Page 74 of Late Harvest

Which she wasn’t sure she could ever be.

Remy wasn’t a fool. She knew they’d been teetering on the precipice of a true romantic relationship. That artifice was transforming into reality at warp speed. But knowing something in her head and actually accepting it, living it—those were two very different things.

And the devastating fact was that Remy had only had five relationships in her life. Her mother and sperm donor. Doug. And Tasha and Etta.

All of those had ended in trauma. All of them.

Remy snaked her hand up to rub the E on her necklace. She wasn’t sure she could open her heart to falling head over heels and then losing Sebastian. She’d barely survived the loss of Tasha and Etta. If anything happened to Sebastian, or even if he simply decided being with a middle-aged, prickly, jagged woman who was too old to give him children—even when he insisted he wasn’t called to fatherhood—was just too much, and he left her…

She might just collapse. And never rise.

Once again, the precious voice spoke in her heart. Be brave, Arabella. You said you trust him. If you mean it, lean into it.

Remy shifted back in Sebastian’s arms, taking in the handsome visage that was so much more than just a superstar face.

It was the face of friendship. Of love.

She breathed in deeply, and leaned in.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

We’re not socks, but we make a great pair.

—From Bash’s dad joke collection

Bash

Arabella’s voice was faint but steady. “I had a horrible, scary childhood, Sebastian. Which was followed by an abusive marriage. And then I lost the two people who meant the most to me—the only true family I’ve ever had—in very close succession.”

The searing heat of rage flooded his system at her admission. He wanted to rip anyone who hurt her to shreds. He dragged his free hand down his face, fighting for composure. For the right words.

“Arabella, I⁠—”

She cut him off with a brusque wave of her hand. “I will tell you everything. But, not this weekend. Please.” Arabella’s eyes were pleading as they darted between his and around his face. Like she was trying to read him, assess his response before he could even speak. “This has been the best, most magical weekend of my life—even with all the paparazzi hounding us and taking terrible pictures of me.” Arabella gave a watery laugh—one that didn’t reach her sad eyes. “And I don’t want to sully it by unearthing some truly ugly things. I will tell you. Everything. But later. And maybe when I can hold Chicane.”

Bash smiled softly at her. “Of course, my queen. On your time, when you’re ready.”

“And you can share with me, too. I don’t want this to be a single fare ticket on the trauma dump express.”

“Arabella,” Bash strived to make his voice as reassuring as possible. “We’ll both share the dark, hidden parts of our hearts, and we’ll both listen. And then maybe we’ll both snuggle our little prince. But only when you say it’s time, ok?”

She nodded, dashing away a rogue tear with the back of her hand.

“Now,” he said brightly, changing the subject and honoring her request to keep the special weekend carefree, “we have dinner reservations at nine. We can do that, or we can stay here, put on our jammies, and watch race coverage to your heart’s content. Or maybe I’ll pretend to watch but I’ll really just watch you watching. It’s my new favorite spectator sport.”

“Sebastian!” She swatted at him, laughing and sniffling back unshed tears at the same time. “What do you want to do?”

His heart sped up as his cock thickened in his black linen pants. “Arabella, what I want to do is probably too X-rated for you right now.”

Her eyes got impossibly wider as her pupils dilated, dark obscuring the deep blue he loved to lose himself in. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Sebastian, I⁠—”

“You don’t need to say anything in response to that, my queen. I know you aren’t ready for that. So, let’s return to the original question—a night out on the town in Miami or snuggling in with room service. What’s your pick?”

This time her laugh was bright and airy. Arabella shook her head, a happy smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. No frozen face for her. “I think we should do both. How about we go to dinner—I’d love to experience a bit of Miami at night—and then we come back here, hop into that massive bed, and you can finish that shifter romance you started on the plane while I devour F1 coverage.”

“Arabella Remington, my queen, your wish is my command.” Bash bowed dramatically, and then wrapped his arms around her and spun her as she gasped with laughter.

Holy hell. He was so gone for her.