Page 96 of Wild Tangled Hearts

“Sebastian Sinclair nervous? This has to be a first,” I tease, leaning closer. “He must have some real dirt on you. Is it the embarrassing stories, or the cringeworthy photos you’re most afraid of?”

A grin tugs at his lips, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll have stories and photos. But I can handle a little embarrassment. It’s just...” He takes a deep breath, gripping my hand and squeezing it. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought home.”

“Really?” I can’t help but smile, my heart fluttering in my chest.

Sebastian nods, his gaze briefly flickering away before returning to mine. “I’ve spent the last decade focused on building a legacy. But I never let myself want anything other than that. But with you, I’m thinking about a future.”

His confession sends a rush of warmth through me.A future.

“Well, now I am nervous,” I say, playfully hitting his arm, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s a lot to throw at a girl before she’s about to meet her future father-in-law.”

I expect him to chuckle at my attempt at humor, but his dark eyes remain serious, searching mine. My playfulness fades, and I hit him again, an anxious laugh escaping my lips. “That was a joke. I’m kidding around.”

He grunts, his jaw tightening as he keeps his focus on the road. “Too bad, because I wasn’t.”

My heart skips a beat, his words sinking in. The gravity of his confession washes over me. This is real, and the future he spoke of is something he’s seriously considering. A whirlwind of emotions courses through me — excitement, nervousness, and a profound sense of hope.

As we pull up to his father’s house, I can see a figure in the distance. An older man, rugged and strong, stands beside a pile of chopped wood. He’s dressed in a plaid shirt and worn jeans, a stark contrast to Sebastian’s impeccable suit and polished demeanor.

Sebastian cuts the engine, and we step out of the car. The crisp air fills my lungs, and I shiver slightly.

He drapes his arm over my shoulders. “Remember what I told you. He may seem gruff at first, but he’s a good man.”

I nod, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Sebastian’s father turns to us, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. The striking similarities between father and son — same bronze complexion, lean, muscular stature, and intensity in those dark eyes that can command a room — are even more apparent up close.

“You brought a guest.”

Sebastian nods and gestures toward me. “Bella, this is my father, James.”

“This is a surprise,” James says, brows raised as his gaze focuses on me. He steps forward, his deeply calloused hands reach out to grasp mine, shaking it with a firm grip.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sinclair,” I say.

He waves away the formality. “Call me James. We’re not much for titles out here.”

We follow James into the house, the wooden floors creaking beneath our feet as we move through the cozy space. The walls are adorned with photographs, capturing moments from the past.

There’s one photo that catches my attention — a portrait of a beautiful woman with light brown eyes and a sad smile. Sebastian notices my lingering gaze and quietly says, “My mom.”

Curiosity and sympathy tangle within me as I nod. I can only imagine the complexity of emotions tied to the memories of his mother and brother.

Sebastian points out more pictures, some of the whole family, most just Tobias and Sebastian. In each one, he and Tobias look like twins, despite being two years apart. Their resemblance is uncanny, from the shape of their faces to the identical mischievous grins they share in many of the pictures. But as I look closer, I notice subtle differences.

Tobias appears smaller and thinner, his eyes carry a haunting hollowness that’s absent in Sebastian’s.

He points to one photo in particular, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning. “This was taken on a camping trip, right before we moved to France for our—” He clears his throat. “For Tobias’ treatment.”

I squeeze his hand in silent support.

James clears his throat. They share a hard look that I can’t quite decipher. Then, James breaks the moment, his voice gruff but warm as he says, “Lunch is ready.”

Sebastian and I follow James into the kitchen, where he’s prepared a delicious pot roast with roasted potatoes and carrots.

I smile at James as he places the steaming platter on the table. “This looks amazing.”

James chuckles, his gruff exterior giving way to a warmth in his eyes. “I’ve been cooking this pot roast for years. It’s a Sinclair family tradition.”

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