During the night at dinner, I noticed that Sebastian was quiet—I think it's just his nature—but I imagined that after what happened between us today he'd be upset and might lash out at me.
However, he seems reflective, and I catch him staring at his father several times.
Mr. Otto is also inconspicuous.
After dinner, we settled in the living room and were served a glass of wine.
Mr. Otto regaled me with some humorous anecdotes he experienced on his most recent visit to one of his nearby farms. I smiled genuinely; he knows how to narrate such scenes. In this regard, he is very much like my father.
The brothers are now conversing quietly, and I see them looking at me unabashedly. I think they are discussing me—I'd love to be a fly on the wall... perhaps I'd buzz near their ears, or at least his.
"What do you suppose he's thinking, getting himself a wife like this one, Sebastian?"
"I have no idea. Maybe it's to spite us... but more you than me..."
"No, I think there's more to it."
"Like what? Aside from a young opportunist marrying a rich farmer for comfort?"
"She doesn't seem that type to me. Father has a plan."
"You know what? I couldn't care less. It doesn't matter to me whether he's going to drop dead frolicking with her or if she dies of boredom with him."
Sebastian stands up and heads toward his room, not before casting a discreet glance my way.
"Aren't you going out tonight, son?"
"No, Father. Tonight I'll spend time with my pillows."
"Sebastian, show some respect, we're in the presence of a lady."
The father scolds him, and he turns to me, bowing with a mocking air.
"Pardonne-moi madame, I hadn't realized you were present."
"Je n'ai meme pas entendu ce que tu as dit. I didn't catch what you said."
He looks astounded, not expecting me to speak French, and certainly not so fluently.
I smile without showing my teeth.
"You speak French?"
"Along with German, Spanish, and a bit of Latin. I play piano, fence, ride horses, and no one beats me at pall-mall."
"Father has indeed found us quite the accomplished stepmother. I hope you're as good in the bed as you are with languages. You've really outdone yourself this time, Father."
"Sebastian..." Mr. Otto calls out as his son exits, smiling at his reaction.
Such insolence!
"I apologize, Miss. I don't know what to do about Sebastian's impetuosity. He respects no one, not even a lady like you. I'm truly ashamed, and I hope you're not upset."
"Why not try ignoring him? It always worked with the gossips back in the town I lived in."
Mr. Otto pauses for a while.
"I think you're right. I need to learn to ignore him. He does all this to provoke me."
We finish our wine, and I see him yawn.
"Let's go to bed, I'm sleepy."
"Yes, let's."
We go up towards the bedrooms, and Sebastian is standing on the balcony of the corridor, gazing at the huge shimmering moon. We overhear some words, but their meaning is unclear.
A prayer or an outburst?
His pain seems tangible. What is this arrogant man hiding?
I encourage Mr. Otto with a glance to approach his son.
Mr. Otto stops and silently observes. I feel his sigh. He knows Sebastian's pain and somehow understands the young man, but after so much time apart, it seems he can't reconnect.
Sebastian notices us and glances discreetly backward, then ignores us.
But that look, heavy with emotion, intrigues me.
I enter my room, but the lingering image of his concerned look as he turned our way... that's something I won't easily forget.
And it's with him in my thoughts that I rest my head on the pillow. I toss and turn, trying to find sleep. My body is weary, but my soul is restless.
"What burden does he carry with him?"
After a while, I hear the door to my left being knocked; Mr. Otto's room is to my right. I know it's him. Sebastian, the mysterious and unbearable stepson, whom I dreamt about that night.
A strange dream, warm, lustful. Wordless. Our bodies touching and rubbing together sensually, erotically, very intimately. His large hand with slender fingers between my legs, moving in a way that brought me to an intense spasm of pleasure so strong that I awoke.
I wake up drenched in sweat, damp between my legs, with the sensation that someone touched me there. Was it me?
I've never felt that before.
But what does this mean? The man is a depraved, disrespectful pervert. And I'm dreaming of him in such a manner? I must be losing my mind.
It must have been the heated words we exchanged this morning.
I mentally chastise myself a thousand times before falling back asleep.
But deep within, questions echo in my chest like bears in a cave––wild and on the verge of awakening.
Dangerous and ready to stir.
Who is Sebastian Montanese?
Truly.
And why do I lose my words when those piercing blue eyes stare at me?
Either way, I'll keep my distance. The last thing I want is a closer encounter with that body, voluptuous and sexy, perfect dimensions of the lust he embodies.
What folly! Here I am again, thinking in detail about his anatomy.
I close my eyes tight, curling up under the thick sheets.
I need to sleep, or I won't survive another dream of him tonight.
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