Chapter 10
SAbrINA
Iwasn’t supposed to be here.
My phone screen glowed in the dim light of the cafe. A few heads turned as I slammed it facedown against the tabletop.
It was one minute past when I was supposed to meet Sebastian Diamanti’s driver.
Hating myself for doing it, I flipped the phone back to face up and hit the screen again.
Two minutes past.
The screen dimmed.
Doubt crept over me as my fingers clenched around my glass.
I shouldn’t have disobeyed Sebastian and come to this party instead.
Disobedience to his commands wasn’t really an option.
He’d made that clear earlier.
But something deep inside me rebelled against the idea of being his possession. I’d been told to obey my whole life—by my mother, by fear, by men like him. Not tonight.
I wasn’t sure if I was being brave or reckless, but I knew one thing: I couldn’t let him win.
The table erupted in cheers as one of the seamstresses stood to make a toast. “à nous, à notre succès, et à cette incroyable aventure ! On l'a fait, et on a survécu! Santé!”
One of the models, who was celebrating with us at Café Le Petit Bonbon in the Latin Quarter of Paris, leaned over to translate. “She said, ‘To us, to our success, and to this incredible adventure! We did it. We survived! Cheers!’”
I smiled my appreciation as we both raised our champagne glasses in salute before drinking.
Once again, I tapped my phone screen.
Five minutes past.
I drained my glass and held it out for more.
Then I drained that too.
I closed my eyes as the room spun slightly.
A server arrived with platters of food for our group.
They carefully placed them on the various round white marble tables we had pushed together. We scurried to move glasses and ashtrays out of the way to make room.
After two weeks of surviving on stale craft service sandwiches, we’d pooled our money together for a treat.
Everyone eagerly tore off pieces of warm, crusty bread as they passed around the cheese platter filled with Mont d'Or, Comté, Brie de Meaux, and Bleu d'Auvergne cheeses served with honey, fig jam, walnuts, and dried apricots.
There were also buttery, mini Croque Monsieurs and savory Madeleines stuffed with fresh thyme and Gruyere.
Since I was already buzzed, I needed to eat something before I drank any more champagne. I pushed a handful of truffle fries onto my plate, loving the earthy, mushroom scent.
Too bad they tasted like sawdust in my mouth.
Again, I hit my phone screen.
Ten minutes.
The door opened with a sudden gust of cold air. I spun my head so quickly, my neck cramped, sending a sickening rush of blood along the crimped muscle.
It wasn’t Sebastian.
Of course it wasn’t. The man didn’t have mythical powers. He wasn’t going to magically track me down at this tiny cafe in Paris.
I gulped more champagne to moisten my dry mouth.
Did Sebastian know yet that I'd stood him up?
How long would his driver wait until he realized I wasn't coming? Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes?
My gaze wandered to the window to stare out into the bright autumn night. The romantic lights of Paris twinkled while couples snuggled close against the chill as they hurried past the cafe window.
I looked at my phone again.
Twelve minutes.
I couldn’t imagine Sebastian Diamanti sending a "where u at" text after being stood up.
I flipped the phone over. I needed to stop checking. I'd already cast that die.
There was a darkness about Sebastian Diamanti.
It was hard to discern—at first. All I saw was a tall, handsome stranger with dark eyes, thick wavy hair, and an angular jaw that could cut glass.
His Italian accent mesmerized me as he stretched out vowels, as if he were savoring them on his tongue, and made me want to taste the words on his lips. And the low purr whenever he rolled his “r”s clenched my ovaries.
The way he took charge of the situation and insisted on playing the knight in shining armor made me want to swoon.
It was as if he'd stepped right out of the pages of a book.
I’d met a real-life Italian Mr. Darcy.
Then the situation had rapidly changed.
My first hint of trouble was in the way he stared after me when I'd entered the museum. There was just something about his rigid stance, as if he were forcing himself to let me go.
I should be grateful to him for saving me from édouard’s wrath, but it was the way he'd saved me that left a sour taste in my mouth. Again, I had the distinct impression he was somehow leashing what would have been a more violent reaction. He was holding back. Barely.
The way he'd insisted on my wearing his diamond and joining him at the pre-party. I couldn’t shake the feeling he was somehow marking me as his new possession.
Then there were all the whispers and wary looks while he'd ushered me around.
Mafia.
Dangerous.
Violent.
It was too much.
I grazed my still-swollen lips with my fingertips.
And that kiss.
Holy hell, that kiss.
Never in my life had I been kissed with such all-consuming intensity. As if he were inhaling my very soul. Overly dramatic, but still…that kiss!
I gave myself a mental shake and took another gulp of champagne before I reached for the almost empty bottle nearby.
Sebastian Diamanti was not a man to be trifled with. He was the very walking definition of playing with fire, and I’d made the right decision to run as far away from him as possible.
Hating myself for it, I flipped my phone back over. The screen lit up.
Twenty minutes.
There was no way he didn’t know that I wasn’t coming by now.
How would he react?
It was terrifying enough to be near such palpable anger, let alone be the object of it. What would that even feel like? To have such controlled rage focused in on me. Surely, I’d burn to a cinder just from his glare.
My hand shook slightly as I poured more ill-advised champagne into my glass.
Well, it was too late to worry about it now.
The damage was done.
Maybe he wouldn’t even care?
Maybe I was one of a dozen women he'd invited to dinner? It was, after all, fashion week in Paris, and he was a wealthy and famous man. It was reasonable to assume there were more than enough women throwing themselves at his feet.
I thinned my lips and paused in raising the glass to my mouth. There was absolutely no reason why that thought should bother me. Instead of being jealous, I should be grateful to those women for saving me.
And make no mistake, while Sebastian Diamanti might have saved me earlier, by ignoring his command to join him later, I was certain I had just saved myself from him.
After looking at the screen one more time, I once again flipped the phone down on the table.
It was the right decision.
It was just the people pleaser in me that worried over how Sebastian would react. That was all.
I should just forget all about my brush with darkness and focus on the party and my new friends.
Forcing a smile, I raised my glass when someone else made another toast.
The lighting technician, Henri, who had helped me set up the lights in my photography studio, placed a plate of radishes in front of me. “You have to try this.”
I laughed. “Radishes? I hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve tried radishes before.”
Henri winked. “Not the French way.”
Unease settled in my stomach. He’d been flirtatious throughout the setup of the show. I’d flirted back but more in a co-worker, teasing fun, non-romantic kind of way.
Henri smeared some whipped butter on the radish and then sprinkled a dash of sea salt on it before holding it up to my mouth. I didn’t appreciate the intimacy of the awkward act, but I also didn’t want to seem rude.
I scanned the guests at the table to see if there was anyone who could run interference for me.
No one paid us any attention. Mark hadn’t joined us, and Yelena had already left after her burly Russian husband whispered in her ear.
Whatever it had been, it made her blush, and they'd immediately cut out.
Henri laughed while he moved the radish closer to my lips. “Go ahead and try it. Trust me. It’s good.”
A rush of cold air when the cafe door opened made me shiver. I leaned forward to accept the offered bite, figuring the longer I waited, the weirder it would become.
Then a voice behind me growled, “Don’t you dare open your mouth.”
A hand clamped over my wrist, hard enough to bruise, as lips brushed my ear. “Let’s go, Sabrina.”
Instinctively, I pulled back.
He clutched me tighter.
It should have repelled me. But instead—it burned.
What was wrong with me?
I was so fucked.