Page 25 of Forbidden Sins

“Yes.” Sebastian glances at his phone. “What time are you supposed to meet them?”

“Um—” I frantically try to think of the details that Marilee messaged me a few days ago, a message I barely looked at because I was mired in grief over Luis. “Eight this evening, I think?”

“Okay.” Sebastian rubs a hand over his mouth. “I’ll talk to Brick. He owes me a favor or two, I’ll get him to look the other way on this one. I’ll drive you so there’s no driver to tattle to your father. We’ll be back late, so there won’t be an issue with sneaking you back into the house. You get ready, and I’ll come get you right before eight. How’s that?”

“Dinner is at seven.” I bite my lip. “It’s not usually an hour, but?—”

“Tell your father you have a headache,” Sebastian suggests. “Eat a little, say you’re not feeling well, and come back up to yourroom. He always goes to his study after dinner. It shouldn’t be hard to get out of the house.”

That thrill runs through me again, and I know that there’s no way I’m going to say no. My mind is desperate for any bit of serotonin after the grief I’ve been mired in, and I know Sebastian was right. I need this. Luis would want me to go.

He might even be proud of me for sneaking out. He never got to be a troublemaker because he took his duties seriously. But I know there was a part of him that wanted to be.

“Okay,” I say decisively, looking up at Sebastian. “Let’s do it.”

10

ESTELLA

I’m consumed with nerves for the rest of the afternoon. I barely notice what I put on for dinner, grabbing the first dress in my closet that I see that looks appropriate. It turns out to be a black maxi dress with large red flowers printed on it, and I toss it on, piling my hair atop my head in a messy bun and heading downstairs to the dining room.

As usual, my father is already sitting at the head of the table when I walk in, pouring himself a glass of wine. He looks up as I enter, and a pleased smile crosses his face.

“It’s good to see you’re adding some color back into your wardrobe, Estella,” he says, taking a sip of the wine. “Grief is healthy, but only if we don’t let it overtake us. You seem to be adjusting, though. And I’m pleased to see that you’re not pouting over my refusal to let you go out tonight.”

A jolt of nerves ricochets through me, followed by a stab of resentment at his wording, and I grab the glass pitcher of water as soon as I sit down to give myself something to do. My hands are shaky, and I immediately regret it, but I manage to get my glass filled without incident.

“It was just an idea,” I say quickly. “Marilee invited me at my birthday party. I thought it might be rude to turn her down.”

My father raises an eyebrow as he takes another sip of his wine. “It’s better if you start forming more useful friendships, Estella. Those friends you made in college won’t last long, once you have your own household as a mafia wife and start to make a family. There’s too much you can’t tell them, and too wide of a gulf between you. Better to focus on the future, now.”

I nod wordlessly. “Of course,” I manage finally, just as the salad course is served, giving me something to focus on besides trying not to look at my father. I don’t want him to see the nervousness in my face. I’m terrified he’s going to guess that Sebastian and I are sneaking out, and we’ll both be in trouble. Sebastian even more so than I.

Maybe this was a bad idea,I think as I pick at the salad. If we get caught, I’ll be reprimanded, but Sebastian will get fired. He’ll never get a reputable job in security again. I’ll lose the person here who means the most to me. Maybe I was wrong to agree to it.

Dinner is delicious—a second course of medium-rare steak with gorgonzola cheese and a side of pasta—but I can barely eat. I nibble at the food, until my father finally notices and I can make an excuse.

“Are you not feeling well, Estella?” he asks, and I shake my head quickly. “You do look a little pale.”

“I have a headache. Actually—can I be excused? The food is making me feel nauseous…it’s a really bad migraine.”

“Probably all those paint fumes you breathe in,” he says darkly, and I feel a stab of alarm, worried suddenly that there’s something else he might be able to take from me. “Go rest. You can always call for something if you get hungry again.”

I blurt out my thanks, setting my napkin down and trying not to leave the table too quickly. I head back upstairs, looking forSebastian, but he’s nowhere to be seen. We’re supposed to leave any minute, but I feel sure now that this is a bad idea. The risk is too high, and the consequences are far higher for him.

Ten minutes past when we were supposed to leave, my door opens without a knock. Sebastian steps in, and looks at me, his expression confused. “Why weren’t you downstairs?” he asks confusedly. “Is that what you’re wearing? It’s pretty but…a little formal for a bowling alley, I think?—”

“I’m not going.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“If we get caught, you’ll get fired.” I look at him pleadingly. “My dad would make sure that you’d never get work again. He could make sure that no one else hires you as a guard, or…I don’t know—something worse, maybe! I don’t want something else bad to happen, and this time it’ll be because of me. I told you that I didn’t want you to leave, and if Dad finds out?—”

“No.” Sebastian shakes his head sharply. “You’re going, Estella.”

I narrow my eyes at him, a spark of rebellion lighting at the way he’s speaking to me. “You can’t tell me what to do?—”

“I’m doing it right now.” He strides to my closet, yanking open the door and peering inside. A moment later, he tosses a pair of designer black jeans and a silky blue off-the-shoulder top onto the bed. “There. Put those on. We’re leaving in ten minutes. You’re already going to be late.”

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