Page 10 of Forbidden Sins

“Sebastian will be up shortly. He’ll stay outside your room until I return.

” He lets go of my shoulder, his expensive Italian leather shoes clicking against the wood as he strides toward the door.

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at me, his jaw set in a hard clench that makes the lines of his face look even deeper than before.

“You’re my only child now, Estella,” he says tersely. “The heiress to the Gallo fortune. I’ll need you to behave like it.”

I stare after him, so shocked and full of a crushing grief that I can’t speak. My throat feels tight, closed over, and I’m unable to move—until, a moment later, Sebastian appears in the doorway.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m already out of my chair, propelled toward him by a force greater than anything that could possibly resist what I do next.

My heart feels like it’s been shattered, every broken piece digging into my flesh until I’m bleeding internally from a pain that I never imagined before, and I fling myself at Sebastian, seeking out the only warmth, the only comfort that’s left to me in this house.

I’ve never touched him like this before.

He’s never hugged me. It would be an unthinkable line to cross, an informality that even our friendship wouldn’t allow.

I feel him go stiff as my arms go around his neck, my face pressed against his chest, and for a moment, I think he’s going to pull away.

He’s standing rigid, spine ramrod straight, his arms still at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

And then, slowly, he puts an arm around my waist.

He looks down the hall, quickly, and moves me backward into the bedroom, closing the door sharply behind us both.

Only when the door is shut do both of his arms go around me, one hand pressing against the back of my head as he holds my face against his chest, his chin touching the top of my head as he embraces me.

I hadn’t thought it was possible to cry harder, but I do.

Sobs wrack my body—shaking, wailing, keening sobs as tears stream down my face faster than I thought possible, my hands clutching the back of Sebastian’s neck as I cry.

He stands there for a long moment, one hand stroking down my spine as the other strokes my hair, until at last his arms tighten around me and he sweeps me off my feet, carrying me over to the bed.

It’s not until he sets me down on it, hesitating for a moment with his jaw clenched tight before he sinks down to sit next to me, that I realize how all of this would look if someone walked in right now.

Sebastian has never been in my room. He’s barely ever even touched me.

He’s certainly never sat on my bed with me.

So many lines have just been crossed, more than either of us should ever have allowed…

but right now I can’t bring myself to care. What does any of that matter anymore?

My brother is gone, and my family and my life will never be the same.

I roll onto my side, toward Sebastian, my face buried in my pillow as I cry.

Every time I think that the sobs might be letting up—every time I feel like I can breathe—it hits me anew that Luis is dead, and the grief overtakes me again.

Through it all, for what feels like hours, Sebastian sits silently next to me, his hand stroking my hair, my shoulder, my back.

He doesn’t say anything at all—not that it will be okay, or that I’ll get through this, or any other ridiculous platitude.

I’m grateful, because I don’t think I could bear to hear any of that right now.

“Where did my dad go?” I ask when I can speak again, my voice cracked and clogged with tears.

“He said he was going to get…” I can’t say my brother’s body aloud.

If I say it, then it will be real beyond denying it.

It feels like, if I say it aloud, there’s no chance that my father might come back and simply say it was all a mistake.

That he was given bad information. That Luis isn’t?—

“He said he was going to get answers,” I finish, which is also true.

I look up at Sebastian through tear-blurred eyes, and to my shock, I see that his eyes are damp, too.

I’ve never seen a man cry before, and something about the sight of those brimming, unshed tears makes my heart wrench in my chest again, fresh sobs spilling out and shaking my body.

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “He went to get answers, yes,” he says carefully, and my eyes narrow. I push myself up, half-sitting against my pillows as I push my damp hair out of my face.

“What does that mean? Get answers, how?”

Sebastian lets out a slow breath. “There are some things that you’re better off not knowing, princess,” he says slowly, and a rush of hot anger suddenly burns through me.

I shove myself away from him, putting a foot of space between us as I slide to the middle of the bed. “Don’t patronize me,” I spit out, and Sebastian looks momentarily shocked. I’ve never spoken to him that way before.

“I’m not, Estella,” he says carefully. “But there are things that I don’t think you want to know?—”

“My brother is dead,” I spit out, and the words hang between us in the air, real and solidified. “What could be worse than that? I’m not a child, Sebastian. I want to know.”

Sebastian’s eyes rake over me suddenly, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m wearing a loose T-shirt and shorts that ride up to the tops of my thighs.

I’ve worn more clingy, revealing clothing to work out in, and surely Sebastian has seen me in a bathing suit at some point…

but something about the fact that it’s my sleepwear adds a sudden intimacy to his appraisal that makes my cheeks heat.

“I know you’re not a child,” he says calmly. “There are things about this life, things your father does, or has men do?—”

“Torture.” I bite out the word. “He’s going to torture someone for information.”

“A few someones, probably,” Sebastian allows.

“Good,” I spit out, and Sebastian’s eyes widen.

“Estella—”

“I hope it hurts. I hope—” My hands fly up to cover my face, and the sobs break free again.

In an instant, Sebastian is moving toward me, and he’s in the center of the bed with me, his arms circling my shoulders as he pulls me into his chest. His hand presses against the back of my head again, and I’m suddenly very aware of how hard his chest is beneath my cheek, of his warm scent rising from his skin and clothes—something smoky and musky and masculine.

I breathe in, shaky, deep gulps of air and his scent, as if it can calm me. As if it could make everything okay.

“Estella,” he whispers. “Estella, I’m here. I’ve got you.” His hand curves under the weight of my hair hanging down my back, his fingers suddenly stroking the side of my neck, and my entire body stiffens as I feel a jolt of something hot and primal sizzle through my body.

Sebastian lets go of me as if I’ve burned him—or as if he burned me. He moves backwards, quickly, until he’s once again sitting at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have been touching you. I shouldn’t have even come into the room. I?—”

He starts to get up, as if he’s going to go, and I grab his arm before I can think better of it.

“No,” I whisper plaintively. “No, please. Don’t go.”