Page 27 of Deadly Obsession

While the car continues to do a lap, I make a mental note of the plate while Blondie disappears into the back of the restaurant. All I have to do now is wait for her to leave and see where they go to see if they lead me to her.

I’m coming for you, Rose.

CHAPTER17

SEB

Igroan inwardly as Beatrice stands to greet me, side-eyeing the flashing cameras to ensure they’re watching. I should have known…

“I’m glad you could make it,” she says.

Beatrice is still in mourning. Her hair is fixed in a bun, and she’s wearing a black, demure dress with a pearl necklace. Although, the happy glint in her eyes tells me she’s already done with her grief. Her father’s death is the best thing that has happened to her. Her mother died years ago, and she’s an only child, so she’s set to inherit a fortune.

I stroll over stiffly like a Lego man. I kiss both her cheeks like I’m supposed to. Cue blinding explosions fired through the window.

Beatrice lingers a little longer than necessary before pulling away. She deliberately rests her hand on my arm and whispers seductively, “Itreallyis good to see you again.”

That’ll give the paps the intimate shot they’ve been waiting for. To my mum’s credit, this is a brilliant PR stunt. What better way to correct my public image than being photographed on a date with a woman whose father died in the fire on the night I disgraced myself?

She waits for me to hold out her chair. I do it grudgingly, then take a seat. A waitress appears out of nowhere, buzzing around us like a fly around shit.

I gesture at the curtains. “Can we shut them?”

I’m not being watched like a zoo animal for an entire meal. Beatrice’s face falls. Thankfully, the waitress doesn’t see her disappointment.

“Of course, sir,” she says, eager to please.

Before they close, Beatrice’s hand shoots across the table to snatch mine like a Hungry Hippo. Her touch burns my fingers, and I fight the urge to recoil. To an outsider, we’re sharing a meaningful moment. The paps go wild. That’s the money shot.

To avoid embarrassing her and facing the wrath of the press, I don’t move until the curtains are closed, then I yank my hand out of her clammy grasp. She purses her lips. Did she think a dead daddy would warrant a pity fuck? She reeks of over-priced perfume and desperation.

“Let’s get something straight,” I say as soon as the waitress is out of our earshot. “I only came tonight because my mother gave me no choice.”

“I thought…” She looks down at her lap. I’d almost feel bad if she hadn’t socially engineered PDA for the front pages. “I thought that…”

“I’m sorry, Beatrice.” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but this isn’t a good time for me.”

“I’m not having a good time either, if you haven’t noticed,” she snaps. This is a refreshing change from her usual tendency to agree with everything like a lovesick puppy. “Not everything is about you, Sebastian. I know what you think of me and our world. How you think you’re too good for us.” Her face contorts into an ugly snarl, erasing any sympathy I may have had. “You need to think of your family and how things look.”

The waitress returns to pour our wine and asks, “Can I take your order?”

Beatrice’s fake simpering smile returns. “Surprise us,” she declares.

I raise my eyebrows. Maybe her father’s death has changed her after all.

“You won’t be disappointed,” the waitress says, bowing her head before scampering away.

“If you knew I didn’t want to come tonight, why are you here?” I ask, taking a cautious sip of my red wine.

“Your mother is very persuasive,” she says. “And she promised me an engagement ring. From you.”

I almost choke. “You do realise that marriage is about what two people want, don’t you?”

“We both know that’s not how it works. No one marries for love,” she says in a snotty tone that makes me cringe. “Your mother thinks you need someone to keep you on track. Someone like me. Someone about to come into a lot of money with the influence and connections you need. Our marriage makes sense. You get stability, and I get a title.”

I clench my fists under the table. Her air of entitlement reminds me of my time at university and the girls who lined up to fuck me because of my title. They didn’t care about me or who I was. They only wanted to say a royal cock had knighted them.

“I’m not marrying you,” I hiss. “Over my dead body.”

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