Chapter 31
Emma
“You wore it,” Sebastian murmurs.
We follow the group heading into the dining room for dinner.
I’m disappointed that we’re eating inside, especially when I only just arrived on the patio.
I’d hoped to spend more time in the postcard-perfect setting.
I’ve never been to a winery as an actual guest before.
At least Maricella assured me that tomorrow night we would dine alfresco.
I touch the necklace. “I can’t believe you did this. It must have cost a fortune. I’ve never seen a sapphire this color blue before. It’s so light, it’s almost translucent.”
“Worth it. The sapphire matches the color of your eyes. It’s a very rare shade. I saw it at the jewelry store and needed to see it on you.”
My breath hitches at his words, and I stumble. He steadies me, which doesn’t help me regain my breath.
Sebastian’s expression shifts. “As my fiancée, it’s only natural you’d have good jewelry,” he explains lightly.
Right. Fake engaged. Of course. His gaze lingers on my face and eyes, and then it shifts down to my chest, where the large pendant sits, making me uncomfortably aware of my on-display cleavage.
I put my hand on Sebastian’s arm, my expression turning serious.
“It’s not just the necklace. I want to thank you for all the clothes.
For everything. It was way above and beyond,” I say.
“It meant a lot to me. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.
Not even close. It wasn’t about the wardrobe, though.
It’s that you saw how upset I was. And cared,” I say, feeling vulnerable.
“You deserve it all, Em,” he says quietly. Then the right side of his mouth tilts up. “You’re fucking incredible in that dress. But I’m surprised you decided to wear it.”
I shrug. “I don’t like to be too predictable.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’d never be that. Especially not lately.”
“Ditto.”
I exclaim softly when we enter the dining room because it’s dazzling.
The decor is extravagant, with Versace place settings.
It’s lit by dozens of gold candelabras placed strategically down the table.
Despite its large size, the room feels intimate, painted deep maroon, with an enormous chandelier hanging theatrically above a long mahogany table that’s big enough to seat thirty.
Little beacons of light splash across the room.
If someone told me I’d wandered onto the set of a vampire movie, I wouldn’t be surprised. A vampire movie with A-list celebrities.
Suddenly, my crimson dress with the cut-out back and plunging neckline feels just right. I think of the suitably professional wardrobe I’d originally packed and understand a little better why Sebastian thought this wouldn’t be too out of place.
I’d pictured people in tasteful summery resort wear, but that’s definitely not the vibe of this party.
“You’re Emma Reynolds, right? Sebastian’s fiancée?” The woman sitting opposite me at the opulent table leans in so she can be heard amid the din of conversations surrounding us.
I pull my hair behind my ear self-consciously, look at Sebastian on my left, who has turned to chat with the man on his other side, and nod without elaborating.
She seems to mistake the reason for my reticence. “I’m sorry.” She makes a face. “I hate it when people do that.”
“Do what?” I ask, cocking my head.
“Define a woman by the man she’s associated with.” She rolls her eyes and points to herself. “Daughter of the great Dario Mancini,” she says wryly.
“Oh! You’re Caitlin,” I cry. “I would have recognized you, but you’ve changed your hair.”
She nods with a self-effacing grin. “It’s very clichéd of me. New breakup, new look.” She shakes her head back and forth. Her straight-edge glossy brown bob swings with her movement. She used to have long platinum blonde hair, so it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize her.
Caitlin Mancini is a former model and It Girl.
She made headlines when she married Davina Ito, the lead singer of a famous girl band, a few years back.
Caitlin is also a singer with a small but fanatic following.
“I’ve been listening to your music since you released ‘It’s Romantic,’” I say. It was one of her first singles.
Her eyes widen and she smiles. “Wow. I thought you were going to say ‘Exit Lane.’” She says, referring to her only viral hit.
“Please.” I wave my hand. “I’m an OG.”
“So, now that we’ve established you have amazing taste in music…
” Caitlin laughs. “I’m so excited that you reached out to me a few weeks ago.
And that you came. I’m in desperate need of help to get settled.
I’ve moved into Lavender Hill House, which is here on the estate, but my life has been in boxes.
I only have one week to hire someone before I leave for the next leg of the tour.
I don’t even have an assistant right now.
” She flips her bangs out of her eyes. “I could really use your help, but are you sure you have the time to work on this project, with it being so last minute?”
“I can squeeze it in,” I say, trying to sound cool. Could it be this easy? I haven’t even pitched her my services or given her a quote, and she almost sounds like she’s made up her mind to hire me.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Sebastian whispers in my ear. I turn to him, startled. He looks worried.
“I’m fine. All healed,” I hiss before turning back to Caitlin once again.
Thankfully, she hasn’t heard our exchange. “We could get started right away. If you decide to hire me, of course,” I tell the rocker.
