Page 74 of Wild Tangled Hearts

His eyes hold mine for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “You’re right,” he concedes, his voice husky with a mixture of desire and restraint. “But, let’s eat first.”

I follow him into the kitchen and settle at the large marble island that dominates the room. As I watch him move around, some of my tension eases. I sip the wine slowly, relishing the rich flavor.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, glancing over at me.

I nod, my stomach growling in agreement. “I forgot to eat today, so I’m starving.”

Sebastian works with quiet confidence, preparing the salmon with lemon dill sauce and the colorful medley of vegetables.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” I say, watching him with genuine interest.

“After mom...” he begins, his tone carrying the weight of a painful memory. “I took on a lot more household work after she took her own life.”

My heart tightens at the revelation he’s shared, and I feel a wave of empathy wash over me. The pain in his voice is palpable, a stark reminder that beneath his powerful exterior, there are wounds he’s been carrying.

“I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” I whisper.

“I never talk about it with anyone. It’s not something I like to share.”

He places a dish in front of me and then takes a seat.

The meal, though delicious, feels secondary now, as the weight of his confession hangs in the air.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say, placing a hand on his arm.

He nods, his gaze fixed on his glass. “I hated her for a long time,” he admits, his voice heavy with emotion. “I know it wasn’t fair. She was grieving the loss of her son. But...” He takes a deep sip of his wine, his eyes distant as he recalls painful memories. “She forgot I was still there. That I needed her. That my dad needed her.”

As he speaks, I hear the complex tapestry of emotions he’s been carrying for years. My heart aches for him, for the pain he’s endured and the burdens he’s shouldered alone.

“You had every right to be angry with her,” I tell him. “It was a selfish thing to do.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingers on his plate for a moment, his fork absently moving a purple carrot around. “It was. But CF is a brutal disease,” he explains. “It destroys families. She never got over the guilt.”

I furrow my brow, curiosity piqued. “What’s CF?”

He holds my gaze, an inner turmoil in his eyes, when he says, “Cystic Fibrosis.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I admit.

He takes a deep breath. “It’s a disorder that affects the lungs and digestive system. It’s caused by a faulty gene, and it leads to the production of thick, sticky mucus in the lungs and other organs. It can affect people differently, but in my brother’s case, it was aggressive. The mucus clogs the airways. It also traps bacteria, leading to chronic infections and lung damage. Over time, it becomes difficult for the person to breathe and function normally.”

As he speaks, I can hear the weight in his voice, the sadness of losing someone he loved deeply. It’s a stark reminder of the hardships he’s faced and the wounds that still run deep.

“Many people with CF can live a fairly normal life, especially with the advances in medical therapies.” He sighs, his expression growing somber once more. “But Toby had a particularly aggressive form of the disease. Despite all the treatments and interventions, his lung function deteriorated rapidly. He developed a severe respiratory infection that his weakened immune system couldn’t fight off.”

“I’m so sorry.” I reach out and put my hand over his, offering comfort in the face of his heartbreaking memories. The depth of his pain is palpable, and I can only imagine the toll it has taken on him.

The pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, and I can see him more clearly now. The walls he’s constructed, the layers of self-protection, make sense considering the burdens he’s carried.

I rise from my seat, and he shifts on his stool to make space. I stand between his legs; the proximity creating an intimate bubble around us. I run my fingers through his dark hair, a tender gesture meant to convey my gratitude for his willingness to open up to me. My heart swells with affection for him.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me,” I murmur. “I know it must have been difficult.”

Sebastian’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a deep vulnerability there. “Bella, I—”

I stop his words with a kiss, and he groans against my mouth. The taste of him is exquisite, a blend of wine and something uniquely Sebastian. His mouth is warm and inviting, and our tongues dance in a tantalizing, intricate rhythm. The sensation of his lips moving against mine, the softness and warmth, ignites a fiery heat within me.

When our lips part, Sebastian’s breathing is ragged, his dark eyes filled with a depth of emotion that takes my breath away. His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face as he speaks, his voice laced with sincerity. “I want to be with you. I want to make this something real.”

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