She laughs. “Fair. Go.”
I flag down a server and ask for directions. She gestures toward a narrow hallway at the far end of the restaurant.
I head that way.
The moment I step into the hall, I stop.
Sebastian is standing at the very end, leaning casually against the wall like he’s been waiting for me all along. One ankle crossed over the other. Hands loose. Relaxed.
Butterflies erupt violently in my stomach.
I freeze.
He’s dressed in black, as always: black dress shirt, black coat, black shoes. Darkness wrapped around sharp edges. He pushes off the wall and walks toward me, unhurried, deliberate.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
He stops in front of me and takes my hand before I can pull it away. His fingers are warm. There’s a faint smear of yellow paint on his knuckle.
He presses a kiss to the back of my hand, then releases it gently, like I was the one in control.
“You look ravishing in this dress,” he says.
My pulse stutters. “Should I call the police?”
“Let’s not,” he replies easily. “You would have already if you wanted to.”
I narrow my eyes. “I will. Right now.”
“Do it, then.” He slips his hands into his pockets, unbothered.
I don’t move. I don’t reach for my phone.
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.
After a moment, he tilts his head, studying me. “Just one date,” he says quietly. “What are you so afraid of?”
You.
Of how you make me feel.
Of how easily my control slips around you.
Of the fact that I don’t trust your intentions—and don’t fully care.
I cross my arms over my chest. “One date,” I say sharply. “One. And you stop hovering around me.”
A slow smile curves his mouth. “Yes,yarkaya.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He steps closer—too close—and lowers his voice. “Bright. Vibrant. Like your hair.”
He catches a single strand of my red hair between his fingers, rubbing it thoughtfully between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.
“Like you, Sienna.”
His fingers brush my jaw so lightly I’m not sure it really happened. Then he steps back, just as suddenly, reclaiming the space he stole.
