Chapter Fourteen

Sebastian

Alessia is seated at the island when I walk into the service kitchen. Eloise, spray bottle and rag in hand, cleans the stainless steel surface around her.

"She won't let me help," Alessia insists. "I tried."

"But did you try not sitting directly in her way?" I ask.

"Is that a sense of humor I detect?" She nods as if impressed. "Looks like vacation has served you well."

"Nora's a few minutes behind me," I say, ignoring her commentary. "I wanted a buffer when we exited the table, in case any hawk-eyed Italians are paying attention."

"They are. And not just because of how tight your pants are." She chuckles into the back of her hand. "Euro-snazzy."

" You picked the chinos. This is how chinos fit." I note the bags beneath her eyes. "You've reached slap-happy tired, haven't you?"

"Yes I have."

"I'm sorry I worked you both so hard today," Eloise interjects. "I thought the heavy lifting in the fridge would be the end of it. But the resort promised me more servers, plus one was out sick, so I had to serve while Alessia rushed back here to help me plate the last fifty dinners. It was a mess."

"It was no big deal," Alessia says. "I was bored listening to Sergio talk about how well he thinks he'd fare on Survivor , so I was thrilled to escape."

I gesture at the clean kitchen. "I would've helped back here, too."

"Absolutely not, you've done enough." Eloise points at a silver bowl near the stove. "Now, on to your SOS text. There's the spaghetti. Handy that I made more than Alessia could ever eat."

"Thanks. That's great. Nora isn't a seafood girl, but I think she'll like that."

"If you two want to hang out here, the dishwasher works from ten to midnight and the busboy will be in and out, so the doors will be open. If anyone gives you any trouble, just say you're with the catering team."

"Okay. I'll wait with her while she eats and make sure the bowl gets washed. And I'll toss you a couple of bucks to double whatever non-seafood stuff you make Alessia this week to give to Nora."

Alessia's brows lift. She proceeds to stare at me as if burning a hole in my soul. "Oh wow ."

"What?"

"You're setting up Nora with the special girlfriend menu?"

I recoil. "What? That's not —"

"You really are into her." She shakes her head. "It really happened fast, huh? Didn't it take you two months of knowing Kelcey to start something?"

Panic claws up the back of my neck. "That's not happening with me and Nora. I'm just watching out for her."

"Between the girlfriend menu and you jumping to her defense at the table against Sergio, I'm wondering just how closely you're watching."

My blood and skin turn cold. "The girl's got to eat. That's all this is. And she doesn't know anyone here except Benji. She could use another buffer in the lion's den when he's busy doing…whatever it is he does. She's not used to big families like this."

"You're protective of her. I know what that means, Sebastian," Alessia says. "I'm afraid my favor is coinciding with you actually liking someone for a change, and it's giving me that hives-y feeling I get when I feel like I'm asking someone for too much—"

"Please don't get hives over this. Whatever you think is going on, you're wrong."

She lowers her voice a notch, leveling me with a knowing stare. "Am I?"

In a vivid burst, I feel the slide of Nora's hands on my chest in the lake, how close she let herself get. She looks at me with this intoxicating mix of guarded but curious.

Maybe I'm attracted to her.

All right, I'm massively attracted to her. Her pretty eyes and her legs and her bikini are in my head in an irrepressible way.

But that's all it is.

Nora is the wrong girl to get ideas about. And not just because of this week. She's obsessed with our sleepy suburb. Never mind that she's twenty-seven and the median age of Great River is fifty-five. Her routine includes swim aerobics with my grandmother and going to her highly specific places. If there's one thing I'm learning about Nora, it's that she loves her routine and her job and her life—exactly as it is.

And I'm not staying there. I was never supposed to be back there in the first place.

Alessia's gaze is searching as it holds mine. My heart pounds at an unnaturally fast pace.

"Okay." She drops my gaze and exhales. "If that changes, you'll tell me, right? Because I'd rather just fake-breakup now than look like a schmuck if you and Nora get caught canoodling or something."

"You and I are not breaking—"

The door from the hall swings open.

I clear my throat and turn around.

Nora timidly steps forward, her red plaid skirt at odds with all the gray in here. It's like a coil burner being flipped on. "Hi. Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all!" Alessia says cheerfully. "We have spaghetti for you. The normal kind, without clams or anything." She gestures to her right. "Nora, this is my girlfriend Eloise. She's catering this week. Eloise, this is Nora, a fellow fake dater like Sebastian."

"Hi there!" Nora steps forward and offers Eloise a hand but pauses to examine her own palm. "Is it weird that I'm going for the handshake? Do people shake hands outside of an office? I'm more of a hugger, but you never know who truly wants one."

I rub the space above my brow. Once this girl gets going, she is a talking tornado.

And why the hell is that so endearing?

Eloise takes Nora in her arms. "Hugs are my favorite."

They move on to complimenting each other's outfits in earnest. Nora lavishes praise on Eloise's work overalls and hair scarf, Eloise compliments Nora's hair and shoes, I think maybe they form a friendship blood pact—the whole thing goes on for a full minute.

