Chapter 53

Chapter fifty-three

Candace

"I'm going to throw up," Rosie announced, whirling through her doily-covered home like a woman possessed.

"Mom, you need to relax," Sebastian said from beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist.

"You know that's never going to happen."

"True," he admitted, "but it was worth a try."

"Listen to your girlfriend!" Rosie screeched from the bathroom, spraying perfume on herself for the fifteenth time.

Sebastian sighed, long-suffering. "She's been like this all week."

"I have not—"

"You reorganized the spice cabinet twice, Mom. Alphabetically. Then by color."

I bit back a laugh. "In her defense, the color system makes more sense."

Rosie emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of jasmine, pointing at me. "See? She gets it."

"I don't get why tonight has you this wound up," Sebastian said. "It's not as if we don't—"

I slapped my hand across his mouth. "Don't you dare."

He looked at me with wide eyes.

"It's bad luck," I chastised, lowering my hand slowly.

"Jesus, I didn't mean anything by—"

"I know," I cut him off. "I just don't want anything to mess it up."

"That's fair," he conceded with a grin. "Neither do I."

I turned in his arms, pressing my cheek to his chest.

Months ago, I didn't think a life like this could be mine.

No hiding.

No fear.

No waiting for things to fall apart.

Rosie stopped her frantic puttering long enough to look at us. Something softened in her face.

"You know," she said quietly, "I prayed for this. For both my boys to find someone who makes them happy."

Sebastian stiffened around me.

"Damien found Emma," Rosie continued, her eyes glistening. "And Sebastian found you."

My throat tightened. "Rosie—"

"I'm just saying." She waved a hand, blinking rapidly. "I'm grateful. That's all."

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Mom, if you cry before we even get there—"

"I'm not crying! It's the perfume. I used too much."

"Fifteen sprays will do that," I muttered.

She pointed at me. "Watch it, or you're uninvited."

"You can't uninvite her," Sebastian said. "She's mine."

Mine.

The word settled over me like a blanket.

Not possessive.

Not controlling.

Certain.

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