Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rosalia
Derby Day. The culmination of everything Louisville holds dear.
Surveying the Mansion, I struggle to comprehend the existence of a place even more exclusive than Millionaires Row.
And here I stand in a vintage scarlet dress worth more than a month of my bookstore’s rent, contemplating an act that goes against everything I believe in.
I run a hand from the flat of my stomach down to the waist of the dress where it bells out around me, then reach up, running my fingers along the brim of my Derby hat, though it doesn’t need adjusting. My heart aches at what I’m about to lose.
Across the room, I spot Sebastian. He looks handsome in black slacks, a light brown tweed vest, and a blue and white striped shirt.
His red leather portfolio is tucked under his arm, the Blackstone emblem embossed in gold on its surface.
Inside are the company’s supposed plans that he’ll reveal to shareholders today.
“Just take it,” says a man behind me, his bourbon breath reaching me seconds after he speaks.
I gasp and jerk forward on my stilettos. Whirling around, I shuffle back to face Thorne. He invades my personal space, and a wicked grin spreads across his face like a villain’s.
Masking my distress, I retort, “If you’re so worried about Sebastian’s plans for the company, why don’t you take it yourself? He’ll set it down eventually.”
“I can’t be caught near it. You see that guy?” He points to a short man with massive shoulders and a neck as wide as a Greek pillar. “He’s security. My brother’s paranoid. He knows some of the board members want him removed. If I’m caught with that portfolio, I’ll never get the support I need.”
Sebastian sits on one of the camel-colored leather sofas, still holding his portfolio as he talks with an older gentleman in a seersucker suit sporting white wingtips with horses painted on them.
I face Thorne, my lips part, but no words emerge. I think of my bookstore, of the children who come for story hour, of the book clubs that have formed lifelong friendships, of my father’s house that’s been in his family for generations. All of it hanging by a thread.
But then I hear Sebastian laugh. I look over, taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, and I know I can’t do this to him. “I… I can’t,” I whisper. “I’ll find another way to save what matters.”
Surprise flashes in his eyes. “Your lease ends at the end of the month. There’s nothing you can do in such a short amount of time.”
“I can’t do it,” I repeat .
Thorne takes a heavy swallow of his drink. Looking at me over the crystal rim, he asks, “Why not?”
“I’m falling for him.” The admission scares and thrills me in equal measure.
Thorne lets out a low, mean chuckle. “Rosalia, darling, Sebastian’s not quite the prince charming you believe him to be.”
The hostility coating him like sweat makes the need to escape nearly visceral. I turn away, frantically scanning the room for Sebastian. I need to find him, to warn him about his brother’s plans for a corporate takeover.
“Where are you going?” Thorne calls after me, but I’m already moving through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I push through groups of derby elite, ignoring their annoyed glances. A flash of blue and white striped fabric catches my eye. Sebastian is moving through the crowd. He disappears behind an ornate divider. I follow him into the private alcove.
He’s standing by a tall window, his back to me, staring out at the track below with the red leather portfolio in his hands.
At the sound of my approach, he turns, his eyes widening before his face transforms—warmth mingled with unmistakable determination.
I recognize that look immediately; it’s the face of someone who’s made a difficult decision.
I’m probably wearing the same expression
“Rosalia,” he says.
“Sebastian, I—”
He crosses the alcove with purposeful strides, holding the portfolio out to me. “Take it.”
I stare between his face and the leather folder. My hands lock at my sides. “What? Why are you giving this to me?”
There’s movement behind me, and then, “What are you doing?” Thorne demands.
“I told you, I can’t do it,” I repeat, backing away from both of them.
At the same time, Sebastian says, “I won’t do it. ”
I twist around to face him. The words “won’t” and “can’t” echo in my ears as I struggle to understand what’s happening between the three of us. “Won’t do what?” I ask.
Sebastian stands frozen, his mouth opening and closing without sound. He looks utterly lost. Then he swallows hard, and that determined set to his jaw returns, “This has gone too far. I can’t keep pretending anymore.” His words are stilted, as if each one costs him something precious.
