Page 21 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

SEB

I didn’t like the sound of Dad making my life hell, so here I am, walking in to one of Antonio Marchetti’s restaurants.

He owns a string of high-end Italians across the West End.

Black and white tiled floors, well-placed wall lights, red velvet banquettes, and green velvet stools at the long marble bar.

It smells like hot olive oil and garlic.

Dad is tucked into a booth at the back. He looks remarkably well, considering it’s only been a few weeks since his heart attack. I feel a tiny pinch of something that feels disconcertingly like disappointment, and it makes me feel like I deserve to go straight to hell.

I’m late, so Antonio Marchetti and his daughter Diana are already seated.

Dad and Antonio stand when I reach the table. Diana stays seated, hands clasped on the table. She doesn’t even look up. Guess she wants to be here about as much as I do.

“We were worried you weren’t coming, Sebastian,” Dad says.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, taking Antonio’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “This is a great space.” I gesture around the room.

“Diana did the interiors,” he says with pride.

On cue, Diana looks up to acknowledge that we’re talking about her. She’s pretty, her cheeks a little rosy, her eyes a honey brown colour. She gives me a cute smile that looks almost like a smirk. Something about this scenario amuses her, that’s for sure, but I can’t fathom what it is.

“Great job,” I tell her.

“Glad you like it,” she says, her voice smooth and her vowels rounded with an unmistakable public school accent. There’s something feline about her. Maybe the almond shaped eyes or her straightened blonde hair that clings to the sides of her head.

“Diana,” Antonio says to his daughter. “This is Mr Hawkston Junior.”

Junior, my arse . We’re not in America. I’m junior to nothing.

Diana rises from her seat, but when I offer her my hand, she doesn’t take it.

Antonio watches the interaction with a narrowed gaze, and Diana deliberately averts her eyes, as if she’s reluctant to catch her father’s stare.

“Hi,” she says to me. “I’ve been saving myself for marriage.

I hope you’re ready to pop my cherry because it’s going to go off like a bomb. ”

My mouth drops open, a surprised laugh caught in my throat. Dad jerks back in his seat so hard his spine slams against the leather. Beside him, Antonio splutters and springs to his feet. The glasses on the table shake and dad touches the base of his wine glass to steady it.

“Diana!” Antonio growls, his cheeks shaking.

Her mouth forms a neat O and she touches her fingers to her lips, displaying perfectly manicured pink nails.

“Goodness. I don’t know what came over me.

Sorry.” Her voice is so sickly sweet that the apology rings false, leading me to suspect that she knew exactly what she was doing.

She can’t be fully on board with this arrangement either.

Antonio lowers himself to sitting, both hands flat on the table as he glowers at her.

Flashing a tight smile, she holds her hand out to me. “Hi, Mr Hawkston Junior.”

I grip her hand, stifling my grin. “Good to meet you.” I release her and flick my jacket out of the way as I sit next to her.

Well, this is fucking awkward. Or hilarious. Or both.

Our fathers continue the meeting like nothing unusual has occurred. Dad outlines the basics of the land and hotel deal. The Marchettis want to keep a long leasehold of the land, which I can tell fucks Dad off. He wants the freehold, but Antonio won’t let it go.

“I also want to ensure that Arthur Knatchbull gets his luxury goods stores on the ground floor,” Antonio says.

Dad has no issue with this because Hawkston Hotels has been dealing with Knatchbull Luxury Goods from the start. They’re in all our hotels, as well as every luxury shopping street in the world. Clearly, the Knatchbulls and Marchettis are acquainted.

“And you’re an interior designer, Diana?

” I ask by way of making conversation while Dad and Antonio thrash out the details.

This meeting really does feel like we’re the kids and they’re the men, and the whole thing makes me fucking angry, but seeing as Diana is sitting beside me, it would feel wrong to ignore her.

“No. This was my first project. I’m a social media influencer, but Dad doesn’t think it counts, so he gave me the restaurants to design.

With supervision.” I glance at her father, who’s paying us no attention.

“I thought you might know what I did,” Diana adds.

“I thought you’d have looked me up. I looked you up. ”

“Ah. No. I didn’t.” Because the only woman I’m stalking on social media is Erica Lefroy . “What do you… influence?”

“Books. Romance, actually. I’ve just read that Taming the Beast book and I would love Erica Lefroy to get cast in the movie.

