dimly lit hallway. My heart skips a beat when I see who it is.
Sebastian.
He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans and he’s holding a bottle with a couple of wine glasses upside down by the stems. “Do you feel like a chat over a glass of red, Brady Bunch?” he asks in a hushed voice.
For a drama queen-infused moment worthy of The Real Housewives, I contemplate slamming the door in his face, maybe even grabbing the bottle of wine from him first.
But then I remember I’m a sane, rational person and not some Botoxed diva caricature. So instead I lock my jaw and ask, “Why?”
“I want to talk to you.”
I glance at the bottle of wine and glasses in his hands. “Or seduce the next one in line?”
“Emma, please.”
I study him for a moment before I let out a sigh. Despite the fact that part of me would like to slam the door in his face—the part of me that forgets this is a reality TV show and he’s “dating” a bunch of girls at the same time—another part of me is curious to know what he’s got to say.
I glance back at Kennedy. She’s still blissfully unaware of our visitor as she breathes evenly in her bed. “Give me one sec.”
“Thank you,” he replies, and I’m sure I catch a note of relief in his voice, but I might be imagining it. This show is messing with my mind.
I pad across the floor and locate a pair of sneakers at the bottom of the closet. I slip them on, grab a sweatshirt—because this is England—and step out into the hallway.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me down the darkened hall.
He puts his finger to his lips, and I clamp my mouth shut as he leads me down the stairs and down a long hallway to a room I’ve not been to before. He opens the door for me and I walk inside. Moonlight floods through large window panes, lending the place an eerie atmosphere.
He closes the door and flicks a light switch, instantly flooding it with a warm glow. I look around at the walls, lined with old, leather-bound books nestled in book cases reaching high up toward the ceiling. There’s a large white stone fireplace with a portrait of a beautiful, but somehow sad looking woman hanging above it, and a group of comfortable chairs scattered around the room on top of an oversized Turkish rug. Book lovers everywhere would fall head over heels in love with this room.
“This is the library,” Sebastian announces unnecessarily.
“I kinda got that already, what with the gazillion books in here and all.”
He places the bottle of wine and glasses on a low table in front of the fireplace and squares me with his gaze. “I thought you could tell me why you ignored me all evening.”
I nod at the bottle of wine. “Are you planning on taking that to someone’s room after we’re done here?” I know I’m completely ignoring his question.
He steps closer to me. “Please, Emma. Tell me how I’ve offended you.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not offended.” My words are at total odds with my body language.
“If it’s what I think it is, you need to know that she kissed me.”
“Sure. And I dug Jimmy Hoffa up in my mom’s backyard while I was planting petunias last week.”
“I thought you lived in a flat.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s an apartment, Seb, and I was being snarky.”
“So it is Camille.”
I give a short, sharp nod. There’s no point in pretending otherwise, despite the fact I know I’m coming off like a jealous girlfriend. Which I’m not. Well, not the girlfriend part, anyway.
“Emma, Camille kissed me.”
“You kissed her back.”
“I had the cameras on me.”
“So?”
“So, if I’d rebuffed her, it would look bad.”
I scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”
His eyes are soft. “It’s not ridiculous. This is a dating show, in case that fact skipped you by. I’m meant to be trying to find the woman I want to marry, and that means kissing some frogs.”
I picture Camille as a frog. I like the image.
“Look, Seb. Who you kiss is your business. You’re the star of the show, and I’m here to promote my label. We are two people going about our business.” I can’t resist to add, “Only, my business doesn’t involve sticking my tongue down anyone’s throat.”
He raises his eyebrows at me.
“End of story,” I add with authority.
He moves so close to me we’re almost touching. “Is it?” he