“Can’t breathe,” she whimpered. “Can’t breathe.”
He snagged one of the blankets from the bed and pulled it onto her, then kicked open the door to the balcony. It was an enormous patio with delicate furniture that was currently being rained all over. There was about two inches of dry space next to the door, and he sank to his knees, holding her against him, and tucked the blanket around her. “Chelsea. Chelsea. It’s me. Can you hear me?”
Her eyes were dilated from fear, her hair plastered to her skull, and her entire body shivered and quaked with terror. She was lost in her mind, somewhere. He needed to help her. Frustration and helplessness swept over him.
“Look, Chelsea.” He pointed out at the street, in the rain. “Can you see? Lights. Look at all the lights.” Even though it was dark and stormy outside now, New Orleans was still lit up. Street signs, street lamps, even headlights from cars. Not even the pouring rain could darken Canal Street. “There’s lights everywhere. You’re outside.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to scream again, but she tensed and then gave a huge shudder. She sucked in an enormous breath and her hands found his shirt. Her fingers dug into his clothing. “S-Sebastian?”
“It’s me,” he said, voice soothing. What the hell was going on?
“I need the lights,” she said, panting. Her wide eyes stared out at the city, unfocused. “Please.”
“I’ll go get my phone. It has a flashlight app—”
“No,” she blurted, clinging harder to him. “Don’t leave me. Please!”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and her arms went around his neck. “Just . . . stay out here with me, okay? I can’t . . . I can’t be in the dark.”
He settled down on the balcony next to her, pulled her into his lap, and tucked the now sodden blanket around her. All the while, the storm raged and whipped rain into their faces. “We’ll stay out here until the power comes on again, okay?”
She nodded and buried her face against his neck. Her breasts pressed against his chest. She was naked under the blankets.
He couldn’t even get an inappropriate boner. Instead, he just stroked her hair and her face and murmured to her as she shivered against him. The night was warm and balmy, and it felt more like a sauna than the bathroom had. Chelsea’s trembling wasn’t caused by the weather or the rain, but something going on in her mind.
She hated the dark. Hated it so much that she kept her lights on in her apartment at all times. He’d thought she just liked a lot of light.
But then why the screaming and utter terror about how she couldn’t breathe while in the dark?
Her nose pressed against his throat and she relaxed against him, her shivers turning into tremors, and the tremors slowly dying away as he soothed her. The rain soaked the two of them, pouring endless buckets down on the city of New Orleans.
This was their wedding night.
The thought struck Sebastian as utterly ludicrous. He’d really had no idea of what he was getting into when he’d married. He’d thought he’d marry Chelsea, they’d have a good time, buddy up for public appearances, and then pretty much ignore each other. Two strangers living in his big town house who occasionally had conversations and pretended to be married.
The kiss should have warned him. It should have told him that this wasn’t going to be the easy, platonic relationship they’d agreed to on paper.
Because he’d been aroused and attracted to her, and she’d treated it as nothing.
Chelsea wasn’t a happy-go-lucky girl. She was broken somewhere inside, and hiding it with a smile. Tonight showed him that.
He supposed there was still time to back out of the relationship. File a few annulment papers, say it was a mistake, go on their way. It was a fake relationship and there’d be no hurt feelings if they called it quits after twenty-four hours.
Except . . . that was out of the question.