Page 82 of The Bourbon Bet
She turns, hand on the doorknob. Her gaze meets mine with that inquisitive look I’m coming to know well. The slight narrowing of her gaze, the tiny furrow between her brows that appears when she’s intrigued.
“Have dinner with me on Monday,” I tell her, stepping closer. Not a question, almost a plea. “I don’t want to wait until the party to see you.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “Monday? Don’t you have a busy week? Isn’t derby time like the Super Bowl for distilleries?”
I laugh. “It is, but I’ll make time. Hell, I’d suggest Sunday, but I’ll be tied up with Oaks Day events.” I’m barely able to keep from begging, but manage to hold on to a little self-respect.
She steps toward me, closing the distance between us. “I’d like that,” she says softly. “Monday sounds perfect.”
Unable to help myself, I kiss her, slow and deep. Her arms wrap around my neck, and for a moment, I let myself imagine a world where there are no wagers, no secrets, no Thorne between us. Just this. Her warmth, her smile, the way she makes everything else fade away.
When we break apart, I inhale her citrus scent coming off her warm skin, needing to take a piece of this moment with me.
Reluctantly, I step back, and she turns toward the door again. That’s when I notice the mark on her neck, right at the slope of her shoulder. It looks like I enjoyed the noises she made when I nibbled on the spot a little too much.
“Um, you might want to wear your hair down,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks, opening the door.
“I accidentally gave you a hickey.” I kiss the spot. Her body stiffens, and I look up—right into a man’s eyes, the same color as Rosalia’s. Only this set has deep crow’s feet.
The cozy bubble of intimacy that had enveloped me bursts, and my body tenses, preparing for a confrontation. I see surprise on Mr. Manchester’s face, then his lips press into a thin line. In that look, I know the weight of my past; the reputation that precedes me isn’t doing me any favors with Rosalia’s father.
My hand twitches at my side, instinctively wanting to reach for her to show a united front. But I hold back, unsure if such a gesture would be welcome at this charged moment. I step from behind Rosalia, determined to face whatever judgment or disapproval her father throws at me.
I offer my hand. “Mr. Manchester, I’m Sebastian Blackstone. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her father looks at my hand for a beat too long. Then, he shakes it, saying in a flat tone, “Paul. Paul Manchester.”
“You’re early,” Rosalia says to her dad.
“Traffic was better than expected. Are you joining us?” he asks me. His clipped tone makes it clear I’m not welcome.
“No. I have a breakfast meeting this morning,” I reply.
The relief in the other man’s eyes would be funny if he weren’t someone important to Rosalia. Where did her dad’s dislike for me come from? From the media or something else?
She claps her hands. “Okay, well, we better get moving.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell her, unsure if kissing her goodbye under her father’s disapproving gaze is a good idea. She nods without meeting my eyes, so I turn to her father. “Again, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Manchester.”
Stepping into the hallway, I walk down the stairs, pausing at the bottom, and look up at her closed door. I hate that her father sees me as someone unworthy of his daughter. I hate it more because he’s right. As long as I’m trapped in Thorne’s wager, I am that man. I need to escape our bet to untangle myself from thisfucking web. There has to be a loophole or a way to negotiate. It won’t be easy, but I’m determined to do whatever it takes to free myself from my past mistakes.
Because for the first time in a long time, I have a reason to fight, a chance at something real.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rosalia
I tap the button on my phone’s screen and the video stops recording. Tucking it into my jacket pocket, I keep my gaze trained on the sky, which is shifting from dark to light blue and filling with colorful hot-air balloons preparing for the race.
“I’ve missed this. All the derby fun,” Noah tells his sister, and Paige nods.
“Do you not get to visit often?” I ask. Despite having only met this morning, conversation flows easilybetween us.
“Not as much as I’d like,” he replies. I’ve learned Noah works in Cleveland as a software engineer. His gaze finds mine. “Though, given a reason, I’d visit more. An hour and a half isn’t that far…”
My cheeks heat, and I tip my face toward the sky. I recognize the invitation, and on paper, he’s a suitable match for me. He’s handsome, successful, and grounded—a sweet, charming engineer who isn’t infamous by birthright. And Paige is his sister, which is a hell of a lot better than having Thorne as a brother-in-law.
