For the second time tonight, I have no idea what just happened.

I devote myself to a graceless soap-and-rinse, which takes substantially more effort than normal. By the time I’m through, the exchange with Sebastian has taken on the quality of a lucid dream. I don’t feel sick anymore, but I’m definitely still buzzed. And exhausted.

The shock of seeing Robert kissing another woman is gone, washed down the drain with my eyeshadow and mascara. I’m not angry. Hurt, yes, but mostly humiliated.

I wasn’t enough for him, after all.

I have to hand him some credit, though. He was a damned fine actor. I didn’t suspect duplicity for a second. He even had Vera fooled, and she has a remarkably low opinion of men.

“Fuck him and his Look,” I mumble, dragging a comb through my wet hair. “Stupid. So stupid.”

“What look is this?”

I glance into the bathroom mirror to see Sebastian leaning against the doorframe behind me. I don’t bother lying.

“Robert. Vera said he was giving me the Look. You know, the long-term one. Like he was falling for me.”

He stares at my reflection impassively. “He’s heavily in debt. Gambling problems. Mommy and Daddy cut him off a few months ago.”

The air leaks from my lungs. Lightheaded, I brace myself on the counter and laugh caustically. Wow, that stings.

“Don’t pull punches on my account, Bast.” He doesn’t respond, so I face him, feeling empty and small. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He glances away. “I just found out today. Alex did a background check after you took him to lunch. Said something felt off about your boy.”

It sounds exactly like something Alex would do. “Why did he tell you and not me?”

His eyes snap to mine. “He didn’t know how you’d handle it. He said when he saw you at Rhubarb you looked… happy.”

I don’t miss the hesitation, but have no clue how to respond. Was I happy? I don’t fucking know. I’m not sure I would know happiness if it hit me in the face with a metal pipe.

“Were you, Candace? Happy with him?”

I shrug helplessly, echoing my thoughts. “I don’t know. I think I was trying to be, or at least I was willing to try. That probably makes no sense. I don’t even know why I’m hurt, or if I’m hurt. I’m fucked up in the head.”

“No, you’re just a nonbeliever.”

I smirk; we’ve had this debate before. “Oh no, Mr. Bellizzi. I believe. I just don’t think everyone gets to have what my parents had. Although, maybe Alex does. He and Thea seem to be on that wavelength. Love is a different vibration, you know?”

He sighs heavily. “This is getting too existential. I’m not nearly drunk enough.”

A smile is coaxed from my lips. “You want a drink?”

His eyes narrow. “That’s not a good idea.”

It’s my turn to sigh—and I do it in exaggerated splendor, so loud and lengthy that he can’t suppress a short laugh. I belt my modest robe tighter and sweep past him.

“Come on, jackass. Let me pour you a drink. One for the road, or whatever.”

“So persuasive, Candy,” he murmurs.

But he follows me to the kitchen.

* * *

Sunlight diffuses through my bedroom, lifting me gently from sleep to consciousness. For a moment, the world is perfect and everything is exactly as it should be.

Then I feel the heaviness of a man’s arm across my chest. My eyes blink open, too wide and fast. A headache explodes between my ears. With dawning horror and increasing pain, I turn my head on the pillow… and release a breath of unadulterated relief.

Sebastian is fully clothed and sound asleep. I lift my head to see he’s even wearing shoes. The only concession made to comfort was the unbuttoning of his black dress shirt.

The prior night comes back in fits and starts. I recall pouring Sebastian some wine, and unwisely having a glass myself. Beyond that, I vaguely remember a game of Scrabble that degraded into a yelling match, followed by a water fight with the sprayer from the kitchen sink. And something involving scrambled eggs, though I don’t know if we ate them or talked about eating them.

As I’m puzzling through choppy memories, Sebastian’s arm flexes and curls. I slide toward him like a fish being sucked into the mouth of a whale. My chest hits his, my face coming to rest between his collarbone and throat. God, he smells good. I take a deep breath through my nose.

He stiffens, leaning back to peer down at me. Sleepy eyes, dark chocolate in the morning light, are surrounded by the thickest, longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and lifts his arm.

I duck back into his chest, snaking an arm over his waist and snuggling close. My headache doesn’t hurt nearly as bad, suddenly.

In fact, nothing hurts.

“Candace, what are you doing?” he rumbles, and warmth showers through me at the accent in his voice. Just after waking is the only time the rolling vowels of his first language come through.

I close my eyes and listen to his steadily thumping heart. I’m falling fast toward sleep, but manager to whisper, “Another five minutes.”