Chapter 29
Emma
“There’s only one bed.”
“Yep.”
“Again.”
We’ll have several more nights sleeping together. And unlike the last few days, I’m feeling better, so I probably won’t be passing out before my head even hits the pillow.
I bite back a smile.
“It’s almost like someone up there wants us to sleep together. Which tracks because I believe in a benevolent God.” He grins as he bounces on the bed and stretches out his long, jeans-clad legs.
It’s still so new, his flirtatious words. He’s never been that Sebastian to me before. He’s been my boss. And lately, he’s been my protective friend, who, yes, sometimes shares my bed.
But this version… The version of him that suggests he’s always wanted to sleep with me. The version of him that licks ice cream off my skin. That’s new, I think shakily.
Needing to settle myself, I walk over to the wooden doors to the balcony and fling them open. I gasp with delight. “This is perfection. I feel like I’m at a nineteenth-century French chateau.”
He looks over at the view lazily. Then he stares above him. “And, even better, there are naked people on the ceiling.”
I step back into the room and look up, following his gaze. Sure enough, there’s a mural that depicts some sort of Greek myth or biblical story showcasing a few loincloths and a lot of skin. “It’s beautiful. It’s art,” I defend.
“They’re naked.”
“And? Are you ten? I didn’t think you would be scandalized by a mural.”
“I’m just saying. Putting the bed directly under the frolicking nudists is a choice.”
I try not to laugh but fail. Sharing a room should be awkward, but after spending that time at my apartment, it’s not.
“How formal do you think dinner will be? They have a butler. I’m not sure if I have anything butler-formal.”
I flip open my luggage and blink, praying the clothes in my black rolling suitcase are just a mirage. A trick of the light. An optical illusion caused by my temporary brain injury.
But even after blinking rapidly, the clothes remain. “What did you do?” I ask in horror. “I packed my bag. With nice things, appropriate for a weekend in Napa. But these”—I pull out the thong he teased me about this morning—“these are the clothes you chose.”
He walks over and inspects the contents in confusion. “But I thought you said you repacked.”
“I did!” I say in panic. I rummage through the bag, and, as I feared, all my suitable outfits are gone. “Or, well, I didn’t bother unpacking yours. I just packed a new one.”
My skirts and dresses of a tasteful length and pretty blouses are nowhere to be found. And where the hell are my sensible, comfortable underwear? The type of panties that cover your entire ass and can get you through a busy day without chafing.
I look closer and swear.
“Duncan grabbed the wrong bag! He brought the suitcase you packed. I have two identical black ones, so I didn’t notice.
” I turn to face him, my hands on my hips, and glare with all the menace I can muster.
At least I like to think I’m menacing, but at five foot three, I know that’s probably my delusion.
“Crap,” he says. But then holds a hand up. “Why the hell do you have two identical bags?”
“It made it easier when we had back-to-back trips scheduled with no time between them. I had a system,” I defend. “And don’t look at me that way. If you hadn’t packed a suitcase full of these ridiculous clothes, there wouldn’t have been any confusion. Why do you have to be such a menace?”
“I’m really sorry, Em,” he says, looking sincerely remorseful. But then he ruins it by perking up. “Maybe there’s a silver lining. I bet the clothes you planned to bring were the type you’d wear to a business conference. I bet nothing was appropriate for this house party.”
“And this is?” I grit out, holding up a red dress with a deep décolletage.
He smiles at it admiringly. “Frankly, I’m surprised you own such a beauty. Mancini’s old-school. Look around. He likes a little glamour.”
“We’re not going to dinner in a bordello,” I say in horror.
“And you call me dramatic. You’ll look gorgeous. Come on, I dare you.”
I narrow my eyes.
“If you hate it so much, why was it even in your closet?” Sebastian blusters.
“It’s not mine.” My stomach does a flip, imagining having to show up to dinner more bare than dressed.
“It’s Sadie’s. And I don’t actually hate it.
It’s one of her clubbing outfits. You know, the type of clothes a college student wears for a night out in the city to get drunk and get laid.
It’s not what someone wears to dine with the rich and prestigious. ”
I pull out a tiny pair of jean shorts and a string bikini, longing for my tasteful one-piece suit.
“And these are Sadie’s as well. I would look ridiculous in them.
If you ever were to wonder why I quit being your assistant, this is it.
Because you don’t understand boundaries.
Regardless of whether or not this was a mistake, you forget that this isn’t just a party.
For me, it’s the equivalent of a job interview with Caitlin. And I need to make a good impression.”
Sebastian’s mischievous grin disappears. I refuse to respond to the starkness in his eyes. I’m too worried about looking like the poor relation in front of the other guests.
I get a flash of memory. It was Abigail Menor’s eleventh birthday party.
She was the popular girl of the sixth grade.
And it was the party to attend. I somehow got an invitation.
I agonized about what to wear. I’d recently grown a few inches and I had no dresses that fit, and we had no money to buy something new.
I even thought about shoplifting. In the end, I chickened out and chose the best out of bad options.
When I arrived, I knew I was utterly, horribly wrong in what I had on.
All the girls were in pretty new dresses, the kind that show up in Teen magazine.
Me? I was in a cheap polyester Easter dress from years ago.
It was tight across the bodice and way too short because it was meant for a child, not a growing tween.
