Текст книги "The Billionaire Takes a Bride"
Автор книги: Jessica Clare
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
“Look, Chelsea.” He pointed out at the street, in the rain. “Can you see? Lights. Look at all the lights.” Even though it was dark and stormy outside now, New Orleans was still lit up. Street signs, street lamps, even headlights from cars. Not even the pouring rain could darken Canal Street. “There’s lights everywhere. You’re outside.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to scream again, but she tensed and then gave a huge shudder. She sucked in an enormous breath and her hands found his shirt. Her fingers dug into his clothing. “S-Sebastian?”
“It’s me,” he said, voice soothing. What the hell was going on?
“I need the lights,” she said, panting. Her wide eyes stared out at the city, unfocused. “Please.”
“I’ll go get my phone. It has a flashlight app—”
“No,” she blurted, clinging harder to him. “Don’t leave me. Please!”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and her arms went around his neck. “Just . . . stay out here with me, okay? I can’t . . . I can’t be in the dark.”
He settled down on the balcony next to her, pulled her into his lap, and tucked the now sodden blanket around her. All the while, the storm raged and whipped rain into their faces. “We’ll stay out here until the power comes on again, okay?”
She nodded and buried her face against his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest. She was naked under the blankets.
He couldn’t even get an inappropriate boner. Instead, he just stroked her hair and her face and murmured to her as she shivered against him. The night was warm and balmy, and it felt more like a sauna than the bathroom had. Chelsea’s trembling wasn’t caused by the weather or the rain, but something going on in her mind.
She hated the dark. Hated it so much that she kept her lights on in her apartment at all times. He’d thought she just liked a lot of light.
But then why the screaming and utter terror about how she couldn’t breathe while in the dark?
Her nose pressed against his throat and she relaxed against him, her shivers turning into tremors, and the tremors slowly dying away as he soothed her. The rain soaked the two of them, pouring endless buckets down on the city of New Orleans.
This was their wedding night.
The thought struck Sebastian as utterly ludicrous. He’d really had no idea of what he was getting into when he’d married. He’d thought he’d marry Chelsea, they’d have a good time, buddy up for public appearances, and then pretty much ignore each other. Two strangers living in his big town house who occasionally had conversations and pretended to be married.
The kiss should have warned him. It should have told him that this wasn’t going to be the easy, platonic relationship they’d agreed to on paper.
Because he’d been aroused and attracted to her, and she’d treated it as nothing.
Chelsea wasn’t a happy-go-lucky girl. She was broken somewhere inside, and hiding it with a smile. Tonight showed him that.
He supposed there was still time to back out of the relationship. File a few annulment papers, say it was a mistake, go on their way. It was a fake relationship and there’d be no hurt feelings if they called it quits after twenty-four hours.
Except . . . that was out of the question.
From the time she’d given him that kiss in Hunter Buchanan’s library last night, she’d become his.
Her problems changed nothing. It only made him hold her tighter and gave him determination to find out what was wrong so he could help her.
At some point, despite the driving rain, she fell into an exhausted slumber against him. And he kept holding her, stroking her wet hair and touching her dripping arm, because she seemed to need it.
The power came on again a few hours later, the lights in the room behind them flicking on and flooding the balcony with light. Chelsea didn’t stir. Sebastian got to his feet and picked her up again. The dazed, exhausted whimpers started once more. “I’m here,” he murmured against her. “I’m here and the lights are on so we’re going to go into the room now, all right?”
“We have to keep the lights on,” she mumbled sleepily, still clinging to him.
“We will,” he vowed.
Chelsea was never going to be in the dark again if she didn’t want it. Even if he had to hold a freaking flashlight on her himself.
He eased her into bed and then retrieved his phone, setting it by the bedside. The blankets were sodden so he got extras out of the closet and then wrapped her in one of the fluffy bathrobes provided with the suite. He didn’t look at her long limbs or bare skin. It wasn’t important right now. She was like a doll, dazed and half-asleep, only moving her limbs when he encouraged her to lift her arms or legs so he could ease the robe around her.
Then, when she was dry, he stripped out of his own wet clothing and got into bed. She immediately curled up against him and went back to sleep. He pulled her against him and ran a hand through her drying hair, thoughtful. She was beautiful while she slept, but utterly vulnerable.
Chelsea Hall was now his to protect. He wouldn’t fail her. It was clear that someone had failed her in the past.
Never again.
