Chapter 17
VALENTINA
Sebastian’s house is obscene. I follow him up the curved staircase with my overnight bag bumping against my leg and my nerves stretched so thin they’re translucent.
It’s not just beautiful, or elegant, or even impressive, though it’s all of those things.
It feels less like a house and more like a Bond villain’s lair.
The floors gleam without a speck of dust. The lighting is soft and expensive, warming the glass and dark wood instead of leaving them cold.
Somewhere deeper in the house, water runs continuously from a fountain or an infinity pool.
Every inch of this place looks curated by a very expensive interior designer.
Then there’s the security. Cameras everywhere I look. I can only hope there aren’t any in the bathrooms. Being here makes me the rumors of his other endeavors seem like much more than just rumors.
Then I remember that Adrian had a lot of security too.
Not this much, maybe, but plenty. There were always men guarding his townhouse in Manhattan, and he had a private elevator with a code that changed every twelve hours.
When I first met him, he told me it was just because his family was rich.
He failed to mention where their money actually came from.
It’s ironic how trapped security can make you feel. I learned firsthand how easy it is to feel unsafe in a place like that. Security guards are trained to look the other way and never question what their boss does to his girlfriend behind closed doors.
“Valentina?”
Sebastian’s voice reaches me from a step ahead, low and controlled, and I realize I’ve stopped moving.
I look up at him quickly. “I’m fine,” I say quietly.
I know he hears the lie in it. He studies my face for one quiet second, then turns and keeps walking like he knows now isn’t the time to pry.
The guest suite is at the far end of the upstairs hall. Private, separate, impossible to stumble on by accident. Sebastian opens the door and steps aside to let me in first. The room is just as beautiful as the rest of the house, in that detached, extravagant way.
There’s a private bathroom through an open archway, all stone and glass and towels folded with military precision. Fresh flowers sit on the dresser, which are not white orchids, thank God, and just flaunting pale garden roses in a low bowl.
“You’ll have privacy up here,” he says. “The door locks from the inside.”
That’s a relief, at least. I’m too tired to speak. After the fear of the break-in, I don’t have much left in me. All I want is to crash on the king-sized bed and sleep for hours.
“If you need anything,” he says, “call downstairs or call me.”
He’s standing in the doorway like he’s trying very hard not to crowd the room, which for a man his size is probably a genuine effort. He looks as tired as I feel. The last few hours have been hard on us both.
“Thanks for all this,” I say, almost reluctantly. “I would’ve been fine at Nico’s, but this works too.”
He nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He sets my bag by the luggage rack, gives the room one last scan, then leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
Once I’m alone, I let myself freak out. This is crazy. All of it. This morning, my biggest concern was how to tell Sebastian I’m pregnant. Now I’m staying in his house because my ex is hunting me.
Right on cue, my breathing goes shallow and I break out in a cold sweat. In the privacy of the guest room, I finally have to process what’s happening, and none of it is good. Adrian could be anywhere. He was in my home. He touched my things.
I force myself to sit on the bed and breathe deep, calming breaths. My therapist told me to ride out the panic attacks. Let them happen, but don’t give them fuel. As if the reality of my life isn’t panic-inducing enough.
When the attack finally passes, I get up and go to the bathroom. I open a drawer and find it stocked with miniature toiletries. Not drugstore brands, either. Luxury stuff. I pull out a sample of face wash and scrub off the morning. I’m clearly not going anywhere today. No reason to pretend I am.
I snoop around the space, but it tells me nothing about Sebastian. He’s rich, which I already knew. So rich he probably keeps someone on payroll just to stock his amenities and has no idea what’s actually in his guest rooms.
I sigh and accept the inevitable. I’m going to be here a while. I open my suitcase and start unpacking. It takes only a few minutes, and I’m left feeling listless. I slip the empty suitcase under the bed and decide to take a self-guided tour of the house.
It’s massive. My bedroom is in just one wing. Three other bedrooms share the hall, though they look just as impersonal. Clearly guest rooms.
I head down the closest staircase and find myself in the kitchen. It’s bigger than my entire apartment in New York and probably cost more than the whole building. All chrome surfaces and a massive gas range.
“Can I help you with something?”
I jump and turn to face a kind-looking woman in black pants and a polo.
“I’m just looking around,” I answer sheepishly.
“Of course.” She smiles. “Would you like a tour of the house? Or maybe I can make you something to eat?”
“That’s okay,” I tell her. “I can just make myself something.”
She frowns at this. “None of Mr. DeLuca’s guests usually use the kitchen.”
