Chapter 30
SAbrINA
"So how much have you told her?" asked a deep male voice.
Risking detection, I leaned forward and peeked through the slit between the doors.
Sebastian stood in the dining hall, speaking with a man clearly dressed in high clerical garb.
So how much have you told her?
Were they talking about me?
I'd stayed in my room, too unsure to leave and too restless to sit still. With no phone and my laptop still missing since the flight, I had nothing but silence and growing unease.
Just when I was ready to lose it, two maids appeared with my suitcases and the garment bags from the hotel.
The moment my fingers grazed cool silks and rich embroideries, I knew I’d lost another battle. The maids cooed over each piece, coaxing me into trying on a few despite my vow to resist Sebastian’s manipulation.
I could already see myself walking into the House of Diamanti in that silk Gucci dress—no longer a fresh grad, but someone they’d underestimate at their own peril.
Damn Sebastian for knowing that.
He’d won—again.
Eventually, a servant knocked to announce that dinner would be served once Sebastian finished his workout.
Another thirty minutes had passed in silence. I couldn’t stand the isolation anymore and decided to retrace my steps toward the dining room.
The palazzo was shaped in a large square with a sunlit courtyard at its center. I kept the interior windows on my right and the frescoes on my left, hoping I’d recognize the dining room when I saw it. If I reached the twin marble globes, I’d gone too far.
The halls smelled of pine and beeswax, with a faint trace of lemon. Frescoes lined the walls like silent judges. A few corridors glimmered with candlelight from old brass candelabras.
A low murmur of voices drifted from a partially open doorway. I slowed.
Crystal goblets and porcelain plates glinted in the soft light. This had to be the dining room.
I leaned closer to catch Sebastian’s reply—
My foot slid.
The ancient teak floor groaned.
Both men turned.
I bolted, but Sebastian caught me easily, his arm wrapping tight around my waist.
"It looks as if I’ve caught myself a little mouse."
My spine stiffened. "I wasn’t eavesdropping."
His chuckle ghosted against my ear. "Of course you were. But as you heard nothing that pertains to you, I’ll forgive you…this time."
We stood there, his chest against my back, his hands firm and warm. Each shallow breath made him feel more real.
Would he kiss me?
Would he push me against the wall and—
My cheeks burned.
Then, just as suddenly, he released me. The chill rushed in like punishment.
I hugged myself, rubbing my arms.
Sebastian shrugged off his jacket.
I shook my head. "Oh, no! I don’t need—"
Too late.
"I insist. The marble clings to the cold. It’s why we still use fireplaces."
The warm silk settled on my shoulders, his scent wrapping around me.
Before I could reply, the man in the Roman cassock stepped forward.
He extended a hand. "You must be the charming Sabrina Badalamenti I’ve heard so much about."
Sebastian stayed close. "Sabrina, this is my brother Arcangelo."
"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father Arcangelo."
"Strictly speaking, it’s The Reverend Monsignore Arcangelo Diamanti."
His grasp was firm and lingering.
When I tried to pull away, he didn’t let go. "My apologies."
"There is nothing to apologize for, Sabrina. Unless, of course, you’ve been a bad girl and want me to take your confession." He winked.
I stared, shocked, just as Sebastian stepped between us, breaking the contact.
"Brother, remember my warning," he said in a low growl.
Sebastian led me into the dining room.
The briny scent of shellfish and warm olive oil filled the air. Servants entered with silver-domed platters as Sebastian pulled out a chair for me.
He leaned in. "I hope you like Tagliolini ai Frutti di Mare. If not, I’ll have something else prepared."
I placed the linen napkin on my lap. "Please don’t trouble anyone. It smells wonderful."
Sebastian took the seat at the head of the impossibly long table. Arcangelo sat across from me.
His foot brushed mine—I think. I pulled my legs back, just in case.
"I hope you don’t mind being served a single course," Sebastian said. "I forgot to inform my chef I was returning. We’ll have a formal meal tomorrow."
Thank God. I wasn’t sure I could stomach more than a few bites with these two.
Sebastian poured wine into my glass.
I didn’t touch it.
My hands shook, so I clutched them in my lap and watched a servant dish out the pasta.
The sheer number of servants unsettled me.
I’d grown up with staff, yes, but not like this. This wasn’t comfortable money. This was old-world, dynastic wealth.
I stabbed a shrimp but didn’t lift it.
Arcangelo twirled noodles, sipped his wine, then turned to me. "I understand you’re about to be the newest member of our little family."
Sebastian’s fork hit his plate with a clang. I jumped.
He wiped his mouth, his eyes blazing.
Arcangelo kept smiling. "By that I mean your future employment at the House of Diamanti…of course."
I reached for the wine. The crisp acidity steadied me.
"Yes. I’m to be their new fashion stylist. One-month trial."
"That sounds exciting. Are you looking forward to working under Sebastian?"
I caught the double meaning.
Clerical robes or not, this man was no saint.
My cheeks flushed. I sipped again. Then again. Not smart—I’d barely eaten.
Sebastian reached across and took the glass from my hand.
"Arcangelo, you know my rule. No business talk at the table."
"I wasn’t aware we were talking business."
My stomach churned. The air was charged, like a Roman Forum debate where one misstep meant ruin.
I pushed back from the table.
Both men stood.
"I’m not that hungry, after all. Long week. Fashion show. I think I’ll turn in early."
Arcangelo opened his mouth—
Sebastian tipped the wine bottle.
It spilled down his brother’s cassock.
Servants swarmed.
I slipped out in the chaos.
* * *
I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the fire.
What the hell was that?
I’d never endured a more awkward dinner.
I flopped backward.
Italy.
Rome.
Oh crap—I’d forgotten to ask for my phone. Probably for the best. All I’d be missing were my mother’s increasingly nasty voicemails.
I still hadn’t decided if I’d tell her what was happening.
Should I try to find my father?
All I had was a name: Judge Delluci.
My mother had painted him as a monster.
But what if that was just her bitterness talking?
A ruined affair. An unwanted pregnancy. Exile.
Still…did I really want to see the man who'd never wanted to see me?
Probably not.
I was overtired. That’s when my thoughts spiraled.
What I should focus on was Sebastian.
I couldn’t stay here.
The tension was unbearable.
And I was starving.
Just as I debated sneaking to the kitchen, a soft knock came.
Sebastian.
He held a silver tray.
He lifted the cloche. "A selection of panini, fresh fruit, and biscotti with tea."
My stomach growled loudly.
He smiled. "Just in time."
He walked past me and set the tray near the fire.
"Sebastian, I…"
I wanted him to go.
I wanted him to stay.
It was like biting into a pepper.
First, there was that moment of anticipation, where the back of your tongue tingles and salivates.
Then, you open your mouth.
Your heart races.
You sink your teeth into the red flesh.
There’s a strange, almost imperceptible pop as you pierce the skin. Then comes the sting of the juice.
Your heart beats even faster.
Your cheeks warm.
The backs of your eyes sting as the burn intensifies.
You question what you were thinking—biting straight into a pepper.
The pain rises with every breath.
And yet…
Yet you somehow feel strangely alive in that moment.
As if you cheated death.
It’s painful and uncomfortable and stupid, and you regret it the moment you do it.
And then you take another bite.
He came close, brushing a curl behind my ear. "Don’t worry, mia piccola. I won’t disturb your sleep…tonight."
Had he emphasized tonight?
I leaned against the door. "Thank you. I’d like to be alone."
He cupped my cheek. "If you need anything, I’ll be sleeping right next door."
His kiss landed softly on my forehead.
As the door closed behind him, I frowned.
Next door?