Just from that simple touch. Oh, wow.
If Sebastian had guessed how she was feeling, he didn’t indicate it. His gaze was on his family as they grabbed cups of coffee, bitched about the hour, and generally prepped for the cameras. The assistant with the boom mic moved into place the moment Amber slid into her seat, and then they were all gathered.
“All right, Nugget,” his mother said, pursing her lips as she drank from her coffee. “Tell us what you want us to hear.”
Sebastian’s hand stroked down Chelsea’s arm, and she had to fight back a shiver of delight at that simple touch. “I feel like it needs to be stated again. I know we’re not a normal family, and no one in this family does things the normal way. Including, it seems, me.” He looked over at Chelsea and gave her a warm, easy smile that made her stomach flutter. “Because I met Chelsea and knew we were meant to be. We dated fast, and we married fast. And we’re happy. She’s my wife, and I’m tired of her being harassed by people in this family. She’s here to stay.”
Mrs. Cabral sniffed. “That’s a very nice speech, Nugget, but I don’t see why you’d marry that whore instead of Lisa, who loves you.”
Lisa’s face turned beet-red.
Sebastian stood up, his chair scraping backward with a screech. “If you call my wife a whore again, Mother, we’re done here. For good.”
The room grew unspeakably tense, and Chelsea felt awkward. Lisa looked like a deer trapped in headlights, and Sebastian vibrated with anger.
“Kitten, kitten,” Sebastian’s father said in a tired voice. “Enough with the words. She looks like a good girl.”
“Hmph,” said Mrs. Cabral. “He’s a billionaire. How do I know she’s not after him for his money?”
“We signed a prenup,” Chelsea offered. “I really don’t want his money, just his company.”
“He doesn’t have any companies,” Mrs. Cabral cried shrilly. “His money is inherited—”
“Shh, shhh,” Sebastian’s father said, and his wife quieted down. “She means she enjoys being with him. Do not be so quick to judge, my love.” He smiled kindly at Chelsea. “What is it you do?”
Oh, now she felt stupid. “I make custom soaps and sell them online.” It seemed like such a small, petty career, and for the first time in her life, she wished she’d finished college so she could say something smarter, like lawyer or biologist.
But Amber perked up, leaning forward over the table. “Soaps? Really? Can I have some?”
“Sure. I can make you a few. Do you have a particular scent you like?”
“Patchouli.”
“We are not having patchouli in this house,” Mrs. Cabral said. “It smells like hippies.”
“Then jasmine,” Amber fired back, and mouthed to Chelsea, patchouli.
“Can I have some, too?” Lisa asked. “Whatever scent you have.”
“Sure.” She tugged on Sebastian’s belt, since he was still standing and looking frustrated at his family. “Sit down, Basty.”
That got his attention. He shot her a not you, too look and thumped into his seat. “All right, then,” Sebastian said after a moment. “Are we clear? Chelsea is my wife. She is not the antichrist. I did not rent her by the hour.” He shot a scathing look at his mother. “I love her. And we want to be left alone by the cameras, by the dive-bomb filming, everything.”
Chelsea stiffened in her seat and tried to remain casual as Sebastian took her hand in his again.
He loved her?
Or was that just for the cameras?
“Mama Precious will not interfere,” Sebastian’s father said in his wavering voice. “She will leave you two alone so you can enjoy your new marriage.” And he gave them both a wrinkly smile.
“But, Daddy Money.” Mrs. Cabral pouted. “Be fair.”
He patted her on her manicured hand. “I am being fair, kitten. Remember what it is like to be young and newly married. The last thing we wanted on us was cameras.”