Thorne stares at Sebastian with the portfolio outstretched toward me. His smug demeanor falters for a brief moment. Then he lets out a strained laugh. “So you both were willing to give up everything?”
He knocks back the rest of his drink and sets the glass aside.
Reaching inside his sage suit jacket with an unsteady hand, he pulls out two folded sheets of paper.
“Perhaps you should know what started all of this before you consider him your hero.” Handing them to me, his shoulders tense as his expression hardens back to its usual arrogance, though uncertainty lingers in his eyes.
“Thorne, why?” Sebastian’s face drains of color, and he seems too stunned to move.
“The truth will set you free and all that bullshit,” Thorne replies.
“Rosalia, please give that to me,” Sebastian pleads, reaching toward the papers in my hand.
I turn slightly from him and unfold the document, the paper crinkling beneath my unsteady grip. “Bourbon Bet” blazes across the top in bold typeface, followed by the names Sebastian Blackstone and Thorne Blackstone.
The dim lighting makes the words difficult to read at first. I squint, scanning past intricate legal clauses, catching phrases that blur and then sharpen: “subject of interest,” “romantic involvement,” “acquisition of property,” finally landing on the section “Terms and Conditions.”
Three sentences in, my back hits the wood-paneled wall.
“..wager on whether S. Blackstone can seduce R. Manchester into developing genuine feelings, causing her to voluntarily refuse to steal the portfolio, resulting in… ”
A cold flush spreads from my chest outward, prickling across my skin beneath the vintage scarlet dress that suddenly feels like a costume I’ve been tricked into wearing.
“The deal was never the portfolio. It was a bet. And the bet was me.” The words scratch my throat.
The truth hits me like a fist to the heart. This was never about Thorne needing my help or Sebastian being incompetent. This was about a bet. A bet with me as the unwitting participant. All this time, I thought I was caught between two bad choices, but I was actually the entertainment.
“Dad’s house,” I gasp. What have I done? A stab of panic shoots through me before the numbness takes over.
I look at Thorne, whose triumphant smile falters. The muted sounds of The Mansion filter into our secluded spot. The laughter, glasses clinking, and polite conversation are a world away.
My watery gaze drifts to the framed photograph of last year’s derby winner, its glossy surface reflecting my face, flushed with humiliation, and my eyes gaunt with betrayal. The truth empties me from the inside, leaving nothing but the echo of my foolishness.
“How could you?” I choke, shoving the pages at Sebastian. My knuckles brush against the tweed of his vest, and I let go of the papers.
He clutches the contract reflexively, his body rigid. Thorne stares at us like he’s witnessing a train wreck, his triumphant smile fading.
“You both have rotten souls and empty hearts,” I say, walking away as fast as my stupid heels will allow.
This seems to unlock Sebastian, and he bellows, “What the fuck, Thorne?”
I’m halfway to the exit when violent sounds erupt behind me—a sickening thud of fist meeting flesh, followed by the crash of a body slamming against the wood-paneled wall. Crystal shatters. A table overturns. The refined murmurs of Derby Day elite turn into gasps.
“You ruined everything!” Sebastian’s voice cracks with anguish and rage .
Another crash, heavier this time, like two bodies grappling and falling into furniture. Through my tears, I glimpse security rushing toward the alcove. Let them kill each other, for all I care.
A concierge opens the main door for me, his professional mask slipping enough to reveal his shock at whatever chaos is unfolding behind me, then he puts it back in place.
Rows of sleek golf carts are lined up outside, each poised with a driver ready to chauffeur the elite to their destinations with a mere nod.
Retrieving my cell from my clutch, I hesitate, torn between calling my dad or Paige.
“Please take me to the farthest parking lot,” I tell the nearest golf cart driver.
My father’s cautionary words about the Blackstone family echo in my mind. Dad would never say “I told you so,” but I’d hear it anyway.
