Page 18 of Forbidden Sins

ESTELLA

I feel him tense against me immediately.

He hesitates for one second, as I start to cry, and then I hear him sigh as he disentangles my hands from the front of his shirt.

“Not here, princess,” he says sharply, his hand on my back as he helps me up the stairs.

“Just—let’s get behind closed doors, and you can tell me what’s going on. ”

Despite everything, a small frisson of excitement runs through me at that sentence—at the forbidden undercurrent of what he just said.

My life is in shambles around me, all of my worst fears coming true at once, and I grasp at the flotsam of that one small thing.

The thrill of Sebastian sneaking into my room with me—even if it is just to talk.

What happens to Sebastian after I’m married?

The thought sends a fresh, different twist of grief through me.

Surely whoever I marry won’t decide for me who my personal security will be—and yet, I can’t be sure.

We’ve managed to keep my father from realizing how inappropriately friendly we are with each other, but my father isn’t around all that much. A husband…

Theoretically, at least, a husband will be around much more.

My stomach twists at the thought of that. Of a stranger insinuating themselves so intimately into my life. I stumble again as I make my way up the stairs, my knees throbbing from where I fell, and Sebastian’s hand against my back stiffens, his hand on my arm helping me stay upright.

“Estella.” There’s a clear note of worry in his voice as he helps me, and I bite my lip.

I can’t imagine my life without him, I realize.

When did he become so necessary to me? He’s been here for three years, and I’m not sure that I can pinpoint a moment when…

but at some point, he’s become someone I rely on.

The only person I’ve had to rely on, other than my brother.

And now Luis is gone.

Tears well in my eyes, and I swallow them back, forcing myself to get back to my room without further incident. Sebastian follows me inside, closing the door firmly behind him, and I retreat to the chair in front of the fireplace, dropping heavily into it as I press my hands against my face.

Sebastian is in front of me in a moment, going down on one knee in front of the chair as he gently pries my hands away from my face. “Estella. What’s going on?”

I open my eyes, startled to see him so close.

It strikes me all over again how devastatingly handsome he is, dark hair swept away from his face, curling slightly around his ears as he looks at me with his soft green eyes.

I glance down at where he’s still holding my hands, startled by the difference between them.

Mine are pale and slender and long-fingered—his are broader, the skin slightly tanned from more time spent outside, the difference made all the more stark by the tattoos inked across the backs of his hands, crawling up his fingers.

He doesn’t let go, and I bite my lip, looking back up at him. “How much of the conversation did you hear?” I ask quietly, and Sebastian shakes his head.

“I don’t make a habit of listening in on the boss’s conversations, princess. It’s a good policy to have, if I want to keep my job.”

I nod, feeling my throat tighten. “I—he talked to me about how I’m the heiress now…now that Luis is…gone.” The word sticks in my throat, and I have to force it out, the pain in my chest intensifying. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying it. I’ll never get used to the knowledge that it’s true.

Sebastian nods slowly, and I see a glimmer of wariness enter his eyes. “He’s going to let you inherit, then?” he asks cautiously, and I shake my head.

“Not…me. Not alone. I tried to suggest it, but—” I swallow hard, fighting back tears. “He’s very old-fashioned. He doesn’t like that leaders like Dimitri Yashkov are trying to do things differently…trying to modernize, I suppose.”

“I’ve picked that up about him,” Sebastian says dryly. “And Luis might have mentioned it a time or two, also. That your father was stubbornly old-fashioned.”

I bite my lip, and I see the sheen of grief in his eyes, too. “The two of you were pretty close friends, weren’t you?” I ask softly. “I know he liked you. He told me a number of times that he was glad that you were the one looking out for me when he couldn’t.”

Sebastian nods tightly. “We were,” he says simply. “And I’ll continue to look out for you, princess. Always.”

“I’m sorry.” I look back down at where Sebastian is still holding our hands, at the swirls of ink across his skin.

A black and gray rose is tattooed on the back of one hand, an intricate kintsugi skull on the other, streaks of gold ink shot through the black and gray.