This girl, I'm learning, can fit in anywhere. And where I come from, that skill is worth its weight in gold.

Alessia stifles a yawn. "I'm ready to pass out. Sebastian, come by our room at 8:30 tomorrow. We'll order room service breakfast and get ready for the day. And talk ."

Talk sounds like a threat, somehow.

Before I can say a word, she and Eloise slip out the back door.

Nora walks toward the island. She's wearing her black frames tonight with her hair in two French braids, and as pretty as she is, I can't take my eyes off her legs—

"Something wrong?" She looks down and smooths her hands over the front of her skirt.

Busted. "Nah. Let me get your food."

"They are so nice. I hope they didn't make this just for me."

I grab the bowl from near the stove."No, Eloise made it special for Alessia, who is a picky eater. Like someone else I know."

"At least I'm not the only one."

When I finally track down a fork, I twirl it in her noodles and slide the meal across the island. "Mangia."

"Italian for stuff your face ." She stares at me for the length of two slow breaths. "Thank you for arranging this."

I lean forward on my elbows. "It's no big deal."

She twists her fork, but her eyes stay on me. "It is to me."

I ignore the stirring between my ribs. Her gaze is wide open and earnest, and it makes me want to punch every person she's ever known for making her believe something as small as a leftover dinner is a big deal.

As I wait for that swell of irritation to pass, I focus my attention on her makeup: the glittery silver shadow on her eyes, the blush on her cheeks, the way her lips seem fuller and softer than before. That is a feat, as they were already a taunting sort of plush.

"I'll try to make it up to you," she says. "I don't know how, yet. But I'll think of a way. What's something you need but don't have?"

Loaded question. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it."

She takes a huge bite and chews for a long while. It's refreshing to see a woman eat like a normal person and not a demure squirrel.

"I needed food, you got me food," she says after a swallow."What's something you need, Seb?"

The self-control to avoid you. "Nothing."

Her probing gaze meets mine. "Okay. Something you want, then?"

That's an even worse question, because what I want is for her to hop up on this stainless-steel island so I can drink my fill of her face up close as she wraps those legs around my waist. I want to know if her lips are as soft as they look.

That's just the beginning of the list.

She is too many of my personal temptations, physically and otherwise, wrapped up in one pretty package. She's sweet and friendly and cares so fucking much about Benji and everyone else at this wedding and what they think, even though she really doesn't have to.

I let out a sigh. "For you to eat, woman."

Nora looks down, but I can still see it: a smile so big the apples of her cheeks almost touch her eyes. "All right."

I'm so caught between exasperation and physical pain that it puts a grin on her face.

She takes another big bite and lets out a contented sigh. "This is so good. Come here."

"I'm fine. That's all for you."

With an eye roll, she grabs the bowl and circles the island. "Come on." She twists the noodles around the fork as she nestles right in front of me, close enough to smell. Her perfume is deeply, enticingly floral. "You barely ate dinner, either. Open."

I have no fight in me. My thumb lands on the underside of her wrist as I guide her fork-wielding hand to my mouth.

A smile blooms on her face as I chew. "What's the verdict?"

"That"—I tap the edge of the bowl—"is a damn good vodka sauce."

"Told you." Her gaze flits from the bowl to my mouth, and then settles on my eyes. "Want to finish it off?"

The question lingers in the air between us as hunger rolls through me. But I don't want to eat. It's just a vague ache I feel everywhere.

"No thanks," I finally say.

She lifts a cluster of noodles without spinning the fork. Her eyes dance with mischief. "Your loss."

I should put enough distance between us that the toes of our shoes aren't touching, but I'm too curious what the hell she intends to do with that heap of food. "You're not going to eat all that in one bite, are you?"

"What, this? Child's play." She tilts her head and slowly lowers the hanging mess into her mouth.

Somehow, she manages to fit it all.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."

Or turned on, not that I'd admit it out loud.

Her gaze flicks to mine as she chews and then swallows. "It's a very useful skill at dinner parties, though I'm sure my face is a mess."

Without a single thought in my head, I swipe the corner of her mouth with my thumb. Her soft, warm lip relaxes as I brush it in one single stroke.

I shouldn't have touched her.

My blood is lava beneath my skin, cut with white-hot regret. Words rearrange themselves in my brain as I try to salvage the moment. I show her the pad of my thumb. "You're good."

Other than her batting lashes, she seems to be frozen in place as she stares at my hand.

A busboy muscles his way through the door, snapping me out of my trance.Nora takes a step back, blinking toward the ceiling.

"We're with the caterers." I turn toward the busboy. "Just on our way out."

"Cool," he says, visibly disinterested as he hangs a right to enter the dish pit.

"I'll take care of this." I remove the empty bowl from Nora's hand. "You can head to the fire pit. Or wherever you want."

She lifts her hand in a halfhearted wave, which I believe is sign language for way to make it weird . "I think I'll just head to my room."

I clutch the bowl harder. "Good."

Her gaze rakes me up and down once. "Good night, Sebastian."

It was.

For a while, anyway.