Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
We’re not socks, but we make a great pair.
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
Arabella’s voice was faint but steady. “I had a horrible, scary childhood, Sebastian. Which was followed by an abusive marriage. And then I lost the two people who meant the most to me—the only true family I’ve ever had—in very close succession.”
The searing heat of rage flooded his system at her admission. He wanted to rip anyone who hurt her to shreds. He dragged his free hand down his face, fighting for composure. For the right words.
“Arabella, I—”
She cut him off with a brusque wave of her hand.
“I will tell you everything. But, not this weekend. Please.” Arabella’s eyes were pleading as they darted between his and around his face.
Like she was trying to read him, assess his response before he could even speak.
“This has been the best, most magical weekend of my life—even with all the paparazzi hounding us and taking terrible pictures of me.” Arabella gave a watery laugh—one that didn’t reach her sad eyes.
“And I don’t want to sully it by unearthing some truly ugly things.
I will tell you. Everything. But later. And maybe when I can hold Chicane. ”
Bash smiled softly at her. “Of course, my queen. On your time, when you’re ready.”
“And you can share with me, too. I don’t want this to be a single fare ticket on the trauma dump express.”
“Arabella,” Bash strived to make his voice as reassuring as possible. “We’ll both share the dark, hidden parts of our hearts, and we’ll both listen. And then maybe we’ll both snuggle our little prince. But only when you say it’s time, ok?”
She nodded, dashing away a rogue tear with the back of her hand.
“Now,” he said brightly, changing the subject and honoring her request to keep the special weekend carefree, “we have dinner reservations at nine. We can do that, or we can stay here, put on our jammies, and watch race coverage to your heart’s content.
Or maybe I’ll pretend to watch but I’ll really just watch you watching. It’s my new favorite spectator sport.”
“Sebastian!” She swatted at him, laughing and sniffling back unshed tears at the same time. “What do you want to do?”
His heart sped up as his cock thickened in his black linen pants. “Arabella, what I want to do is probably too X-rated for you right now.”
Her eyes got impossibly wider as her pupils dilated, dark obscuring the deep blue he loved to lose himself in. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Sebastian, I—”
“You don’t need to say anything in response to that, my queen. I know you aren’t ready for that. So, let’s return to the original question—a night out on the town in Miami or snuggling in with room service. What’s your pick?”
This time her laugh was bright and airy.
Arabella shook her head, a happy smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
No frozen face for her. “I think we should do both. How about we go to dinner—I’d love to experience a bit of Miami at night—and then we come back here, hop into that massive bed, and you can finish that shifter romance you started on the plane while I devour F1 coverage. ”
“Arabella Remington, my queen, your wish is my command.” Bash bowed dramatically, and then wrapped his arms around her and spun her as she gasped with laughter.
Holy hell. He was so gone for her.