They all laughed at me behind my back, and I had to walk with careful precision and not bend down, for fear of showing all the mean girls my underwear.
Looking at the bag full of skimpy clothes, I’m right back there.
Sebastian jumps off the bed and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Em.
It was spontaneous and stupid. I saw those hanging in your closet and thought maybe that’s what you wore when you weren’t at work.
And I wanted to see you in something that wasn’t like a…
uniform. I wanted you to have fun. And when I saw that red dress, all I could think was how it was your color.
So I just started packing. I wasn’t serious.
I thought maybe it would give you a nudge.
That you’d keep a few items.” All the while he’s talking, he’s hugging me, loosening the anxiety.
I fight him at first, but it feels so damn good.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t be so upset. It’s just clothes. And what does it matter if snobby people think I dress like a party girl? But imagining going downstairs, surrounded by all those people and feeling… lesser… has anxiety shooting through me.
“I had no idea that Duncan would grab the wrong bag. I’ll fix this.” Sebastian vows. “Give me an hour and a half, and I’ll have an entire wardrobe for you to choose from. And if, after that, you still want your other clothes, I can have them flown in and they’ll be here in the morning.”
Concern and regret are evident on his face. “I’ll make anything happen for you, baby.”
A rush of warmth suffuses my face. There it is again. That word. Baby. It confuses the hell out of me.
“And,” he continues, “you wouldn’t look ridiculous. You’d be freaking hot in that red dress. And in that bathing suit. And in every single item I packed,” he says with an intense look that leaves me breathless. “But you look amazing in everything.”
He called me hot. Does Sebastian really think I’m hot?
“Sadie can get away with wearing that stuff. Not me.” My words are muffled against his shoulder. I breathe deeply. Damn. He smells so good.
“That’s bullshit. You can wear whatever you want.”
I reluctantly pull away, aware of just how intimately we’re standing together.
I busy myself picking through the clothes, shaking my head more and more at each item. I hold up a lace thong with a raised eyebrow.
“No?” he asks hopefully.
I glare. “I’m going to get you back for this Girls Gone Wild suitcase.”
He swallows, looking nervously at me. “It’ll be fixed,” he promises. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”
Because he has the kind of unlimited resources where you can make a phone call and an entire wardrobe gets delivered to the door.
And that’s when it strikes me—he’s going to fix it.
Not me. Normally, I’m the one paddling madly to smooth things over and make magic happen for other people.
And now, someone else—likely Matt—will be my fairy godmother, and I’ll get to reap the rewards, in the guise of a wardrobe for the week likely far nicer than I could ever afford myself.
“I’ll be waiting. In the bath. And when I come out…” I say, warning in my voice.
“When you come out, you’ll have all the clothes you would ever need,” he finishes. “And more.”
I nod and step into the sumptuous black-and-white-tiled bathroom, looking at the large claw-foot tub in anticipation. If anything will calm me, it will be this.
I close the door with a firm click and unzip my dress, let it fall to the cool tile, and adjust the taps of the tub, adding gel into the water that creates bubbles and makes the entire bathroom smell of gardenias.
I remove the rest of my clothes and sink into the water with a deep sigh.
As I’m soaking, I hold out my hand and admire the sparkle of my temporary engagement ring, wondering what Sebastian meant by the phrase and more.
I’m hyperconscious that he’s on the other side of the door. I realize I never locked it. What would he do if he walked in and found me, clad only in bubbles? I run my hand over my breasts, shivering as awareness shoots throughout my body and to my center.
A knock sounds at the door. “Emma?”
I splash and cover myself madly, my heartbeat loud in my ears at Sebastian’s voice. What is this witchcraft? It’s as if he knew what I was thinking.
“Yes?” My voice is high and unnatural.
“Can I come in?”
“No! I’m naked.”
“Not really a deterrent, Em.” His laugh is low and dark and knowing. It’s a New York street in the rain-soaked night. It’s whisky on ice. It’s a long drive at 2 a.m. with only headlights illuminating the road ahead.
I run a hand over my face, the water suddenly too hot. “What do you want?” I sound eager. Breathless.
“I just need to tell you something.”
“Go ahead.”
The soundproofing in this historic place must not be great because I hear him let out a loud breath from the other side of the door.
“I-I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry about the mix-up.
If I ever fuck up—and let’s be honest, I probably will because the last thing I am is perfect—I will use everything in my power to make it right.
Always. There will never be a time when I won’t move the earth or stars for you. ”
“O-okay,” I breathe. I can’t understand this. Nothing adds up. Nothing computes. It’s as if somewhere between the hospital and here, the entire landscape of our relationship has shifted. But I only know our old coordinates.
“I-is this about the clothes?” I ask, knowing it can’t only be about that but needing him to spell it out for me.
“It’s about more.”
There’s that word again. More.
Before I can get up the nerve to ask him what he means, he says, “I promised to meet up with Austin Cole before pre-dinner drinks on the patio. He worked with me on The Family and wants to catch up. But give me a call when you’re ready. I can come back and escort you down.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I can figure out how to get downstairs without getting lost.” I hope.
“If that’s what you want. I’ll see you down there. And, Emma?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t wait.” Then a click as the door to the hall opens and shuts.
And once again, it’s just me and the confused whirl of my thoughts.