Page 86 of The Prince Who Loved Me

“I’ll be a silent partner. You can draw up a contract saying I have absolutely no say in any business decisions you make. This could work.”

Had he ever really seen her? He didn’t understand at all. “I’m not looking for you to fix things, Sebastien! I told you because you wanted to share my burden, not take it over. You want me to confide in you, but how can I when you don’t trust me to take care of my own problems? I’m not the same helpless woman I was a year ago. You say you recognize that, but do you really?”

She watched his face as he thought over her words, her heart heavy in her chest. She wanted his immediate reassurance. For him to acknowledge she didn’t need constant help anymore. Why did he have to think about supporting her? “I’m going to walk home.”

“But it’s dark.”

And water was freakin’ wet. “Do you know how manytimes I’ve done this after dark to sneak into the house? How often I do it now when I’m working late? I’ll be fine.”

“Want me to walk with you? Not as a chaperone.” He held up his hands at her glare. “But because I like being with you.”

Old Brandi would have said yes to avoid the conflict. What she really wanted now was time. Her great experiment was a failure, and she had had enough platitudes. “No. I want to be alone.”

“Okay.” Sebastien backed up. “Are you going to come by when you get home?”

The thought of being comforted, being held while she slept had appeal, but she didn’t want to rely on him, not now. She had done it too much already. “I’ll see you in the morning. Paisley and Charlotte are coming by tomorrow.”

Sebastien’s eyes flickered and lost some of their brilliance. He pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I love you,” he said, before walking in the shadows to his car.

She waited until the taillights disappeared and her aching heart subsided before finding the path home in the darkness.

Chapter 20

Talk about royally fucking something up.

Sebastien had slipped into the role of protector and solver of problems as easily as he had gotten dressed that morning. It was an old, familiar routine, but one that Brandi no longer needed.

And he didn’t want her to need it. He wanted her to need him for what he was, not for what he could provide.

The lights were on in the Fountenoy Hall kitchen when he pulled his car into the back lot. He cautiously let himself in through the door. Aunt Eulalee was pouring hot water from a kettle into a tea pot and muttering to Mac, her white hair fluttering around her shoulders. It was well past her bedtime.

“Oh, Sebastien.” Eulalee half-stifled a yawn as she put the kettle back on the massive stove. “Go on out to the parlor.”

The command from the easy-going woman sent a shot of unease through him. “What’s happening?”

“Your dad is here.”

Tension heightened his senses and he peered into the pass-through window to the dining room. His Majesty? Here?

“I mean, your dad’s secretary. Or social officer. Or something. I don’t know. He’s been waiting for you.” She blinked at him. “So I made tea.”

Eulalee’s own form of armor.

“It’s been a crazy day. Suddenly we’re full up with reservations. Thank goodness Wendy came back early.” Eulalee shuffled across the tile floor and placed the teapot on the rolling cart which already held cups and saucers, and a selection of pastries. She waved him away. “You go on, now. I’ll be out in a right minute.”

“No, I got this,” Sebastien said. Eulalee had been up sinceearly morning to prepare breakfast. “Go upstairs. I’ll take care of it.”

The war between Southern-hostess and the need for sleep played out on Eulalee’s face, with her mouth tightening and her eyes darting to the tray of food.

“Come to bed, Lee,” Mac coaxed.

“If you’re sure?” Eulalee asked Sebastien. Mac put his arm around her shoulders and ushered her to the stairs.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

Once Eulalee and Mac left, Sebastien pushed the cart through the dining room, down the hallway and into the lobby. He paused outside the parlor door, straining to hear something. Anything.

Silence greeted him. Not surprising. Monsieur Donnarumma could remain as still as the pictures in the castle’s portrait gallery and had about as much personality.