Chapter 13 – Sebastian #2
As the other men join their wives at the table, they exchange kisses and hugs. The yearning and affection is evident.
I slow as I approach Sienna. She notices me instantly—her shoulders stiffen, her posture tightening as if she’s bracing herself. Expecting something.
A kiss. Like the others.
Or maybe a performance.
I don’t give her either.
I simply pull out the chair beside her and sit, eyes forward.
If she’s relieved, she doesn’t show it.
Vivian rises with her glass, smiling warmly. “Thank you all for coming. It means a lot to us.” Her gaze shifts to Sienna. “And Sienna—welcome to the family. Officially.”
There’s a chorus of agreement, glasses raised.
“Please,” Vivian adds. “Let’s eat.”
The staff moves in seamlessly, plates arriving in perfect timing. Conversation resumes easily. Roman leans back in his chair, fork suspended. “The Barcelona expansion closed last week. Quietly. No noise, no delays. Have I mentioned that to anyone?”
Lev smirks. “Because you finally listened and stopped trying to bulldoze city officials.”
“Correction,” Roman says. “I paid the right ones.”
Laughter moves around the table.
Sienna lifts her glass slightly. “Barcelona is temperamental. If you push too hard, it pushes back. It prefers subtlety.”
Roman blinks, surprised. “You’ve done business there?”
“Adjacent. I helped my father,” she says lightly. “I consulted on a redevelopment project near El Born. Cultural districts are easier to reshape when you respect the history first.”
Lev nods, impressed. “That explains why the city council approved the zoning change so fast.”
She smiles. “They like being seen as guardians, not obstacles.”
I glance at her despite myself. She’s not showing off. She’s just…fluent, knowledgeable.
Am I turned on or furious? I don’t know.
The conversation shifts to business successes, upcoming travel, gallery openings in Milan and Paris. Dimitri talks about a new property in Lisbon. Vivian mentions an exhibition in Vienna.
Sienna joins in naturally.
She speaks about architecture in Florence, about a curator she met in Berlin. Her voice is steady, confident. She asks questions. She listens. She laughs in the right places.
If anyone were watching closely, they’d never guess we spent last night tangled together in silence and tension.
I stay quiet.
I watch her from the corner of my eye—the way she gestures lightly with her fork, the way her smile never quite reaches too deep. She doesn’t look at me. Not once.
She’s flawless.
Composed.
Untouchable.
And sitting right beside me, she feels farther away than she did five years ago.
That, more than anything else tonight, unsettles me.
Midway through dinner, Vivian leans closer to Sienna, lowering her voice. I shouldn’t care. I do anyway, so I strain my ears and still my movements to eavesdrop.
“I couldn’t be happier about your marriage to Sebastian,” Vivian whispers. “You deserve someone who understands you. Someone who sees you the way you should be seen.”
Sienna rolls her eyes, the movement small but unmistakable. Vivian chuckles softly and pulls back, clearly amused.
They return to their plates like nothing happened, slipping easily back into the conversation as Dimitri launches into a story about a disastrous meeting in Milan. Sienna laughs at the right moments, adds a comment here and there, perfectly composed.
I grind my teeth.
After dessert, as the wine flows and the table dissolves into relaxed teasing, Sienna sets her napkin down.
“Excuse me,” she says smoothly. “I need to take a call.”
No one questions it. She rises, nods politely, and leaves the dining room without looking at me.
I wait. Count to ten. Then twenty.
When no one’s paying attention, I push back my chair and follow.
I track her through the hallways past quiet rooms and soft lighting, until the cool night air brushes my skin.
She’s on the first-floor terrace, standing near the balustrade, phone in hand but dark. The city lights stretch beyond her, reflected faintly in the glass doors behind us.
I clear my throat and step beside her.
She doesn’t turn.
The glow from the city softens her profile, catches in her hair, sharpens the line of her cheekbone. It hits me low and hard—how beautiful she is, how effortless it looks on her. The ache in my chest surprises me.
“You’re handling dinner well,” I say quietly.
“I’m used to handling things,” she replies, eyes still forward.
“So it seems.”
Silence stretches between us. It isn’t comfortable. It crackles. I lean against the railing, close enough to feel her warmth, careful not to touch her.
“Vivian’s right,” I add. “You do deserve someone who sees you.”
She turns then. Her eyes are cold. Clear. Unforgiving.
“And you think that someone is you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it.”
My jaw tightens. “You’re doing something,” I say. “You’re planning something. I can feel it. It’s in the way you breathe. In the way you look at me.”
She lifts her chin. “Then perhaps you should pay closer attention.”
I step closer. Too close. I feel it when her breath catches, even though she tries to hide it.
“I paid attention last night,” I say softly. “You didn’t seem to mind.”
She turns away immediately, like she’s cutting the moment clean in half.
“Don’t read into it,” she says. “It was a lapse in judgment.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. She doesn’t respond. She just walks away, heels clicking against stone, spine straight, back unyielding.
I watch her go, the tension coiling tighter in my chest.
Whatever she’s planning—whatever revenge she’s shaping, whatever secrets she thinks she’s hiding—
I’ll find them. Or she’ll destroy me trying.