Chapter Nine
Chelsea woke up with her cheek pressed against a warm male chest and her hair a snarl around her face. Her head throbbed and her throat hurt, and for a moment, she didn’t recall where she was. She sat up, blinking at her surroundings. A posh hotel room with a canopy bed and a fancy couch, and the world’s biggest balcony just outside the doors. There were towels and blankets strewn all over the floor. Even as she sat up, thunder rumbled, and she remembered.
Oh, god. She’d lost her shit last night. All she remembered was the shower, then the loss of light. Then utter fear.
When she had one of her panic attacks, she forgot everything else, her body moving in a state of mindless terror. Normally she attacked people until somehow it clicked that she wasn’t in the Dumpster. That she was safe.
She licked her lips, feeling awkward.
Sebastian’s hand went to the small of her back and he rubbed it through the robe. “Hey. You okay?”
She looked over at him, hesitant. His black hair was a wild nest of curls, stark against the white pillows. His skin seemed darker than ever, that gorgeous olive that contrasted so beautifully with his eyes. His bare chest was muscular¸ lightly furred with dark hair, and she could see a happy trail disappearing down under the sheets.
And he had a big bruise on his jaw. Probably from her. She tended to go fists-first when she had a panic attack, and it looked like Sebastian had been the victim of it.
She didn’t know what to do. Deny her panic attack? Confess her past? Neither seemed like a great option. Only Pisa and her therapist knew the truth of things, and it had taken Chelsea nearly a year to confess to Pisa her traumatic past.
And she’d only been married to Sebastian Cabral for a day.
So she pasted a brilliant smile on her face and rubbed her wild hair off of her face. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
He sat up on his elbows in bed, dark brows furrowing. “Well, last night was kind of a hot mess.”
“I must have drank something,” she lied, getting out of bed. Oh, jeez, she was naked under her robe. That was awkward. She held it tighter against her.
“I watched you all night. You didn’t drink anything. You want to tell me what this is about?” His tone was utterly suspicious.
“It’s nothing—”
“It’s not nothing,” he said vehemently, sitting up in bed. “You were catatonic with fear. You acted like you were being murdered.”
She flinched at his words. Did he really have to use the term “murdered”? “I don’t want to talk about it. Especially not on day one of our marriage.”
“Are you kidding me? I feel like this is something we absolutely need to talk about, and the sooner the better.”
“Please,” Chelsea said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t, okay? Not right now.” Maybe not ever.
For a moment, she thought he was going to argue with her. Instead, he rubbed a hand down his face and then threw his arms up. “Fine. Forget it. We won’t talk about it right now. I just worry about you, okay?”
“I’m fine, really!” She hauled herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom, desperate to get away.
“Holy fuck, what’s that?”
She froze and turned around, clutching the robe. “What’s what?”
“Your leg.” His eyes were wide. “When did that happen?” He bounded off the bed and she saw he was in a pair of white boxer briefs that clung to his body and outlined . . . things. Things she was pretty sure she didn’t want to see on her new, platonic husband. Chelsea backed up as he approached her.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me see your leg,” he told her, then knelt and pushed the robe aside. His jaw dropped when an enormous, livid bruise on her hip was revealed. “Jesus, did I do that?”
“Oh, that old thing?” She called that her “landing spot” because every time she was knocked down in derby, she seemed to land on the same hip. “It’s just a bruise.”
“Just a bruise?” he echoed, looking up at her with concern. “It covers half your leg!”
“Pff. It does not.” She pushed the robe back in place, feeling a little uncomfortable at his intense scrutiny of her body. “I just fell. That’s all.”
“Chelsea,” he said, getting to his feet. The look on his face was somber. Worried. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She leaned in and patted his cheek. “And that’s very sweet.”
“You can trust me.”
“That’s nice. Now I’m going to take a shower.”
He sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this some other time.” He turned back toward the bed.
“Just . . . one thing, Sebastian.”
He turned, the look on his face curious.
She pointed at the bathroom. “Can you turn the light on in there for me?” Yes, she was being a baby, and no, she didn’t care.
He sighed, shook his head, and turned the light on in the bathroom.
Chelsea took her time in the bathroom, showering, then spending an extra long time fixing her snarled hair. She was avoiding Sebastian, she knew it. But it was hard to go out there and have a conversation with the man when she didn’t want to talk about how she’d acted last night.
