Page 112 of Unholy Union
Sabrina loves this kind of weather. She soaks it right up like sustenance.
I step out into the morning light and take the long stone path that cuts through the hedges, hands shoved in my pants pockets.
I should be relieved that she’s safe. That my father hadn’t hired somebody to make her “disappear” like I had been worried about at last night’s event.
But I’m not relieved; I’m suspicious.
Because ever since she reappeared at the museum, she’s been acting off. She barely said a word when we returned home and got ready for bed and now she snuck downstairs before I even woke up. If she’s hiding something, I’m about to find out what.
Sabrina looks like a painting you’d hang in a gallery. She’s settled beneath the largest tree on the estate lawn, its thick branches stretching wide to shade her from the warm late-morning sun. A faded, floral-patterned blanket is spread out under her, her smooth legs folded to one side, bare feet nestled into the grass. A book rests across her lap, fingers bent around the edges. Her curls are caught by the breeze, a couple strands blowing across her brow.
She looks warm and supple bathed in the sunlight against the green backdrop. Almost too beautiful and serene to interrupt.
She doesn’t look up until I’m within a few feet. Then she seems to sense I’m close and her eyes flick to meet mine. Her lips tug upward, giving me a small but genuine smile.
“Good morning,” she says softly.
I gesture to the empty space beside her. “That seat taken? Or are you saving it for another man?”
She squints up at me, cupping her hand over her eyes to shield from the sun. “Actually, yeah, it is. He’s tall, dark, and handsome. He goes by Cato Valente. You seen him around?”
I can’t help the chuckle that rumbles in my chest. “Heard he’s a bastard.”
“You heard right,” she says, returning her attention to the book. “But I like him anyway.”
I drop to the blanket beside her, studying her profile. She seems lighter than she did last night, slightly less withdrawn and muted. It’s not nothing, but it’s also not enough to settle the unease gnawing at me.
“I was surprised. You got up without waking me this morning.”
“You looked like you were sleeping too well. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She goes to flip another page, but I catch her hand mid-motion, curling my fingers around her wrist.
“Sabrina.”
She blinks at me, brows knitting as I stare her in the eye.
“What happened last night?” I ask plainly. “Where were you for those thirty minutes?”
“I told you. Tessa and I got lost after we went to the restroom.”
It’s a lie. Or at least a half-truth. I’d wager money on it.
My hand slides up to her cheek, tilting her face up toward mine.
“If there was more to the story, would you tell me?”
Her lips part as she hesitates half a second. “Cato, I think you need to answer your own question.”
“What question?”
“If there was more to your story… would you tell me?”
The air shifts between us, a low pulse of tension emerging. I search her face, trying to figure out just how much she knows… or suspects.
“I…” I trail off, jaw tightening. I want to lie. I want to tell her there’s nothing, that there never has been.
But there’s no use pretending when it’s an inevitable situation I’ll need to address.
The takeover’s happening. As a non-executive member of the board, she still gets a vote. She’s going to find out either way.
