Page 35 of Forbidden Sins

I pause as any number of answers run through my head. I could tell Antony about the way I saw Nico looking at other women when Estella wasn’t around, but I doubt he’d care about that. Mafia men aren’t known for their fidelity. I could tell him that I saw Nico bark at a waiter who didn’t refill his champagne glass quickly enough, but I doubt that would stick either.

“He seems genuinely interested in Estella,” I say instead, forcing the words out one at a time. “From the information we pulled on him, his background check and references, he seems solid. His business connections are what he says they are. On paper, he’s excellent for her, sir.”

Antony’s eyes narrow. “There’s a ‘but’ in there, Sinclair,” he says flatly, and I clear my throat.

“I think your daughter finds him boring,” I say simply. “Predictable and boring.”

Antony chuckles. “Boring, hm?” He shuffles the papers that Brick handed him, setting them to one side of his desk. “That sounds like Estella. But boring is what she needs, I think. A wealthy, connected,boringhusband to care for her and for my empire. To spoil her as she deserves and keep her in the lifestyle to which she’s accustomed.”

Something you can’t do.I don’t know if Antony meant to drive that dagger home, but it sinks into my chest all the same. “Of course, sir,” I manage with a nod.

Antony waves a hand at us both. “That’s all. Oh, and Sebastian? Estella mentioned to me this morning at breakfast that she wants to visit Luis’ grave. Arrange extra security for that trip, please.”

“Of course.” I nod, turning to follow Brick out of the office. He veers off in one direction and I go in another, heading to find Estella where I think she’ll be, in the sunroom.

She’s sitting there, looking out at the gardens, but there’s no painting in front of her or brushes in her hands. She looks melancholy, in a black sundress with thin straps and a loose skirt that’s split up one side, and I clear my throat gently as I step into the room.

She looks around sharply at the sound of my footsteps. “Sebastian.” There’s something soft and melancholy in her voice, and it takes everything in me not to go to her.

“Your father said you wanted to go to the cemetery. To visit Luis.”

Estella nods. “Can we go now?”

“Of course. I can have a few men follow us. For additional protection.”

She doesn’t argue, just stands up, smoothing her hands over the silky skirt of her dress. The split parts for a moment, showing a long strip of her smooth, pale leg, and my jaw tightens. I can’t look away for a second, transfixed by the sight of something as simple as Estella’s leg, imagining how smooth it would feel against my palm, how I could hitch it up around my hip, pressing her back into the wall so that she could feel me against her?—

“Sebastian?”

I blink back to awareness, feeling the all-too-familiar sensation of my cock lengthening along my thigh. I’m in a near-constant state of arousal around her these days, and it feels impossible to slake. “I’ll send a text now,” I tell her quickly. “Follow me, I’ll have the driver bring a car around.”

Forty-five minutes later, we’re parked outside the gates of the cemetery. Estella is pale and quiet as she gets out of the car, a bouquet of white roses that she stopped to buy clutched in her hand. Her black dress flutters ominously around her ankles in the warm wind that springs up as she moves down the path through the tombstones, and I glance up at the cloudy skies, concerned it might rain.

I gave the other men instructions to stay back by the cars, for Estella’s privacy. It would have been smarter, I think, to have had them follow us. To keep me from saying or doing anything I shouldn’t.

I’m finding it harder and harder to trust myself around her. To keep my head clear. That’s the last thing I should do, as a bodyguard. I should be focused on one thing, and one thing only—her safety, her security, at all times. If I really meant my vow toher, I reflect as I follow her to Luis’ small plot of earth, I would find a way to push these feelings aside for good.

I follow at a respectful distance, scanning our surroundings as Estella walks straight toward her brother’s grave. I hang back as I watch her kneel in front of it, still close enough to hear her as she sets the roses down on the still-fresh earth.

“I miss you,” she whispers softly. “Everything’s falling apart, Luis. Nothing feels right anymore.”

I press my lips together, staying several feet back, enough to give her an illusion of privacy while still keeping her within my sight. I’m tense and watchful, my hand lingering near the concealed weapon at my hip. I doubt there’s any real danger here, but still, I’m prepared. There’s not a chance in hell I’ll allow anything to happen to her. I’ll never let anyone bring her harm.

Even if that person were me.

I watch as she closes her eyes, and I see the tear tracks sliding down her cheeks. I want to go to her, to smooth them away, but I stay where I am, watchful but not interfering.

“I’m going to be married, Luis,” she whispers, and I feel my heart contract in my chest. “It’s all planned out, everything but which groom will sign on the dotted line. And I think Dad’s narrowed it down to four or five, now. He says it’s necessary, now that I’m the heiress.”

She takes a deep breath, reaching out to brush her hand over the roses. “It’s not your fault, of course. I didn’t come here to blame you, or anything like that. But it’s hard, Luis. I’m so scared. I don’t want to marry a stranger.”

I watch as more tears drip down her face, and my jaw tightens. I want to go to her so badly it fucking hurts.

“I wish you were here,” she whispers. “But if you were, it would probably be all different. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Estella goes silent, the only sound the faint rustling of the trees in the summer breeze. She stays there for a long moment, until she finally stands, dusting the dirt off of her skirt as she turns to look at me, an invitation in her eyes.

I walk toward her, coming to stand next to her at the gravesite. “I wanted to give you your privacy,” I murmur, and I feel Estella’s hand brush mine, ever so slightly.

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