And of course he was dying to know. She didn’t blame him for that. She just wasn’t ready to talk about her issues. She shrugged the robe back on, tied it at her waist, and then emerged from the bathroom to find him fully dressed, his hair still a tousled mess, but his clothing tucked and ready to go. He flipped through his phone, barely glancing at her as she grabbed her bag. “Not even twenty-four hours and we’re already making headlines.”
“Really?”
“Someone saw us last night,” he said, voice cranky. “I hope you’re ready to be papped.”
Chelsea shrugged, pulling out a comfortable knit maxi dress. “I knew it was bound to happen when we got together. That’s fine.”
“Just try and ignore them. And if they get too close, you let me know.” The protective look on his face was fierce. “They’ll pressure you if you let them.”
“You’ll be right there, right?” At his nod, she continued. “Then I won’t be afraid of them.”
He tilted his head, studying her. “What do you think about a bodyguard for a few weeks? Just until things cool down and our lives get back to normal?”
Chelsea thought about it. A bodyguard might be a little intrusive. But . . . she also wouldn’t be alone. She remembered the cruel fan at her last bout, the one who had turned the lights off on her. “I think a bodyguard is a great idea,” she decided.
Sebastian looked pleased. “We’ll get you one when we fly back.”
“I’m ready to go back now.”
It was clear from his expression that she’d surprised him. “I thought you wanted to do a few touristy things?”
Not if they were going to get stalked by the paparazzi. Not if she was going to be trapped in this room with Sebastian and him constantly wondering and needing to know what was going on with her.
Besides, she had practice tomorrow night. Best to get settled in and back to her old lifestyle. “No, I think I’m ready to return. New Orleans isn’t holding as much appeal for me as I thought.”
“When we get back to New York, I should warn you that my mother and her ever-present camera crew are probably going to bombard us.”
Chelsea just gave him a wicked grin. “Are you kidding? I’d love to meet the family.”
He groaned.
Chapter Ten
Chelsea’s phone buzzed with an incoming text while they were on the jet back to New York.
Gretchen: I cannot believe you!
Chelsea: What?
Gretchen: I just saw your face on the Internet. You got married? To Sebastian?
Chelsea: Oh, yup, I did! It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.
Gretchen: I. Am. So. Hurt.
Chelsea: What? Why?
Gretchen: You never told me you were even dating! I thought you were two seconds away from joining a roller derby nunnery.
Chelsea: Ha! No, like I said, it was super sudden.
Gretchen: Oh man. Drunk wedding? Been there, done that. Wait, no I haven’t. Because I wouldn’t do that to my friends. And in case you can’t feel it, I’m totally shaming you with my judgmental stares right now.
Chelsea: I’m sorry. We decided to just up and do it. We didn’t think about inviting anyone.
Gretchen: You guys must have really hit it off at the party the other night. Right? He saw you in the derby gear and decided he had to nail that shit down, am I right?
Chelsea thought for a moment. How far were they going to go in their charade? They hadn’t really talked things over. She looked over at Sebastian, who was writing something down on a notepad. “I’m getting grilled by Gretchen. What’s our cover story? She thinks we had a drunk hookup that turned into a marriage.”
He glanced over at Chelsea, gaze flicking to her mouth. “Doesn’t she know you don’t drink?”
For some reason, his focus on her lips made her feel . . . nervous. Weird and fluttery. “I don’t know if she knows. I used to drink.”
“Oh? And you stopped?”
“I did.” And she left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions. Instead, she gave him a challenging look, as if daring him to ask about it.
He only leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “What kind of story do you want to go with?”
“Love at first sight?” She offered. “Stars aligning? Birds singing? A chorus of angels overhead at the glimpse of you?”
His mouth quirked in a half smile and he shook his head. “You clearly want to have everyone picturing me as a way more romantic man than I am.”
“You’re not romantic? I’m gasping in shock here.”
“Oh, I’m romantic enough, but only with the right incentive.” He wiggled his eyebrows and then leaned back in his chair, gaze thoughtful. “We could tell her you have a magic vagina.”
“A what?”
“Yep. Magic vagina. Or one like a Venus flytrap. My dick went inside and never came back out.”
She batted him on the arm. “Yeah, right. I’m trying to think of believable things. I need something to tell her. She’s one of my best friends.” She thought for a moment, and then looked over at him. “What if we position me as a gold digger?”
Sebastian gave her a sleepy but skeptical look that made her wonder how long he’d been awake last night while she’d been in the midst of her panic attack. A vague memory flashed, of rain and his hands stroking over her damp shoulders, her hair, him soothing her with wordless noises. He was a good guy, she realized with a twinge of guilt. He deserved better than her. She was all fucked up.
