Page 23 of Forbidden Sins

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 soright. 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 clumpingon 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.

Friday afternoon, I find myself once again staring at my half-finished painting of the garden, my phone in my lap. I’m supposed to go out tonight for Marilee’s birthday party, and now I know I need to text her and tell her that I won’t be able to make it.

There’s a brief knock at the sunroom door, and I look up sharply as Sebastian walks in. He pauses in the doorway, looking at me and then at the phone in my hands. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” I look away, immediately feeling as if I’ve lied to him. “No,” I say finally, looking back. “I was supposed to go out withmy friends from college tonight for one of their birthdays. But I don’t think I can go now.”

Sebastian nods, leaning against the doorframe. “Because of Luis?” he asks, his voice gentle, and I raise and drop my hands in a helpless gesture.

“Partially,” I admit, and I feel a flood of relief at talking to him again—at the two of us talking like this, like we used to. At feeling like I have someone to open up to, again. “I feel guilty going out and enjoying anything. He’s never going to enjoy anything again, so why do I get to?” My throat tightens, and I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that always seem far too close to the surface these days. “It feels wrong to be happy at all.”

“Estella,” Sebastian murmurs my name gently, pushing away from the doorframe and coming to stand just in front of me. The light coming in through the sunroom windows glints off his dark hair, and I can’t take my eyes off him for a moment. “Luis loved you. He wouldn’t want you to be endlessly miserable just because he’s gone. Do you really think he’d tell you to stay home and grieve instead of going out with your friends?”

I bite my lip, shaking my head. “No,” I admit. “He wouldn’t. He’d be pissed at me for not going, honestly. But—even if I wanted to go, there’s no way Dad is going to allow it, now. It’s at abowling alley.” I look at Sebastian, shaking my head. “I would have had a hard time convincing him before all of this. You think he’s going to let me go now?”

Sebastian frowns. “I can see that being a problem.” He pauses for a moment, considering. “I’ll talk to him.”

I blink confusedly. “You—why?”

“Because I think you need to go.” Sebastian looks at me sympathetically. “Estella, you’ve barely eaten since you got the news about Luis. I doubt you’re sleeping well. You’re either in your bedroom or in here, and you’re miserable no matter whereyou are. I know you’re grieving, and it’s understandable—but this isn’t good for you. And I think seeing your friends would be.”

It’s the most he’s said to me in a week. I stare at him for a long moment, absorbing what he’s just said. I can tell that he means it. I can hear it in every word he says, and my chest tightens, realizing that I truly have one person who cares about me above all else.

I bite my lip. “No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’ll go talk to him. You shouldn’t have to step in for me. I’ll go.”

“Princess—”

“I’ll handle it,” I repeat, more firmly this time. The thought of a confrontation with my father has my heart beating against my ribs, but I don’t want to hide behind Sebastian for this, too. He already protects me from everything else.

I know where my father is this time of day, of course. I stand up, setting my paints aside, and Sebastian hesitates before walking past me to go and open the door. I can tell from the way he’s looking at me that he’d go and handle the situation for me right now if I asked him to, but I don’t want him to do that.

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