The way she says it makes clear she’d very much prefer they stay out of it. Who am I to take work away from her?
“Well, in that case, do you have the ingredients for grilled cheese?”
She smiles and invites me to sit at the kitchen island. Her name is Adelina, she tells me, and she shares all about working for Sebastian. She’s been with the family for twenty years and became Sebastian’s personal chef five years ago. I nearly burst out laughing. Who the hell has a personal chef?
Another panic attack threatens, but I push it away as Adelina serves me the grilled cheese.
After that, I head upstairs and crash. Snooping can wait. My body is wrecked from the insane stress of the last few days. I need a break.
Unfortunately, I’m riddled with nightmares.
I wake in a cold sweat and realize it’s already dark outside.
I must have been more tired than I thought.
I grab my phone and find a wall of messages.
Nico checking in to see how it’s going at Sebastian’s and promising to come over tomorrow.
Gia asking how telling Sebastian went. Tessa asking where I am, multiple times. I do feel bad about that.
My stomach growls, and I know I need to eat, even though my body feels like lead. When I open my bedroom door, I find a tray of food waiting and a bottle of water. I’m touched from the kind gesture, whether it’s from Sebastian or Adelina.
I scarf down the food and go right back to sleep. When I finally wake for real, it feels like I never slept at all. Morning comes pale and unfriendly through the curtains. My mouth tastes sour. My stomach turns the second I sit up.
I make it to the bathroom and throw up hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. God, I’m not going to get used to this pregnancy thing any time soon.
I shower, get dressed, and head downstairs, still shaky. In the kitchen, I find a tray set out on the island with plain crackers, a pot of ginger tea, a sliced lemon, and a little dish of honey.
“Good morning, Ms. Moretti,” Adelina says cheerfully, walking into the kitchen. “Mr. DeLuca mentioned you might feel nauseated this morning.”
Again, I’m unexpectedly touched. Then incredibly annoyed. I know it’s not fair, but I hate how well he anticipates my needs.
“If you’d like me to make you something else, I can do eggs or toast.”
“No, this is good. Thank you.”
She nods and disappears again.
I eat two crackers standing at the island and sip the tea slowly enough to keep my stomach from revolting. It helps.
I grab another handful of crackers and walk out the front door expecting to leave in my car. Instead, a black SUV idles at the base of the steps. The driver climbs out the second he sees me, blocking my path.
“Ms. Moretti.”
My stomach drops again, though this time it has nothing to do with pregnancy.
“Mr. DeLuca asked me to drive you.”
“That’s okay,” I say, waving him off. “I can drive myself.”
“I’m under instructions to stay with you today,” he says, making it clear I don’t have a say in the matter.
Then Sebastian steps out the front doors behind me, dressed in a dark suit that probably costs more than my rent. His tie hangs loose in one hand, hair still damp from the shower.
“You’re not serious,” I say to him.
He pauses. Then he looks from me to the driver and smirks in that annoying, knowing way of his.
“This is for your own protection, Valentina,” he says calmly. “Please don’t argue with me about this.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my car,” I remind him.
“That we know of,” he shoots back. “You have no idea how long your ex has been stalking you. For all you know, there’s a LoJack on your car.”
“Which doesn’t matter, because he already knows where I work,” I snap.
He cocks his head in surprise.
“He sent me flowers there,” I explain quickly.
He nods, a quiet hum in his throat. “All the more reason you need security,” he says. “Davis will drive you and stay with you at work. It’s just a precaution.”
I roll my eyes and march down the steps to my own car instead. He says something behind me, but I don’t catch it. When I pull out, though, Davis is tailing me in the SUV. So one way or another, I don’t have a choice.
When I get to the office, I’ve got meetings, vendor calls, a venue walkthrough for a future client, payroll approvals, and a stupid number of emails waiting for answers. I don’t have time to be furious with Sebastian.
At least, not until I leave for lunch and see Davis still parked outside my building in his SUV. This is too much.
The rest of the day, I steal glances out the window, but Davis never moves. He stays outside my building all day. I guess I should feel lucky he doesn’t insist on sitting in my office. That would invite a million questions I don’t want to answer.
For the last hour of work, I plot how to shake Davis. But when I walk outside, it’s Sebastian waiting for me. He’s leaning against the same black SUV with his sleeves rolled and his jacket off, watching the door like he knew exactly when I’d come out.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, already irritated.
“I wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he says.
Something in his tone tells me not to push. An icy cold spreads down my spine as I imagine a million things Adrian might have done to put Sebastian on high alert. I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. So I nod and slide into the SUV. I don’t know why, but it feels like the safer choice.