“We need a story,” Chelsea prompted again. She needed a distraction, too.
“You could tell her that from the moment I saw you, I decided I had to have you,” Sebastian said in a soft voice.
For some reason, that made Chelsea’s pulse flutter. She pulled away from him in her chair, pretending to look out the window. “I’ll think of something.”
“Well, let me know what you decide.” When she looked over, he had put down his notepad and held up his phone. “Hunter’s texting me, too. My guess is that Gretchen put him up to it.”
She paused, thinking, then began to type again.
Chelsea: It was just sort of a thing. He looked at me and I knew. And he says he felt the same way. So we decided not to waste any time.
Gretchen: Omg. I can’t decide if that’s harebrained or incredible. Sebastian never struck me as the romantic type.
Chelsea: Really, how did he strike you?
Gretchen: Will you kill me if I say ‘aimless’?
She glanced over at the man idly texting next to her.
Chelsea: No, but now I’m intrigued. Why aimless?
Gretchen: I’ve only met him a few times, mind you. But he just sits on family money and like . . . doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t have a business of his own. Doesn’t run the family business. He’s just rich. He and Hunter work out together but I don’t know what he does with his time other than avoid his crazy family.
Chelsea: I’m sure he has a plan. :) I gotta go anyhow. Lunch tomorrow?
Gretchen: Girl, yes. Now go kiss your new husband for me and I’m gonna go gossip at Hunter. And read more tabloids about you, but mostly gossip at Hunter. XO
Chelsea: XO
Chelsea looked over at Sebastian speculatively again. Aimless, huh? She didn’t think Gretchen meant it in a cruel way. Gretchen was blunt and sometimes thoughtless with her words, but was never cruel. And how could anyone be mad at Sebastian? He was gorgeous, polite, funny, and utterly charming. Heck, she was immune to men and still found herself getting girlishly excited whenever he gave her one of those sleepy smiles.
It seemed they both had things to work on.
He looked over at her and gave her a wary glance. “You’re staring.”
She held up her phone and changed the conversation. “I just told Gretchen that it was an immediate attraction sort of thing and we acted on it.”
Sebastian gave her a small nod. “I can work with that. And anyone who sees you knows that it’s not off the mark.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if this wasn’t platonic, I’d be all over you like peanut butter on jelly.”
“Peanut butter on . . . jelly?”
“Is that a bad one? How about sand on a beach.”
“Sand on a beach?”
“Terrible simile, I know. I’m really bad at them.” He grimaced. “You won’t hold it against me, will you?”
“Hold it against you like . . .” she teased.
“Like . . . an alien face hugger in those horror movies?” He gave her a hopeful look.
“You’re right. You are terrible at this.”
“Told you.”
Chapter Eleven
When they got off the plane, Sebastian pulled Chelsea close to him and whispered in her ear. “Just try to act casual, okay? Nothing sells hotter than a picture of someone totally upset.”
“Okay,” she said, but her fingers tightened on his arm.
“And I want to apologize in advance.”
“For what?”
“For the hell airports are about to become.” He grimaced. “Seriously. I’ll give you hazard pay for this.”
She laughed and shook her head. Surely he was exaggerating? “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“I hope so,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “You want sunglasses?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Your call.” His arm went around her waist and he pulled her closer to him as they walked across the tarmac.
When they got into the airport proper, it seemed busy but not ridiculous. As she looked over at Sebastian, she noticed he put on a pair of sunglasses and ducked his head. His arm was tight around her waist, urging her forward.
“There they are,” someone cried out.
Suddenly, a mob rushed forward, and cameras began to flash in their faces. Chelsea shielded her eyes, squinting, and stumbled forward. Sebastian was there to catch her, and put an arm up.
“Hey, now, give us some room,” he snarled at the press of photographers that surrounded them. “Back the fuck up.”
“Sebastian, over here,” they cried. “Chelsea, over here!”
Lights blinded her, flashing over and over again. The voices were a cacophony ringing in her ears, and the mob followed them as they walked forward, heading for the parking lot where Sebastian’s limo would be waiting for them. She clung to Sebastian’s arm, startled and more than a little alarmed at the crowd that had assembled.
“Give us a kiss,” someone shouted.
“Get out of the way,” Sebastian told them, pushing an arm in front of them and urging Chelsea forward.
“Kiss first!” they shouted back.
