Chapter 26
SAbrINA
Iwas thrilled he saw it the same way.
Why wouldn’t I be?
I was getting what I wanted: a chance at an amazing career as a fashion stylist in Europe.
Wild, untamed sex with an arrogant, domineering man was fine for romance novels and misguided one-night stands, but not for real life.
Sebastian didn’t love women; he consumed them.
He placed his finished espresso cup on the table behind him and approached me.
Then he stretched out his arm…to shake my hand.
“To our new business partnership.”
My lips were stiff with my forced smile.
I blinked back the strange tears that formed as I met his gesture and shook his hand firmly. “To our new business partnership.”
He broke the handshake. I lowered my arm and flexed my fingers, already missing the strong warmth of his hand.
“We will land soon. You should get ready.”
I smoothed my hand over my borrowed shirt. “Ready?”
He selected another cookie and winked. “For the paparazzi.”
“What paparazzi?”
“The ones who always greet the plane. Of course I won’t introduce you as the new star employee of the House of Diamanti on a dirty tarmac. We’ll do an official press release later, but you’ll want to look good for the photos.”
I pulled on the collar of his shirt. “Me? Why would they want a photo of me?”
“Because, Signora Badalamenti, you will be with me.” He gestured with a nod. “Second bedroom on the left has your things.”
My suitcase, purse, and the clothes he'd bought me lay neatly stacked on the bed. I stared at the garment bags with all the luxury logos, then at my reflection in the mirror.
The color on my face topped my cheekbones. My hair was a mess of tangles. I rubbed my fingertips under my eyes to clean up the smeared eyeliner, then I ran them over my swollen lips.
There was no denying it, I looked like a woman who had been thoroughly fucked.
I turned and opened my suitcase. Fishing through my clothes, I found my makeup bag and pulled out my foundation stick and brush.
With deliberate precision, I muted the color on my cheeks until they looked dull and borderline lifeless.
I dabbed foundation over the outline of my lips, turning the bright cherry into a neutral pink.
In no time at all, I had obscured all remnants of Sebastian’s lovemaking.
No, not his lovemaking—his fucking.
There was no point in adding even a shred of sentimentality to what we'd done. It was raw, animalistic sex. Sex that unlocked kinks I didn’t even know I had.
After selecting the Armani sheath dress, I slipped on a pair of red Ferragamo flats. Then I put on my set of rose-gold Bvlgari band rings, a barter payment for my very first stylist gig. The designer, bitter over a breakup, had passed them on to me, and I’d treasured them ever since.
I took another look at my reflection.
I'd tamed my hair back into a low ponytail. My makeup was simple, but professional. I looked every inch the polished stylist I needed to be.
When I returned to the lounge area, Oliver was there clearing the trays. His face gave no trace of judgment, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew exactly what had happened earlier.
I returned his amiable smile. “Please tell the chef lunch was wonderful.”
He bowed. “I’ll pass on your compliments. You look very nice, Signora Badalamenti.”
I smoothed my hand over my dress. “Thank you. I was told to be ready for the paparazzi.”
He paused, his hands full of trays and spoons. “The paparazzi?”
“Yes, Sebastian—that is, Signore Diamanti—told me the paparazzi always greet the plane.”
Oliver placed the trays into a rolling cart bin and bent to unplug the espresso machine.
“With all due respect, you must have misheard. Signore Diamanti takes security very seriously. There is no way a photographer would get past his private guards, and for obvious reasons, his travel plans are never made public.”
Why on earth would Sebastian lie?
To be absolutely certain, I asked, “So paparazzi never meet the plane?"
Just as Oliver opened his mouth to respond, Sebastian walked in.
“That will be all, Oliver.”
Oliver bowed and left without another word.
What could possibly be the purpose of making sure the paparazzi photographed us together?
I turned to ask Sebastian, but I lost my train of thought.
He had changed into a bespoke gray suit with thin purple pinstripes, accented by a striking purple silk tie. The sharp tailoring highlighted his broad shoulders and trim waist. The color of the suit complemented his olive skin and dark eyes, making them gleam with intensity.
His cell rang. Keeping his gaze on me, he answered.
“Have you done as I asked?” He checked his watch. “Yes. Fifteen minutes. Good.”
He ended the call without saying goodbye.
“What was that about?” I asked, my so-called American suspicion, as he liked to call it, rising.
He took my elbow and led me to the plane seats toward the front of the plane.
After I sat, he buckled the seat belt for me.
When the plane came to a rolling stop, I peeked out the small window to see a red carpet with stanchions and a crowd of paparazzi waiting.
Sebastian buttoned his suit jacket. “Ready?”
With a flick of my hand, I unbuckled my belt and stood. “I assumed you’d go out first and greet the photographers, and then I’d follow after they left.”
Without responding, he placed his hand on my lower back and led me forward.
The moment the plane door opened, chaos descended.
A wall of sound hit me first—shouts, rapid-fire questions in a cacophony of accents, and the sharp pop of cameras clicking in unison.
Bright flashes of light erupted, blinding in their intensity, each burst chasing away the shadows, only to leave me blinking in their wake. The air was crisp but carried a tang of jet fuel lingering from our landing.
Figures surged forward, a blur of motion that resolved into sharp-edged bodies jostling for position, cameras raised like weapons. The glassy lenses obscured their faces, but their voices pierced through the frenzy:
"Sebastian, over here!"
"Are you two together?"
"Sebastian, guardaci qui!"
"One shot for the cover, please!"
"è vero che state pianificando un viaggio insieme?"
"Is this the diamond girl from the party?"
"What’s your name, honey?"
"Puoi sorridere per noi?"
"Lei è il tuo nuovo amore?"
I instinctively shrank back, my shoulder brushing against Sebastian’s chest as I moved closer to his reassuring presence.
His hand tightened subtly at my back, a silent promise of protection amidst the storm.
The cameras tracked us relentlessly, capturing every nuance, every flinch. I could feel their gazes like a tangible weight, the intensity pressing against my skin, prickling my nerves.
I’d arrived in Italy.
The country I had sworn to my mother I would never, ever set foot in.
She had left this land under the shadow of fear, fleeing when she was pregnant with me, her life threatened by enemies she would never fully explain.
I grew up knowing Italy only through her stories—dark, chilling tales of betrayal, danger, and a past she had buried deep.
She was terrified of ever returning, and she made me promise I wouldn’t either.
Her voice echoed in my mind, sharp and certain: Promise me, no matter what, you’ll stay away. It’s not safe.
I’d meant it when I swore I would never go to Italy.
And yet, here I was, stepping onto the soil she had run from.
She would be furious.
But with Sebastian’s steady hand at my back, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
Not yet.