“My job isn’t to decide guilt or innocence,” Janine cut in coldly. “It’s to ensure my clients have their legal right to a defense. Even people like Ted Bundy had counsel. Accusation does not equal guilt.”
“That’s true,” I admitted, tracing the condensation on my bottle. “But… I don’t understand how someone could defend men like that. Especially a woman. I mean, if women don’t stand up for each other, who will? I couldn’t do what you do.”
The silence hit like a slap. Janine’s face paled, her mouth pressed tight, and I knew I’d said too much. Sebastian’s jaw flexed; he slowly removed his hand from my thigh.
Finally, he broke the tension with forced brightness. “How about we order food to go? I’m starving. And Jess, I know you’ve got painting to do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jesse
“Your sister hates me,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time that Saturday morning, as I wriggled into my little black dress for the exhibit.
“She doesn’t hate you.” Sebastian sighed, equally for the hundredth time. “She’s used to people criticizing her work. Comes with the territory.”
He looked maddeningly good—casual cream shirt, dark blue slacks, clean shave, hair mussed just enough to make him look like he’d rolled out of bed. Meanwhile, I was two coffees deep and still jittery, my head aching from lack of sleep.
“Used to it or not, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I don’t take it back, I just shouldn’t have said it out loud.” I hesitated, then rubbed my forehead. “But I meant it. I don’t know how she can do what she does.”
Sebastian came over, turned me gently, and zipped up my dress. His fingers lingered just long enough to adjust the spaghetti straps, the gesture unexpectedly tender.
“Somebody has to,” he said quietly. “It’s a job like any other.”
“Not quite.” I slipped on red heels, spritzed perfume at my throat, and caught his gaze in the mirror. “What do you think about her defending a rapist? Just between us. Are you okay with it?”
His eyes flicked away. The weariness in his face said more than his words. We’d been circling this argument since that night atRumors, and I knew he was tired of it.
“I try not to think about it,” he admitted. “She’s my sister. I love her. And I know she believes in the system. Everyone deserves a fair trial, Jess. Some guys accused of rape areinnocent. You’ve read the stories—men who lost years to prison before the truth came out.” His voice softened. “Janine has integrity. If she chose to defend him, she must have believed he deserved that defense.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped. His tone had shifted—defensive, protective. If there was one thing I’d learned, it was that Janine was Sebastian’s Achilles’ heel, just as he was hers. Poking at that bond wouldn’t get me anywhere.
I hadn’t meant to offend Janine, and I was sorry, even if the damage was already done. All I could do now was try to mend fences. Maybe it was hopeless after two bad impressions. Normally, I wouldn’t care that much what a stranger thought of me, but Janine wasn’t just anyone. She was Sebastian’s family. And if I wanted a future with him, her opinion mattered. She’d promised to come to the exhibit today and even bring friends. I whispered a silent prayer I wouldn’t blow it. I already had enough reasons to be nervous.
Sebastian squeezed my shoulders between his warm palms, his smile grounding me.
“You’re going to do great, okay? You look incredible, you’re an amazing artist, and today is going to be fantastic.”
I swallowed hard. I felt like a kitten about to be dropped into a bathtub, claws out and no way to escape. But he was right—if I wanted art to be more than a hobby, I had to get used to public events. This was part of the deal.
“Thanks for putting up with me.” A wobbly smile tugged at my lips. Then I hesitated, nerves sparking again. “Before we go, I have something for you.”
Heat rushed into my face as I crossed into my workroom. My fingers trembled a little as I opened the cabinet and pulled out the frame I’d hidden there all week. When I turned back, Sebastian was watching me with a curious frown.
I held out the sketch. “This is for you. I... hope you like it.”
His expression softened instantly as his eyes fell on the drawing. It was him, from the collarbone up, rendered in charcoal, sharp and alive with depth. The planes of his forehead, the lines of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw—all strong, confident, unmistakably him. His mouth was caught mid-smile, the faintest trace of his dimples teasing at the corners. But it was the eyes that had cost me the most hours. Eyes full of mischief and intelligence, shadowed with determination, bright with promise.
They said the eyes were the windows to the soul. And though I knew I could never quite capture the light that was Sebastian, I had tried with everything I had.
He moistened his lips, then looked up at me. I braced myself for his usual cocky grin, but it never came. Instead, his face was solemn, his eyes dark and intense as they locked on mine.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “This is beautiful. It means a lot to me.”
Before I could breathe, he pressed the sketch to his chest, then pulled me into him. His kiss was deep, searing, and so full of heat it left me dizzy. He didn’t care that my red lipstick was smearing across both our mouths. His hand slid firm across my back, his lips moving over mine with raw, deliberate passion.
“If we didn’t have to leave for such an important event, I’d drag you to bed and make love to you all day,” he murmured against my mouth.
“All day?” My voice came out breathless, almost a moan.