It was so ridiculous that Chelsea started to giggle. She couldn’t help it. The thought of a mob descending because they wanted pictures of her kissing Sebastian in an airport? Could there be an un-sexier place? She kept laughing even as Sebastian turned and frowned at her.
“One kiss,” someone shouted.
“Will you guys leave if we kiss?” She called back.
“Yes!” came the chorus. Cameras lifted, and for a moment, the flashes stopped.
So Chelsea planted her feet, amused, and looked over at Sebastian. “Well?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
She pulled him closer and whispered. “They’re going to get pictures anyhow, right? Might as well work with them.”
He studied her. “I don’t know if you’re a mad genius or just mad.”
“Little bit of both, actually. Now, pucker up.” She grabbed his collar, gave a pointed look at the photographers, and planted a big one on his mouth.
A hundred cameras seemed to snap at once.
And it was a shame, she thought a moment later as she pulled away, that she couldn’t feel anything. Because Sebastian had a wonderfully kissable mouth, and she liked the flare in his pale green eyes when she touched him.
Too bad she was all broken.
She looked over at the paparazzi. “You got your kiss. Leave us alone now.”
“Should we do one more just to make sure?” Sebastian teased, his voice a whisper in her ear.
She batted at his arm. “Very funny.”
* * *
They were mostly quiet in the limo as they drove through Manhattan. At least, until they turned down a neighborhood street and Sebastian groaned, putting a hand to his forehead. Chelsea peered out the window of the limo as they pulled up to a town house, the front crowded with people and cameras.
“More paparazzi?” she asked.
“No,” Sebastian said grimly. “This time it’s my mother.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. You ever wanted to be on TV? You’re about to be.” He sounded less than thrilled.
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him, patting his hand. To her surprise, he took her fingers in his and squeezed them. That was sweet.
He looked over at her. “I just want to apologize in advance for the upcoming shit show you are about to experience. I’ll try to get us inside the house as soon as possible.”
She chuckled. “I hold you blameless, if it makes you feel any better.”
“It does, actually.” He opened the door to the limo and she watched through the tinted window as the crowd surged toward him. Then he held a hand out for her, and it was time for her to make her appearance.
Chelsea put her hand in his and let him help her from the limo, and immediately the cameras were in their faces. A woman hurried forward, dressed in a red and black zebra-striped suit. She had a small dog tucked against her arm and her hair was cut into a stylish silver bob streaked with purple. She leaned in and gave Sebastian a quick kiss on the cheek and then a judgmental look. “Nugget, I am very unhappy with you.”
Sebastian’s hand tightened on Chelsea’s. “Mother, don’t call me that. And do we have to have the cameras here?” He gestured at the three cameras hovering over his mother’s shoulder.
“I am filming a reality TV show, Nugget. They are recording my reality.” She gestured loftily at the cameras and then narrowed her eyes at Chelsea. “Is this the hooker?”
“Jesus, Mother. She’s not a hooker. This is my wife. Chelsea.”
Chelsea couldn’t help it. She giggled again and held her hand out. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cabral. Sebastian has told me so much about you.”
Mrs. Cabral raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “If that were the case, then he would have told you that I prefer to be called Mama Precious.”
“And I told her I’m not calling you that,” Sebastian growled. “And did you really have to ambush me at my front door? What about my privacy, mother?”
“You won’t come see your Mama Precious, Nugget. How else am I going to come see you? To think that you didn’t even invite me to your own wedding.”
“Don’t feel bad, Mrs. Cabral,” Chelsea offered. “We didn’t invite my parents, either. It was a very spur-of-the-moment sort of thing.”
“Why?” Mrs. Cabral asked, her over-injected lip curling a bit. “Is it because you’re charging him by the hour and he would have had to return to the ATM?”
“She’s not a whore, mother. I’m not paying her, and you’re insulting both of us, so stop it.”
Chelsea only giggled again. It might have been insulting, if it wasn’t so damn funny. This ridiculous Cruella De Vil–looking woman with a tiny dog was her new mother-in-law? “At any rate, I am super pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cabral,” Chelsea said, keeping her voice sweet. “You look entirely too young to be Sebastian’s mother.”
It was the truth, actually. Her face had been lifted and filled and peeled so many times that her skin was utter perfection. Despite the artfully gray and purple hair, she didn’t look a day over forty, much too young to be Sebastian Cabral’s mother.
The eyebrow rose again and she studied Chelsea. “Hmph.” She looked over at her son. “I’ll have you know that you broke Lisa’s heart. She had to find out via Perez Hilton that you got married. How do you think that makes her feel?”
