Page 82 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

The venue was nothing short of breathtaking now. Tomorrow, I wouldn’t get this chance—not really. Once service began, it would be back-to-back courses, plating under pressure, coordinating with staff, keeping Sebastian and the team on pace. A whirlwind of detail and heat and adrenaline.

But right now...

Now I could admire the way the wildflowers trailed like a river down the stone steps.

The way the warm-toned lighting played off the cave walls, turning the ancient carvings to gold. The quiet melody of stringstuning in the background. The way the scent of moss and rose and old magic hung thick in the air.

It was perfect.

Tomorrow, this would be chaos. Organized chaos, yes, but chaos nonetheless. I wouldn’t have time to look up, much less admire the scenery. So I took a moment, raised my phone, and started snapping pictures. The altar. The arch of the cave’s entrance. The tiny lights woven into the moss. A wide shot of the entire space, caught between nature and history.

I smiled to myself, then went to send them to Sebastian.

No service.

Of course. The moment I stepped into the literal mouth of the Earth, my phone turned into a glorified flashlight. I stepped back, past the threshold of the ancient carved doorway, then further, walking down the path toward the clearing where a few others stood. Still nothing.

“Mia,” I called softly, “you getting any signal?”

“Not in there,” she said without looking up from her clipboard. “Cave’s probably cursed.”

I let out a breath and kept walking, drifting a little farther away, holding my phone up like a ridiculous antenna. A flicker of one bar came and went. I stopped, waved my arm to the left—nothing. Turned—still nothing. I walked toward the edge of the gathering and stopped when I noticed a man a few paces away, standing still, watching me.

Older. Mid-sixties, maybe. Tailored navy blazer, crisp slacks, shirt so white it probably had a dry cleaner on standby. Silver hair, combed perfectly back. Everything about him screamed money—old money. The kind that came with ancestral titles and judgment.

I gave him a polite nod, still scrolling, hoping that weak flicker of a bar would return.

He didn’t nod back.

Instead, his lips curled into the faintest frown, his eyes scanning me with a mix of irritation and curiosity. “

So you’re the girl he bonded.”

I froze.

It took a full second for my brain to catch up. Then another to realize he was looking directly at me.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, my voice flat but cautious.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward.

“Étienne Laurente,” he said, accent smooth, refined, and cutting as glass.

My throat dried. My grip on the phone tightened. I’d never seen a picture of him—not really—but I didn’t need confirmation. The chill running down my spine told me everything I needed to know.

Sebastian’s father.

CHAPTER 19

Sebastian

I was halfway through dicing cilantro for a midday tasting when it hit me.

That tight pull low in my chest, a sudden throb behind my ribs—sharp, urgent. Not pain exactly. Not fear. But something… wrong.

I froze, blade poised mid-air. The kitchen around me was a blur of motion—pots clanging, orders shouted, water boiling over somewhere behind me. But all of it dulled, faded into a low hum under the sudden buzz of instinct.

“Hey.” Liam’s voice pulled me back, quiet but concerned. “You good, man? You went pale all of a sudden.”

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