She’s so great.” She lets out a sigh that sounds lovesick, and I try to hide the fact that Erica’s name hit me like a shockwave.

“You got a lot of publicity after you picked her up off the runway. I read all about it online. They’re calling you Prince Charming. ”

“They are?”

“Yeah. You know… the whole lost shoe thing. You scooping her up and saving her. It’s kind of adorable. She was like Cinderella, which makes you Prince Charming.”

I should definitely change the subject, but if Erica isn’t talking to me, then talking about her is the next best thing. I can’t fucking resist it. It’s the hit I’ve needed.

“She’s so beautiful. You must know her really well.

Do you?” She sounds starstruck. “I’d love to have a guy who’d be willing to do that for me.

You know, if I fell over in public. Maybe I’m not pretty enough though…

” She looks away awkwardly, probably remembering why we’re here.

If we get married, the guy who’s supposed to scoop her up and save her is me.

“You’re plenty pretty,” I say.

The little smirk makes a reappearance, and the awkward girl of a moment ago is gone. “Oh, you’re smooth.” She leans back a little, showing all her teeth as she grins at me.

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted to see what you’d say if I played it coy.”

I frown. “You were fishing for compliments?”

“No.” She flicks her hair off her shoulder. “I wanted to see what kind of man you are. My followers tell me I’m pretty a lot in the comments, but I’m not like Erica Lefroy. I’m relying on all the makeup and the filters and—”

“There are no filters here. You’re all good. I promise.”

Her eyelids flutter like she’s holding back an eye roll. “There you go again, trying to reassure me. I might not be a world famous beauty, but I’m happy with my face. It does what I need it to do.”

I take a sip of my wine, unsettled by the attention she’s paying to me already. Normally, I’m the one observing and taking notes. “Which is what?”

“Get people to stop scrolling. Then I can capture their attention with my witty book commentary.” I press my lips together to stop from smiling and raise my wine glass. “How many followers do you have?”

“Half a million,” she responds just as I go to take a sip of my wine.

I splutter into the glass. “Half a million? And your dad doesn’t think that counts?”

She shrugs, but it’s a kind of happy shrug that dismisses her dad’s opinion, and like she’s thrown off a spark, warmth hits my chest. “I’m a bit of a big deal.

” Her smile is so bright that I know she’s not taking herself too seriously.

“Really, though, it’s just something I’m passionate about.

And I think when we love something, we go after it differently.

We don’t stop, you know? That’s why my follower count grew so fast.”

My mind goes to Erica, like an elastic band pinging back to its resting place. I wrestle my attention back to Diana. “Consider me impressed.”

“Thanks.” She tips her head, eyebrows pinching. “You seem nice. I don’t want to mislead you.”

“About what?”

She leans in close and whispers, “I’m not actually a virgin, but don’t tell my dad.”

I pull back and wink. “You’re secret’s safe with me.”

“We’ll sort out the details of the deal.” My father’s voice shatters the fragile intimacy of our conversation. “And when it’s all lined up, we’ll announce the engagement.”

“Four months. I think that’s how long it’ll take to sort it all out,” Antonio says.

Four months.

This is surreal. I’ve woken up inside a nightmare. I must have. Some fucked up lucid dream where my father is marrying me off to a woman ten years my junior so he can build a mega hotel and take over the world.

There is no fucking way I am agreeing to this. As amusing as Diana is, she will not be my wife.

“You two will make such a beautiful couple. Diana deserves a good man,” Antonio adds, and I force my face into stillness. I don’t want to reveal anything .

We eat and drink, and there’s even laughter.

I don’t dislike Antonio Marchetti, and I suspect he’s been a marginally better father to Diana than Dad was to us.

At least he’s talking about her and what she deserves in a positive light, which suggests he cares about her at least as much as he cares about the deal.

Unlike Dad, who doesn’t give a fuck about me.

At the end of the meal, Diana and her father depart, leaving me and Dad at the table. We sit in awkward silence for a few moments, Dad dabbing his lips, which are dry and stained with red wine he certainly shouldn’t be drinking, with a white linen napkin.

“She’s lovely,” Dad announces, even though I’m not sure he paid her much attention, and it wouldn’t make any difference to him if she were a monster.

“She’s fine. But I’m not doing it. This is my life and I’m sorry, but no. You can take all my money. I don’t give a fuck.”