Page 6 of Forbidden Sins

ESTELLA

I go upstairs at five to start getting ready for the party, a small hum of excitement in my chest despite myself.

I know the party isn’t going to be what I would have chosen for myself, but still—I’m not immune to the fun of a new dress and jewelry, of getting dressed up and eating a fine dinner with champagne and seeing at least one of my friends.

Even if the party itself will be overwhelming, there’s a small part of me that can’t help but look forward to it, all the same.

I didn’t see much of Sebastian for the rest of the afternoon, after he came by the sunroom. I imagine he was probably busy with Brick, working out security concerns for tonight. I’ll see him later, and that thought makes my heart leap in a way that I know it shouldn’t.

There’s no justifiable reason for me to feel a shivery kind of anticipation at the thought of seeing him, or for me to wonder what he’ll think of the dress I chose for tonight.

He’s my bodyguard, and my friend, but the way I’m feeling tonight is a kind of anticipatory excitement that I know belongs to a different kind of relationship altogether.

One that I know is inappropriate…and impossible.

The image of him getting out of the pool flashes into my mind again, and a shiver runs down my spine as I bite my lip.

I’ve never seen anything as devastatingly sexy as that…

not in person, not anywhere . I can’t stop thinking about how it might have felt to run my hands over the slick, damp contours of his inked, muscled body—of how hard those muscles might have felt under my hands.

I can’t stop thinking about those deep cuts of muscle near his hips, the way they led down to the thick bulge in his swim trunks.

I try to picture what he would have looked like with those trunks off , but I can’t quite make the image fit, as badly as I want to know.

And why do you want to know? I ask myself sternly as I get into the shower, dipping my hair under the hot spray to wash it.

It’s not as if I can do anything about it.

Sebastian Sinclair is one man who is completely off-limits to me.

My father would have a heart attack if he had the slightest inclination that I was fantasizing about my bodyguard.

He would also fire Sebastian, and that thought is a bucket of ice water dropped onto my fantasy.

I bite my lip, washing my hair quickly. The fact is, I’m nervous about tonight for more than one reason.

My father has brought up marriage a handful of times recently over dinner, and each time I’ve tried to avoid the conversation and steer it elsewhere.

But he keeps bringing it up, and that can only mean one thing—that he’s thinking about when he might want me to get married, and to whom.

I swallow hard. I don’t want to marry out of duty, for the improvement of our family’s wealth and power. Luis will have to, and I feel sorry for him, but I don’t know why it extends to me.

Our father still thinks like the older patriarchs of the families, like the elders in Sicily.

Arranged marriages, family ties, alliances that are more at home in those fantasy novels and historical romances that I read than here in the modern world.

I might dream about a world where I’m a princess with a devoted knight, but I don’t want to end up engaged to a man my father chooses, someone who I might find unattractive or unpleasant, or who might be cruel to me.

I don’t think my father would willingly choose someone who would be cruel, but I also think men are good at hiding their cruelty—particularly when it can get them something they want.

He’s been lenient with me, so far. I went to college and got a degree in fine arts, studying exactly what I pleased in person at the campus.

I would be allowed to go and spend time with my friends from college if I wanted to—I just often don’t, since it feels awkward.

When we were all in college, classes and homework, and finals served as enough of a common thread to make the differences in our families and futures fade into the background, but that’s no longer the case.

While those friends are dating and starting first jobs and getting their own apartments, I’m whiling away my hours working out and reading and painting, having a party thrown for me that probably cost as much as a year or more’s rent for one of them, and generally living the life of a spoiled socialite.

That thin thread of commonality was broken when we graduated, and I don’t know how to mend it—so I haven’t tried as hard as I probably should.

And now, I’m worried that my father is going to call in the debt of his leniency, and demand that I do my duty. That I marry someone to help bolster our family’s wealth and power, and be the good mafia princess that I was born to be.

I just don’t understand why I need to, when my brother is the one who is going to inherit. I don’t see why I can’t do as I please, since I don’t need to shoulder the responsibility of carrying on the family.

Not that I think I could do anything as insane as actually carrying on some kind of relationship with my bodyguard.

But surely there would be someone who I would want, someone I would choose for myself, in time.

I want to be able to explore that, to fall in love in my own time, and not on my father’s timetable.

When I’m finished showering, I dry off, slicking my favorite lotion over my skin until I’m soft all over and smell sweetly of vanilla and honeysuckle.

I blow out my hair, wrapping pieces of it in hot rollers until my head is covered in them, and then I turn my attention to my makeup.

I want it to be light and pretty, and I opt for a sparkling rose-gold eyeshadow, a light champagne highlight, soft rose blush on my cheeks, and a smooth, matte nude lip.

A swipe of mascara, and I’m ready to take my hair out of the rollers, brushing out the thick, heavy curls until they fall around my face and shoulders in a cascade of soft, dark waves.

The dress I chose is gorgeous, if a bit less daring than what I might have tried to pick if I didn’t know how much my father would disapprove.

The bodice is stiff dark purple silk, with a narrow, deep V filled in with an opaque illusion lace that prevents more than the very top of my cleavage from being visible, and wide straps that sit just on the edge of my shoulders.

There’s a darker purple ribbon at the waist, and then the skirt falls in a mermaid cut down to the floor.

The skirt itself is a very pale lavender, and cascading over it is draped dark purple tulle in the same hue as the bodice, stiff with beading from the waist all the way down to the floor in a pattern that’s reminiscent of the beading patterns on dresses from the twenties.

It’s glamorous and fits me perfectly, highlighting the swell of my cleavage, my small waist, and the swell of my hips.

When I step into the nude Louboutin pumps that I bought to go with it, the skirt swirls around my feet like purple froth, and I look in the mirror, wondering if I should have gone with something more innocent.

I hadn’t thought about it when I picked out the dress, but with the thought in my head now that my father might be pushing potential husbands in my direction, I suddenly wish I’d covered up more. I look elegant, beautiful…adult.

I swallow hard, walking to my vanity to get the jewelry I picked out.

A pair of princess-cut amethysts just below a pearl stud, a matching drop necklace of an amethyst surrounded in a halo of pearls, and a bracelet made of interchanging amethysts and pearls, all of it set in rose gold.

I take one more look in the mirror, drawing in a slow breath, and I hear the sound of the music starting up downstairs.

Guests will begin arriving in the next few minutes, and for the next several hours, I’ll be the center of attention.

A part of me wants to strip everything off that I just put on, crawl into my pajamas, and stay hidden in my room. But I know that’s not possible, so instead, I tilt my chin up, give myself one more appraising look, and head for the door to go downstairs.

Sebastian is standing just outside. I pause in the doorway, and I see him freeze for the barest of seconds, his gaze sweeping over me.

For that brief moment, I could swear I see his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, see his throat move as he swallows hard, taking a step back to give me more room.

“You look beautiful, princess,” he says, his voice cool and casual, delivering a compliment that I should expect, tonight of all nights.

But once again, I could swear that I hear something more there, some undercurrent, a tight rasp in his voice that makes something coil and tighten in my stomach.

Something I don’t understand, that feels primal and necessary even if I don’t know what it is. Even if I’ve never felt it before.

“There are already a lot of guests downstairs,” Sebastian warns. “This is definitely your father trying to throw the gala of the year.”

“I figured as much.” I take a deep, steadying breath, heading down the hall and toward the west staircase that will lead me to the ballroom.

I hear Sebastian’s footsteps behind me, firm against the gleaming wood of the hallway floors, crisp and precise.

He’s keeping an appropriate distance, but I’m painfully aware of him—of his eyes on me.