Chapter Twenty-Two
Rosalia
The moment I enter the gala on Sebastian’s arm, the weight of curious gazes lands on me.
The air hums with a mix of excitement and judgment.
Whispers follow us across the marble floor, each click of my heels against the stone announcing my presence to people who silently question my right to be here.
The opulent room and high-society chatter remind me of the ever-present sense of being an outsider in such lavish surroundings.
I’m still that girl with the wrong shoes and the wrong accent, trying desperately to blend into surroundings that seem designed to expose every way in which I don't belong.
I press my free hand into the torso of my dress, wishing I’d chosen something less loud.
The red doesn’t feel elegant but garish under the glittering lights of the chandeliers.
I glance at the other women, all sleek and sophisticated in muted tones.
What had I been thinking? My grip tightens on Sebastian’s arm as nervous energy courses through my body.
“Hey,” he says softly, turning to face me. “You okay?”
I smile, but it probably lands more like a grimace. “I don’t belong here.”
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You belong with me,” he says firmly. “And I belong with you.”
His words settle over me like a warm blanket, easing my nerves. They can’t be true, not with my lies standing between us, but I’ll pretend. And, like in high school, I won’t let those who look down on me see me sweat.
I bite my bottom lip to keep my chin from trembling and nod. Hand in hand, we step further into the room, into the glitter and the glamour.
We mingle, and I find myself relaxing. Sebastian’s hand stays anchored at my side, providing comforting stability amidst the buzzing conversations where one person after another vies for his attention.
When admirers approach, women and a few men attempt to flirt with him.
He politely introduces me while pulling me close in a gesture that makes his interest clear.
An elegant older woman with black hair swept into a classic twist announces dinner will be served and asks everyone to find their table. I’m certain I’ve never met the lady, but she looks familiar.
In my three-inch red stilettos, I reach Sebastian’s ear and whisper, “Who’s the lady on stage?”
“My mother,” Sebastian says, offering his arm.
Ah, no wonder. I rest a hand on his forearm. “You have her mouth and eyes.”
He nods and then moves us toward the front of the room.
I’m no longer shackled by the weight of small talk and nerves, and my gaze wanders.
The interplay of the chandeliers’ light on the pine plank ceiling and the warm hues of the setting sun through the large windows is stunning.
I’m overwhelmed by the gala’s rustic elegance.
Stopping at a table next to the stage, Sebastian pulls out a chair for me. His body brushes against mine, and the fleeting contact ignites an electric tension along my skin. Warmth radiates from him, and I catch another hint of his masculine scent that makes my pulse quicken.
I sink into the chair, hyper-aware of his proximity. He takes a seat, and his knee brushes against mine under the table. A brush of warm wool against bare skin that sends electricity shooting up my thigh. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
The heat of his leg seeps through the thin fabric, and my breath catches.
I imagine those long fingers mapping the curve of my spine, those muscled thighs wrapped around mine.
My nipples tighten against my dress, and I quickly adjust my posture, crossing my arms casually over my chest while reaching for my water glass.
I press my legs together to contain the ache building between them.
Needing a distraction from my desire, I look around the table at those already seated. My heat dies instantly when my gaze snags on cold, assessing blue eyes. Thorne sits across from us, staring back at me.
My displeasure must show because his eyebrows flicker and then furrow.
I quickly smooth my features as Sebastian introduces me to everyone at our table.
First is his father, Louis. His hair is full gray but thick as his son’s.
He is the one who gave Sebastian his proud, straight nose and strong jawline.
On his other side is a man and a woman around his father’s age, whose last name I recognize.
They own a chain of very popular ice cream parlors.
Sebastian doesn’t introduce Thorne or his date. After what I learned today, I can’t blame him. Working alongside someone who stabbed you in the back has got to be torture.
The sick irony makes my heart hurt. I'm sitting here sympathizing with Sebastian's pain while knowing I might do the same.
What kind of person does that make me—feeling sorry for him while planning to hand over files to his backstabbing brother so he can force Sebastian out of the family company.
He started the damage, but I might be the one to finish it .