“Wonderful. I spoke with Evie, and she said you came highly recommended. She gushed that you worked wonders in Daisy’s studio, which is all I need to know. But you may change your mind about wanting to take this on when you see all the boxes,” she adds. “I’m warning you. Everything is a wreck.”
I nod, not able to contain my excitement. “I can’t wait to see it. I love an organizing challenge. Now, tell me, is the house fully furnished, or do you need interior design services?”
“It’s furnished but not to my style. My mom decorated it back in the ’90s, so I need it all!” Caitlin exclaims. We chat about more logistics.
And just like that, I land my first official client.
Dinner lasts for hours, with multiple courses, each paired with wine. I take only a sip from each glass since my doctor has advised against drinking until I’m fully recovered. I also rarely drink around Sebastian. I know it’s not an issue for him, but it’s a choice that feels right.
Despite the gorgeous surroundings and dinner companions, I stifle a yawn as the last plates are cleared.
Dario and his wife stand. Maricella announces, “Coffee will be served on the patio.”
“Sebastian? Emma?” Dario says, looking over at us. “Will you be coming?” I’m surprised at the famed director singling us out, considering there are far more important people at the table, but maybe it’s because Sebastian looks ready to pull me up and bolt out the door.
My fake fiancé shakes his head. “No,” he says. Just the one word, no qualifiers or softeners.
Maricella rolls her eyes at her husband. “Of course they don’t want to join us. Don’t you see how impatient Sebastian is? Remember what we were like newly engaged?”
“I remember what we’re like now,” he says gruffly, and they share a loving look.
Sebastian leans over until I can feel his breath against my ear. I shiver.
He whispers, “It’s like they’re daring us to kiss.”
I swallow. “I’d hate to disappoint them,” I murmur. The light in his eyes flares and catches fire. I’m going to be burned.
I turn to him, and his mouth descends slowly, almost tentatively. His lips brush mine. Once. Twice. Then he deepens the kiss, and the dam breaks. I’m lost in a world of pure sensation. A world that’s built of butterflies.
I don’t know how long it lasts. Our hosts, the other guests, the room—all disappear. His arm wraps around me, and I lean as close as I can get.
Then gradually, I become aware of it. The sound of clapping slowly registers.
And… is that a wolf whistle?
I shift back from Sebastian as reality intrudes. I look around, coming out of my fog to find the entire room watching us with wide smiles. Shit.
For someone who never blushes, my face feels like it’s on fire. Sebastian takes my hand, and I notice he’s not as steady as he appears.
Thankfully, the party breaks up then, and our hosts walk us out of the dining room. I’m grateful for the distraction because I’m still trying to catch my equilibrium.
At the foot of the dramatic staircase, Dario pats Sebastian on the back. “I’m so pleased you finally took me up on one of my many invitations, young man,” he says heartily.
Maricella nods. “Dario’s been trying to lure you into starring in one of his movies for years. But you keep turning down his offers.”
My head whips around. What the hell? All of Hollywood wants to work with Mancini. Sebastian’s turned down what sounds like leading roles with him and has never mentioned it.
My ex-boss remains silent, his jaw tense.
“We’ll talk,” Mancini says, as if he’s afraid of spooking a wild horse. “I’m just glad you’re here. Both of you.”
When we’ve said our good nights, Sebastian leads me up the stairs with a hand burning the bare skin of my back.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, I turn to him.
“Why aren’t you more excited that the most famous director in the world seems to want you in his movie?
Have you really turned him down in the past?
” Then something worrying occurs to me. “Mancini didn’t do anything…
creepy, did he? Back when you worked for him? ”
He shakes his head. “Nothing like that.”
“Then why don’t you want to work with him again? And if you don’t want to work with him, why are you even here?”
“I’m here for you, Em,” he says simply. “To make sure you’re safe. To make sure you don’t overdo it.” He reaches out and tucks a curl behind my ear. My skin tingles like it’s been branded. “But mostly,” he says, his voice deepening, “I just want to be wherever you are.”
My breath catches at his admissions.
And at his smile. It has many iterations. Teasing. Carefree. Sardonic. Challenging. But this one feels brand new.
I try to name it. Categorize it.
Tender.
I swallow audibly and think of our kiss. How is this all changing so fast? My brain can’t keep up. But maybe it’s okay just for tonight—for this weekend—to not even try to think ten steps ahead.
“I’m glad,” I admit, feeling as shy as a schoolgirl with my first crush.
Joyful. That’s his answering smile. And I suspect it’s mine.
Hand in hand, we make the rest of our way to our wing and our bedroom, my heels clicking on the dark wood the only sound. I’m too breathless, too tongue-tied to talk.
I count the rooms we pass. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Until we finally arrive at our bedroom.
It’s not mine or his. It’s ours. And we have all night.