“I’ve been so caught up in how I feel, I haven’t even asked you about?—”

Sebastian shakes his head sharply. “He’s your brother, princess.” His thumbs brush against the sides of my hands in a quick, sweeping gesture that I think is meant to be comforting, but sends an odd rush of warmth through me. “You don’t need to be thinking about me right now.”

“My father wants me to—is making me get married,” I blurt out. “Because I’m the heiress, now. He says I need a husband sooner rather than later. And he’s going to find one for me.”

Sebastian has gone very still. His hands tighten around mine, almost imperceptibly. “He’s not giving you a choice?” Something has hardened in his tone, I realize; his voice sounds rougher than it ever has before. “He’s just going to pick for you?”

“Not exactly.” I take a shaky breath, trying to push the chaos of my feelings aside long enough to explain.

“He said he has potential suitors in mind. They’ll visit, we’ll get to know each other a little, and I’ll have input, but—” I bite my lip, chewing on it for a moment as I try to force the last words out.

“Ultimately, he’s going to choose who he thinks is best for the ‘family’. ”

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “It seems a bit soon for that,” he murmurs, his voice low and quiet. There’s still that hardness in it, and I’m unsure what he’s feeling. Is he just angry on my behalf?

“He said Luis’ death could destabilize things. He didn’t explain much more—he doesn’t think I really need to know all the details. I don’t think that he thinks I can grasp them,” I add bitterly.

Sebastian lets go of my hands, standing up abruptly as he runs his hand through his hair.

“So, what? He parades a line of men through this house, lets you decide who you’ll marry after a few conversations, and then if your choices line up, that’s it?

” He looks back at me, and there’s a dark emotion simmering in his eyes, one that startles me.

“I—I guess, yeah.”

“And you’re going to go along with it.”

My mouth drops open, and a jolt of shocked anger ripples through me. “What choice do I have?” I demand, and Sebastian’s face softens instantly.

“I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair again. “You’re right, princess. I’m sorry. I just?—”

A long silence stretches out between us.

I can see a deep unhappiness etched across his face, something that looks like misery.

I should know—I’ve seen it in the mirror often enough, over the past days.

“Do you think you won’t be able to stay?

” I ask softly, searching for the reasons why Sebastian might be so upset about this.

“I don’t know.” He presses his lips together. “Things might change. You’ll be living elsewhere. I—” There’s a nervous, jittery energy in how he moves as he strides across the room to the window, and I get up, following him.

“You can’t leave me, Sebastian,” I whisper. “You can’t.”

He turns sharply, his gaze meeting mine.

The air thickens between us, and the hairs on my arms prickle, something electric in that space that’s wholly unfamiliar to me and yet seems so right .

I don’t know what it is that I want, exactly, only that I feel as if I should take a step toward Sebastian, and another, tipping my chin up as I look into his soft, misery-filled green eyes?—

“I don’t want to,” he says softly, his voice thick and laced with that same pain.

And then he steps past me, striding toward the door and out of the room.

—

A week passes in a blur. I spend most of my time in the sunroom painting—or at least trying to.

I spend hours just sitting in front of my easel, the paints drying and clumping on my palette because I haven’t touched them, until I have to wash it all off, frustrated, and try to start again.

There’s tension between Sebastian and me, too, something that wasn’t there before and that I don’t entirely understand.

He hasn’t spent the night in the armchair in my room again.

He says it’s because he’s no longer supposed to be keeping watch outside of my room the entire night, the way he was ordered to in the immediate aftermath of what happened to Luis.

It would look strange, and potentially get him fired, if he were caught.

But it feels like there’s something else to it, too.

He’s been more terse, more formal with me, as if we’ve rolled back to the days when he first came to work here and we barely knew each other.

We’ve barely talked over the last week. We’ve gone on runs together, he’s checked on me regularly, but he’s quiet and withdrawn in a way that he hasn’t been with me in a very, very long time.

The easy answer to it is that he’s grieving too, and with the immediate storm having passed, he’s dealing with it in his own way now.

I can’t help feeling that there’s more to it, though.

What, I have no idea, since he’s barely talked to me at all, let alone given me reason to think I could dig deeper into what’s bothering him.