She holds up a bag she's carrying. "I was going through some boxes in my garage and found a few things that belong to you. I thought you'd want them back. I knocked, but you didn't answer."
I climb out of the pool, tired of looking up at the asshole. "So you thought breaking and entering was a good plan?" I ask her. I know I should probably let Sebastian handle this, but I don't give a shit. Someone has some explaining to do, and since I still like the guy I'm fucking and I don't like this woman at all, I'm going to assume she's not supposed to be here until Sebastian corrects me.
She's taller than me, I realize, once I'm standing next to her. It irks me, and I'm not usually self-conscious about my height.
She doesn't look at me or acknowledge my words. Instead, she looks at Sebastian, who has come to stand beside me. "You didn't answer. I heard you back here and didn't think it would be a problem to poke my head in and drop this off. You're usually alone this time of night."
How the fuck does she know what he's doing in the middle of the night? And why would she choose this time to come by with his stuff?
"You don't live here anymore," he tells her. "You can't just come in when you feel like it. If you have something for me, call first."
Her face falls for just a moment. "I tried calling. You didn't pick up."
I raise my eyebrow at her. "Maybe that should have been a hint," I tell her.
She finally looks at me, her face returning to a scowl. "This doesn't concern you."
I laugh at that. A full on, out loud belly laugh. This throws her off her game a bit, but I can see Sebastian smiling from the corner of my eye. "I love how you're really trying to play this like you have any rights here. I'm a guest of Sebastian, in his house. We were enjoying a private moment in his backyard. I'm assuming, given your air of entitlement, that you're his former fiancée. That means you have no claim on him anymore. Or this house. You're trespassing, and that's a crime. And since I'm technically Sebastian's wife, all of this most definitely concerns me."
If I had a camera on me right now, I would take a picture of her, because that face is priceless. She stutters and stalls for a moment before blurting out, "Wife? He married… you?"
Her tone is insulting, but I expected nothing less, and I let it wash over me. Before I can respond though, Sebastian grabs her by the arm. "You need to leave. Don't come here again. This isn't your home anymore."
I go into the house to find something to wear while he escorts her back to her car. I don't like leaving them alone together, but I'm not going to traipse around naked or with a wet towel, either.
By the time Sebastian returns, I'm wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts. "I hope you don't mind. I wasn't planning for an overnighter when I went out with Vi. If, that is, you still want me to stay overnight."
A part of me feels bad for using the wife card, since I don't plan on staying married to this man. But I can't stand Celene, and I knew those words would cut her deep. I don't feel bad about that part.
Sebastian drops his wet towel and walks over to me naked. He kisses me, pressing me against his now hard cock. "Yes, I want you to stay. I just want you, Kacie."
I want to ask him more about Celene, about their relationship, but I forget all my questions as he pulls up the shirt I'm wearing and bends down to take one of my nipples into his mouth.
Talking can happen later, I decide, as I give myself over to him yet again.
Chapter 16
Breakfast and Boxers
I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of something beautiful filling my dreams. It's coming from downstairs, so I pull the sheet off the bed and wrap myself in it, then follow the music.
I find Sebastian sitting at the piano, lost in a sad song he's pouring into the instrument. His eyes are closed, and I think I detect a tear on his cheek. I pause, feeling like I'm intruding on something deeply personal, something he doesn't let very many people see.
I should go back upstairs, should give him his space, but I'm rooted to the ground, held captive by the bittersweet tenderness of his music.
When the last note drifts through the night, he looks up, startled to see me there.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I heard something and… "
"Come here, Kacie."
I walk toward him, and he pulls me into his arms, pressing me against the keys. "I'm glad you're here."
I rest my hands on the top of his head as he leans against my stomach, holding me. "Did you write that song?"
"Yes," he says. "For my child. It was the last song I played on this piano."