“Seeing as how we only dated for a month well over two years ago and I haven’t seen her since then? I don’t know that I care.”
“You know she wanted to reconcile, Nugget—”
“Then her story line can be about how she’s going to get over that I married Chelsea.” He smiled tightly and steered Chelsea past the cameras toward the steps of the town house. “I love you, Mother, but I’m not doing this. Not right now.”
“Aren’t you going to invite your mother in to meet your new wife?”
“You are welcome to come in, Mother. The camera crew is not.” He continued steering Chelsea forward, and then paused.
There was a woman sitting on the steps of the townhouse. She looked up as Chelsea and Sebastian approached, her mascara streaking down her cheeks. She was pretty, in an exceedingly plastic-surgeried sort of way. And she stood up at the sight of Sebastian and began sobbing anew the moment the cameras started rolling.
He made a pained sound and gestured at the woman. “Chelsea, meet Lisa.”
* * *
So that was an awkward afternoon, Chelsea mused as she unpacked her clothing in her new room. While she’d known that the marriage thing wasn’t going to be all daisies at the beginning, she hadn’t anticipated being called a whore by her new, crazy mother-in-law, and being sobbed on by the “jilted” ex. Or rather, the woman who imagined herself jilted. And even though she knew all of it was set up for a scene to make television, she found herself sitting on the steps with Lisa, trying to comfort her while Sebastian threw his hands into the air.
She’d ended up promising Lisa a lunch date, which would probably be filmed on camera. That was fine; Chelsea didn’t care.
They’d managed to shake off “Mama Precious” and Lisa and eventually settled into the town house. Sebastian had given her the grand tour, turning on lights as he went room to room. It was thoughtful of him to remember her paranoia. The town house itself was rather sparsely decorated, with pale gray walls and a few abstract paintings and stark, somber furniture. It looked like someone’s corporate office rather than a lived-in home. At least it was well lit, with track lighting and several windows facing out into the street.
The town house also boasted several bedrooms and bathrooms, one of each which had been promised to Chelsea. She picked the most well-lit bedroom, even though it was the smallest. It had a carved cherrywood twin bed and a matching dresser and a vase of fake flowers that screamed “decorator” all over it. There was a bathroom right outside in the hall and while it was tiny, there was enough counter space for her to at least start to set up her soap kitchen. He had two kitchens in his town house, but she felt . . . weird about occupying so much space. Like she was intruding. So for now, she was setting up in the bathroom.
Even taking over one of the bathrooms made her feel uncomfortable. It was odd to set up in a stranger’s house. Especially when it was a house that was so much bigger than her last apartment. The place she’d shared with Pisa was six hundred square feet and two tiny bedrooms. This one was three floors and many, many bedrooms, along with a media room, a formal dining room, a study, and a room she wasn’t allowed to go in.
Seriously. Sebastian had shown her around the place and then declared the room at the end of the hall off limits. It was even locked and everything.
And, okay, that was creepy. She even told him that and he looked chagrined. He told her it was a private study and messy and he’d show it to her when it was cleaned up. But still.
Maybe tonight she’d push the dresser in front of her door, just in case.
But as she settled in for the night and it grew late, she became increasingly agitated. She had the lights on in her room, but the blackout they’d had in New Orleans kept coming to mind and she didn’t feel safe. What if the lights went out again? Then she’d be in this strange place with no one familiar. The thought made worry start crashing through her, and by the time she crawled into her narrow, unfamiliar bed, she was practically trembling with fear despite the cheery light flooding the room.
She stared up at the ceiling for a good half hour, utterly terrified. The town house was silent. She could hear the occasional distant traffic outside, but this residential street was a lot quieter than her old apartment and she felt isolated. Scared.
She wondered what Sebastian was doing and if he’d mind company.
On her bad nights, she used to crawl into bed with Pisa for a sisterly snuggle. Nothing weird, just the comforting presence of knowing another living being was with her and that they’d protect her. But Pisa was in Austin now, and from the texts she’d gotten from her friend over the last week, she was loving it. She sat up in bed and reached for her phone on the bedside, contemplating a late-night text.
But she’d still be alone.
Again, she thought about Sebastian. He hadn’t minded sleeping with her back at the hotel. She wondered if she could impose on him again. Part of her was ashamed for being so weak, but the bigger part of her didn’t care. She just wanted the fear to go away.
