. No more avoidance. Can you love me again?”
Tears blur my vision. “I never stopped.”
His lips find mine, urgent and hard and perfect. He tastes like coming home, like happiness and freedom. And I know that this, right here, is why I could never fall in love or commit to a relationship.
Since Sebastian elbowed his way into my heart so long ago, there’s never been room for anyone else.
“Upstairs,” I mumble. “Now.”
Later, I make him put on his letterman jacket.
26
Sweaty, elated, physically and emotionally spent, I drift between sleep and waking in Sebastian’s arms.
“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” I whisper into his throat.
His hand smoothes down my naked back. “This does feel a bit surreal.” Shifting his head back on the pillow, he looks down at me. “I meant what I said. Everything. I don’t want to hide my feelings for you anymore.”
My heart skips. “Okay. Me, either.”
I know he means telling family, not the world. That will come soon enough, whether we want it to or not. He’s too famous. Too visible in entertainment media.
A spike of anxiety sends goose bumps down my arms. My breath shortens as for the first time, the magnitude of what we’re committing to hits me. Flashing lights. Public image and appearances. Parties and red carpets and fake smiles and superficial conversations.
“Don’t think about it,” he says softly. “Stay in the moment with me. We’ll figure it out as it comes.”
“But—”
He gently palms my face. “Candace, listen. Since I was a kid, all I’ve known is acting. Playing the part that was expected of me, trying so hard to find my place in the world. For the first time, I want to be only myself—with you.” He pauses. “Has Nona ever told you what happened, why I came to the U.S.?”
I shake my head, confused by the shift in topic but curious in spite of myself.
His gaze lifts, going unfocused as he stares into the past. Even though we’re pressed together, a line of heat where our bodies meet, I feel his sudden distance. When he speaks, his voice is distant as well. Reedy and strained, as if he’s digging the words from a hard-packed ground.
“My father was a criminal. A con-artist. Most likely an alcoholic, but I didn’t know it then. When a con didn’t pan out the way he wanted, he would go into these week-long rages. He took his frustration out on my mother, and eventually—when I grew big enough to intervene—me.”
“Oh, Bast,” I whisper, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t know.”
He nods, gaze flickering to my face. “No one here knows except Nona and your parents. Not even Alex knows the whole story. For years after I came here, I couldn’t speak of it. Your mother eventually got me to see a therapist in Boston. He helped me process the trauma, or at least accept it and move forward.”
By the rigidity in his jaw, I know the story isn’t over. I have a sudden memory of Sebastian punching a kid at school who made a joke about him not having a mother. Shortly thereafter, my mom started driving him into Boston two evenings a month. We were told it was bonding time for them—which I stupidly resented.