Thorne’s jaw flexes, and he looks at me. Uh-oh. “Hello, Ms. Manchester. I hope you are well.” He rests an arm around the chair of the beautiful auburn-haired woman next to him. “I’d like you to meet my date, Gina.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I tell the other woman. After learning what he’d done to Sebastian, I can’t share pleasantries with him, but there’s no reason to be rude to his date.
Thankfully, the small talk is cut short as an army of waiters descends on us with silver trays of food.
The chair next to Louis remains empty. Sebastian leans toward me, his suit jacket brushing my bare shoulder, his heat warming me even more.
“Don’t wait for my mother. She rarely sits down at parties, even when she’s not running them. ”
Seeing his family in one room, I wonder about the one missing. “Is your sister still in Thailand?” I ask.
“Yes. She’ll be there for another month.”
Louis swirls his drink. “Ms. Manchester, my son mentioned you’re renting one of our buildings.”
My stomach clenches. Which son? There is something in Louis’s tone, a casual curiosity that feels like a trap. I look at Sebastian, but he’s talking with the woman next to him.
“Yes, Mr. Blackstone. I have a bookstore on Whiskey Row.”
He nods. “How’s that going?”
“I’m committed to my business,” I say carefully. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it work.”
Louis raises an eyebrow. “Whatever it takes? That’s an interesting choice of words.”
My heart skips, then hammers. Does he know something? Has Thorne told him about their deal? The thought has my palms sweating.
I struggle to keep my expression neutral, but if Louis knows about my agreement with his son, would he tell Sebastian?
The thought of betrayal blooming in his eyes has nausea clawing up my throat.
He’d never forgive me. I’d become another person who used and lied to him.
It wouldn’t matter that I’m looking for alternatives.
The fact that I’d even considered betraying him would be enough.
Taking a deep breath and hoping my voice doesn’t shake, I say, “I’m fortunate, the community is supportive, and I’ve worked hard to build a loyal customer base, but my business is new… and things come up.”
Louis leans in his chair, gaze never leaving my face. “Fortune favors the bold, isn’t that what they say? I wonder, Ms. Manchester, just how bold you’ll be.”
My breath catches. I hear the insinuation. He knows something, and he is toying with me.
I look at Sebastian again, desperate for an escape. But he’s laughing at something the older woman has said, oblivious to my distress. Thorne’s mouth curves into a smirk, full of cruel amusement when our eyes meet.
I’m on my own. And I’m drowning.
“I hope it works out for you.” Louis leans back with obvious satisfaction, like he’s relishing in my discomfort. He’s as awful as Sade described.
“What works out?” Sebastian asks.
“Her little bookstore.”
“Dad,” Sebastian growls.
“Son,” Louis replies, and a sardonic chuckle follows. “I only mean that the first store is always precarious.”
“That is the truth,” agrees the man next to him. “Opening that initial business takes a daunting leap of faith that is fraught with uncertainty and potential pitfalls.”
Louis shifts in his seat, his brow rising. It’s a mirror expression of Sebastian when he’s amused. “Did you start a new venture? Your ice cream parlors have been a Kentucky staple since your granddaddy opened during Prohibition.”
The man’s smile is crooked and charming.
“Good thing too, since it allowed your granddaddy to hide his moonshine in the empty ice cream containers.” He turns to me.
“I was speaking of my daughter. She opened a shoe store about five years ago, specializing in handmade riding and style boots. She struggled at first, but now her business is booming. She just opened her fourth store last month. ”
The pride on his face makes me smile, yet beneath the surface, the tendrils of jealousy stir. The luxury of a safety net is a privilege I’ve never known.
When the server arrives with our entrées, I notice the sprigs of cilantro decorating the rim of Sebastian’s plate. Before he can react, I reach over with my fork and remove the offending herb, transferring it to my plate.
He catches my eye, and a look of surprise and warmth fills them. “You remembered,” he murmurs.
I shrug lightly. “You’d scraped it off your steak at Fantastic Fusion.” The memory of him pushing aside the herb with obvious distaste was a casual moment I’d filed away without realizing.
“It tastes like dish soap.” His smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way that sends a current of recognition through me. In this room full of people vying for his attention, he looks at me like I’m the only one who truly sees him.