I call Paige. When the call connects, I choke out, “Will you please come and get me?”
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice high with concern.
“Everything.”
“Did you take the portfolio?”
“No, but I should have. I’m such an idiot.” I shake my head. “Wait, you’re probably busy with Derby Day. I’ll get an Uber.”
“I’m heading to my car. Give me your location.”
“Fine.” I’m too beat down to put up a fight, and I ping her my location.
“You’re less than ten minutes from me. I’ll be there in a few,” she says before hanging up.
I step from the cart as another one screeches to a stop behind me. “Rosalia, wait!” Sebastian shouts, turning my limbs to reluctant marble.
If my world wasn’t falling apart, I might have laughed, picturing his cart behind mine in what must have looked like an odd chase. Hell, I should laugh. It seems my life is one big joke to the Blackstones.
I whirl to face Sebastian. His previously immaculate hair is wild and damp with sweat, his striped shirt torn at the collar with a button missing, a red mark blooming across his cheekbone that will surely darken into a bruise. Blood stains his knuckles and the cuff of his sleeve .
I don’t care. “You’ve won. Go back to your party and celebrate,” I shout.
“If I lose you, I’ve lost,” he says, stepping toward me.
He’s not allowed to say things like that, not after he’d torn my heart to shreds. I move back. “You never had me. You don’t own me like a piece from your favorite chessboard.”
“I never wanted to own you. I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me,” I scream. “My heart’s bleeding because of you.”
He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “I fucked up. I let Thorne get in my head, and I’ll never forgive myself. But what I feel for you is genuine—that was never part of the game.”
“The guilt has been eating me alive, and I was... I was a stupid game to you two.” My voice cracks.
I can barely breathe. “I’ve been scrambling, trying to find another way, knowing deep down I couldn’t go through with it.
And you knew. You knew !” I cry. “You played me. I’m nothing but a toy to you and Thorne. ”
“No, Rosalia. No! I swear, the bet wasn’t my idea,” Sebastian pleads, then shakes his head sharply.
“No. That’s… I can’t even do this right.
” He steps closer. “It doesn’t matter whose idea it was.
I said yes. I participated. I kept it from you even after I knew how I felt about you.
Those were my choices and my failures. I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise. ”
“And that’s supposed to make all this better? You could have told your brother no! You could have told me!”
He holds out his hands as if in supplication. “I tried.”
“Not that hard. Thorne walked into my bookstore two months ago. Or here’s a wild idea, your damn company could have stuck to the verbal agreement of renewing my lease.” The tears I’d managed to hold in thus far fall. “Instead, you dated me. Slept with me. Made me—”
“And you did the same. You aren’t innocent.” His eyes search mine, not with anger but with a profound sadness that makes my chest tighten. “How was I to know if you were or weren’t doing all the same things to lower my defenses, making it easier to steal from me? ”
The truth of his words hits me like a physical blow. A semi roars past us, and the rush of wind nearly knocks my hat off. I watch the truck until it stops at a red light.
Sebastian’s right. I’m not innocent. My desperation to keep Novel Idea has led me here. But I can’t help hating him for pushing me onto this path.
I face him. “We were doomed from the start.”
Paige’s car pulls up next to us. I open the passenger door. The pain in my heart is leaking everywhere.
“Wait!” Sebastian pleads. “Rosalia, don’t go. I know I fucked this up completely, but what I feel for you—it’s real. It’s the only real thing in this whole mess. Please... let me fix this.”
I should leave, but I turn to him. “How can any of this be real? Like you said, we aren’t innocent. We’ve never had trust or truth.”
“We can now.” He comes closer. The desperation in his eyes nearly breaks me. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you a building for your bookstore.”
I still. He’s offering me everything I want. Yet, I can’t accept. I shake my head. “You can’t buy my forgiveness. I’m not for sale.”
Getting inside Paige’s car, I refuse to look at Sebastian as we drive away.