Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
We get so worried about being pretty. Let’s be…pretty formidable.
—From Remy’s Sinister Affirmations
Remy
He’d gotten her tickets to the Miami Grand Prix. And not just any tickets. Invite-only Palm Club passes. Where high-profile guests from billionaires to royalty to entertainment stars hobnobbed.
With a shaking hand, Remy smoothed out the navy one-shoulder linen sundress Jared had instructed her was her outfit for Saturday, and fiddled with the lanyard around her neck.
It was humid in Miami, and Remy prayed her hair wouldn’t go limp.
Once she realized where they were going, the pressure to look worthy of being on Sebastian’s arm was almost paralyzing.
She’d never really worried about how she looked—patients in the OR and families in the shelter weren’t judging her on her hair or makeup. Sebastian, of course, looked like a million dollars in his linen pants and button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.
“This is just surreal,” she whispered, grasping Sebastian’s hand like a lifeline with the hand that wasn’t occupied with nervous fidgeting.
“Ready to go to the Red Bull Racing team garage?” He tugged her forward.
Remy froze, anchoring her feet to the ground. It would have been comical if she hadn’t been Freaking.
The.
Fuck.
Out!
“Th-the team garage?” she managed past her closing throat.
“Sure.” Sebastian lifted his shoulder, eyes dancing. Over the past couple weeks, he’d grown a short, well-groomed beard, and the overall effect was…dizzying. Her ladyparts in particular were in the fan club. “How else are you going to meet your favorite drivers?”
Remy opened her mouth but couldn’t produce a sound.
What happened next was almost as overwhelming as his casual announcement that she was meeting people she’d only ever seen on TV.
Sebastian pulled her to him, wrapping one arm low around her back and lifting her face to his as he eased her mouth closed with a knuckle, brushing it back and forth across her chin and along her jawline. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed the gentlest of kisses to her lips.
He hadn’t kissed her since their make-out session in the kitchen.
Not even on their public dates. There was plenty of handholding, though.
And Sebastian seemed to love playing with her hair, often running his hands through it and toying with the ends.
In fact, just such a moment had been captured by the paparazzi, and People had one of the nicer headlines—‘A hairytale ending for Bash?’ Both Sebastian and Melody had firmly advised her not to look at any online coverage of them, instead curating for her the most flattering of the stories.
It wasn’t hard to comply with their guidance. Remy had had enough trauma in her life to prevent subjecting herself to the sordid underbelly of the Internet.
Despite the arrival of guest bedroom furniture, Sebastian had remained in her room, in her bed.
But he hadn’t touched her beyond platonic, teasing nudges and occasional cuddles that—while wonderful—felt confusingly, frustratingly too platonic.
Every now and then, she caught his gaze dropping to her mouth, which somehow made her breasts feel fuller and heavier each time.
But their encounters had remained firmly G-rated.
Remy sighed, sinking into the embrace and trying not to be too freaked by how right it felt. As Bash brushed his lips back and forth across hers, chills erupted on her arms.
Just as she was about to open her mouth and indulge in the sensation of his tongue on hers, he pulled away, leaning back ever so slightly. She frowned but he merely grinned at her.
“Better? Can’t have you speechless for Filthy F1. You ready, my queen?”
Remy nodded, and then the biggest smile she’d ever experienced burst from her.
“How could I not be, my consort?”
Sebastian’s handsome, beaming countenance matched hers.
Oh, hell. He’d done it. Sebastian Wheatley had made her fall in love with him.