Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
He stiffens before slowly returning the hug. “You’re welcome.”
We break apart moments later, both trying to ignore the resulting awkwardness brought on by my spontaneous hug.
He tilts his head toward the seating area. “How about that conversation I promised you?”
It seems like days since he promised a conversation about my mother’s journal, but in actuality, it was during yesterday’s lunch that he hinted we still needed to talk. We take seats across from each other, and he settles into his signature pose with his hands clasped between the spread of his knees.
“You read the journal?”
“I did. It wasn’t what I was expecting.”
“You weren’t expecting your father to be in on the affair.” It’s a statement, not a question, and I answer with a shake of my head.
“Thank you for calling him my father.”
“A father is more than DNA, Novalee. It’s being present in the middle of the night, wiping away tears after a nightmare. It’s wiping your own away because seeing your child in pain hurts you just as much.”
“You’ll be an excellent father.”
“I’m hoping to be an excellent brother too.”
I send a cursory glance around the room. “You’re excellent in the gift department.”
Something passes between us then—a smile, a shared secret, an understanding.
“I’m almost a decade older than you,” he says, “and I know how the intricacies of power and greed work. I need you to trust me and follow my lead. I will protect you.”
My eyes narrow as I try to decipher his expression, because I’m positive he’s not referring to his fellow members of the Brotherhood.
There’s another threat. I’m certain of it.
“What are you protecting me from?”
“Everything, my queen. The curse of these walls, the iron will of my brothers, but especially the things you don’t know about yet.”
“Why don’t you tell me about them now?” I refrain from crossing my arms, determined to back up my next claim. “I’m a big girl, Landon. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
“You handled the news of your paternity better than I thought you would. I’ll give you that.” He holds my gaze a beat too long, and the tenuous peace we found splinters as a trace of unease taints the air. “But some secrets are best revealed when the time is right.”
“That time isn’t now?”
“No, my queen. It’s not.”
Chapter Seven
Since Landon and Elise left the island, I’ve been staying busy in the studio, spending the mornings with a private instructor who teaches me about the inner workings of the industry. I never realized there were so many types of fabrics and trims, and before Landon gifted me the opportunity to follow my dream, I had no idea about the mechanics of production or creating a prototype.
Most evenings, I spend the time alone sketching, finding inspiration from magazines and celebrity photos. But my favorite part of the day is after lunch, when my team and I go over my rough sketches, and they give me feedback for improvement, because that’s when my designs really start to come together.
On the fifth day, the door to the studio swings open too hard, banging against the wall, and everyone in the room halts, their attention on the figure standing in the doorway.
“Leave us,” Sebastian commands, shooting pointed glances at the people surrounding me. Before I can admonish him on his rudeness, the members of my team scurry from the room.
“Was it necessary to speak to them like that?” I stand, hands on my hips, and glare at him.
“No, but it sure was entertaining watching them scatter.” With a smirk, he enters and ceremoniously locks the door.
“What do you want, Sebastian?”
Instead of answering, he meanders around the room, fingering the various fabrics. “Landon sure went all out.” He whistles as he takes it all in. “Look at this place.”
“I’m very thankful for the gift.”
“I know you are.” He studies me, his head-to-toe scrutiny impossible to ignore. “You’re radiant. I’ve never seen you in your element like this.”
That’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.
He stops in front of the prototype I’ve been working on for the last two days. “You made this?” He gestures to the plunging neckline of the halter gown—an azure shade of silk tulle I didn’t realize until now matches the brilliance of his eyes.
“I designed it. I’ve had a lot of help in the production department.”
“It’s sexy as hell, Novalee.” He runs a finger down the chest of the prototype where the appliqué embellished material forms a deep V-neckline that stops above the naval. I’ll need strips of fashion tape under my breasts to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. I’ve never designed anything as provocative as the dress Sebastian’s fondling as if it’s an extension of me.
I’ve never worn anything so risqué either, and now I question my motives, my choice of color, even the way I plan to wear my hair—unhindered by pins or clips and flowing over my bare shoulders.