Page 4 of The Sun & Her Burn
“Xan as in Lord Alexander Davenport, the Duke of Greythorn,” Isla confirmed, as if hearing such a man referred to by a common nickname upset her sensibilities.
Alexander would have loved that.
“One and the same,” I agreed. “Their son, Aidon, is already a little hellion so I cannot imagine what their house will be like.Only that it’s a good thing they live in a manor home that has literally endured wars.”
Isla laughed with me. “You have a number of nieces and nephews. Do you enjoy being an uncle?”
Joy bubbled in my gut at the additional thought of Giselle and Sinclair’s children, Genevieve and Theo, and Elena and Dante’s kids, Aurora, Amadeo, and Chiara.
“I have six, soon to be nine, so to say family vacations feel like a circus would be an understatement. Which is why it is a good thing I have always enjoyed the circus.”
Isla’s smile was warm with interest. Most women seemed to find it wildly attractive that I liked my nieces and nephews, which I thought was setting the bar fairly low.
“Do you want kids of your own someday?” she asked, a little breathy despite herself.
I’d known the question was coming, but it still hit like a dart to the centre of my chest.
Did I want kids?
I was an Italian raised in a family that had and would do absolutely anything for each other. A family that had shattered and reformed into something even more beautiful than its original shape.
Certo, I wanted kids.
I wanted them tomorrow.
But I would never have children with a woman or man I did not love to the very depths of my soul.
If I had a romantic heart before Savannah and Adam, I now had proof that the kind of life-altering, soul-ratifying love I had always believed in wasreal.
I saw it every time I was with my sisters and their partners.
The palpable love between Giselle and Sinclair that had given them the courage to upend their lives.
The epic romance between my twin sister, Cosima, and her Lord Alexander that had transcended years and overcome murderous fathers and secret society schemes.
The passion between Elena and Dante that had melted my sister’s icy, ten-foot walls and softened her while simultaneously making her the fiercest, most confident woman I knew.
Seeing their love stories play out, witnessing a true happily-ever-after, was almost enough to make me pick up my own pen ten years after I had finished my first and only screenplay, and write again.
Almost.
“Someday,” I said. “With the right person.”
Isla flushed just slightly when I winked at her.
It was early afternoon on a weekday, so Bar Marmont was empty but for the two of us, so when the door opened, my attention was drawn to it naturally.
A woman walked in, the bright Los Angeles sunlight at her back casting her features in shadow but highlighting her slender form.
As if summoned like the devil by her name, Savannah walked into the bar.
2
SEBASTIAN
She wore her signature white—a silk blouse tied in a bow at her throat and a pencil skirt that hugged every inch of her. That cloud of curled pale-blond hair was the same as ever, and even though she had aged over the last decade, she still maintained that haughty beauty reminiscent of a Victorian-era painting.
Without hesitation, those big blue eyes found me as they swept the space, and her mouth pressed into a firm line.
