Chapter 148
[ 1,111 words ]
Emilia’s POV
Sebastian: “Have you lost all your money yet? Come to bed if you’re done bankrupting yourself.”
I stared at the screen. How did he know?
I opened the mind-link. “How do you know I’m losing?”
“I glanced out the window and saw your chip pile shrinking. You’re terrible at cards, mate.”
“I can’t. Mom says whoever doesn’t win her money can’t leave.”
“Let me save you.”
Then footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Sebastian appeared, far too put-together for a man who should be asleep. He pulled up a chair beside me and sat without a word.
“I thought your time was worth ten million a minute,” I said. “Seems like a waste.”
“Concentrate on your cards.” He glanced at Tiffany. “You too.”
His scent of mint and cedar wrapped around me, and I played even worse. He leaned in to look at my hand and pressed a palm to his forehead. “With these skills, you’ll bankrupt the whole pack by next week.”
“Then you play,” I shot back.
“Sebastian,” Mila called to him. “Your mate owes me a fortune. Settling her debts?”
He pulled a stack of cash from his wallet without blinking. “Enough?”
“For now,” Mila said, satisfied.
One more terrible round, and he tapped my shoulder. “Move.”
“Excuse me?”
“Let me show you how it’s done.”
I pushed my chair back to give him the seat.
Except he didn’t take it.
His hand closed over my wrist and tugged, and before I understood what was happening, he’d dropped into the chair and pulled me down with him. I landed square in his lap.
“Sebastian—” I hissed.
“You wanted to watch a master work.” His arms came around me on either side, boxing me in, his chin settling against the side of my head. “Watch, then. Deal us in.”
Heat crawled up my neck. Tiffany’s jaw had gone slack, and Mila wore a grin that could only be called delighted. Titus, mercifully, was too busy shuffling to look up.
“Deal,” Sebastian said again, calm as anything, like he hadn’t just parked his wife on his knee in front of his whole family.
I couldn’t. Every scrap of my attention had gone to the solid line of his chest against my back, the weight of his arms caging me in, the slow rhythm of his breathing against my ear.
The cards came anyway. He picked up our hand, his other palm resting low and easy against my hip like it belonged there.
“Left one,” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair at my cheek. “Play the left one.”
I stared at the fan of cards and saw nothing. Numbers, suits, colors, all of it in a language I’d never learned. There was only his voice, low and warm, threading down my spine.
“Which one?” I whispered.
“The one under your thumb. You’re not even looking, are you.”
“I’m looking.”
“You’re not.” His arm tightened, and his lips brushed my ear. “Eyes on the table, wife. I can’t win this for you if you won’t at least pretend to help.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one caged in warm muscle and mint and cedar. I picked a card at random. Wrong one. His fingers caught mine, guided my hand two cards over, and laid the right one flat on the table.
“There,” he said against my ear. “A natural. With a little supervision.”
Tiffany made a strangled noise. “Are you two going to play, or do I need to leave the room?”
“Play,” Sebastian said.
And he did.
I stopped tracking the rounds after the second. He won hand after hand, murmuring into my ear the whole time, moving my hands like I was some elaborate puppet, and I let him, because I couldn’t have told you what suit was trumps if my life depended on it. Every time I started to focus, he’d lean in, say something low, and my mind emptied out again.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I whispered.
“Doing what?” All innocence.
“Talking like that. Right in my ear.”
“I’m coaching you.” His thumb traced an idle line over my hip. “Focus, Emilia. Mother’s about to go broke.”
She did, three rounds later.
Mila slapped the table with a laugh. “That’s it. I’m cleaned out. Your husband is a menace, Emilia.”
“He cheats,” I said.
“I most certainly do not.” He gathered our winnings into a neat stack and pressed them into my hands, his mouth grazing my cheek. “We just make an excellent team.”
I gathered up my winnings, which were actually Sebastian’s winnings but who was counting. “If you ever go bankrupt, you could always make a living as a professional card player.”
“The world would end before I go bankrupt,” Sebastian said confidently.
As we headed upstairs, I bumped my shoulder against his. “Thanks for saving me.”
“Someone has to,” he said. “Who else is going to rescue you from your own terrible card skills?”
“I’ll have you know, my card skills are actually pretty good when I want them to be.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me. “You were losing on purpose.”
“Maybe I was,” I admitted. “Maybe I just wanted to make your family happy. They enjoy winning.”
His expression softened. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet you married me anyway.”
“Biggest mistake of my life,” he said, but he was smiling as he pulled me close.
We stood there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
When I got back to our room, I grabbed my pajamas and headed straight for the bathroom.
When I came out, Sebastian was already lying on the bed, looking unfairly attractive even while just lying there. I jumped onto the bed and my eyes immediately grew heavy.
“Hey,” Sebastian said, pushing my shoulder gently. “Are you really going to sleep just like this?”
“What else would I do?” I mumbled, already half-asleep.
“What do you think…”
I waved my hand dismissively. “How would I know? I only know that I’m exhausted and really need sleep.”
“Then why do you think I waited for you until now?” he asked.
His hand slipped under my pajama top, his fingers warm against my skin.
“Stop,” I protested weakly. “I really don’t have the strength.”
“How can you be so tired after just playing cards?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“Don’t forget last night…” I reminded him.
He chuckled softly, and then his hand withdrew. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered.
I smiled, already drifting off, warm and safe wrapped in his scent of mint and cedar.
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