Page 88 of The Prince Who Loved Me

“So that’s a no for dinner?”

Sebastien wanted to laugh. Before Brandi would have looked to him for guidance, bury her own wants in order to fill his needs. Even if the banter was her way of protecting herself now, it was still better than losing herself in someone else’s life.

Just like doing things herself. Let letting her ask for help instead of assuming she needs it.

He’d been an idiot.

The man turned to Sebastien, switching to Italian. “Are you with her because you know your father would disapprove? Is that why she’s claiming to be busy? The lack of respect she’s showing is abhorrent.”

“Why should she show respect to someone she’s never met?” he said in English. “Someone making demands on her without any thought.”

“But… he is your King!” the secretary sputtered.

“But he’s not mine.” Brandi held up a cup and saucer. “Tea?”

The secretary recoiled. “This is not a social call.”

“Sebastien?” She gestured with the mug.

He picked up the one he’d already poured and took a long swallow. Donnarumma waited with thinly veiled impatience.

“Ms. Clayton offered an alternative. I suggest you relay the information. You’re dismissed.”

The man closed his open mouth, gave a half-bow and exited the parlor. A few moments later, the front door clicked closed.

“What the hell was that?” Brandi asked.

“Apparently there was a photo of us here, published a few days ago in Casagnes media, and my family also got a hold of...” he trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Her lips tightened. “Of me showing off my underwear.”

“I’m sorry about tonight.” Sebastien reached out his hand, remaining still and hoping until she took it and twined their fingers together. “The offer of money, the suggestions for what happened with the wine.”

“I know you were acting on instinct. Crumbs, I’ve called on you for help so often in the past that I’m sure it’s only natural for you to assume I need it now.” She cleared her throat, then raised her head, her eyes darting away before seizing him with her gaze.

There was so much emotion in her brown and green eyes that he didn’t know if he should be nervous or excited. He couldn’t look away, his protective instincts drawn out by her exposed vulnerability.

“I’ve come to a decision.” Her voice was quiet.

Raw panic crushed him, but he fought to keep from reacting. Whatever it was, they would get through it.

“I read the books you bought for me. And the ones Jordan recommended. Well, mostly read. I tried. But I learned something.”

His muscles relaxed when he realized she wasn’t crumpling him up and throwing him away like messed-up sketch. He nodded in encouragement for her to continue.

“I wanted Belle’s so, so much. For myself. But I have a lot to learn and there’s a lot I don’t know. I don’t think splitting Belle’s from Fountenoy Hall is a good idea right now.”

His brain screamed for him to make it better. To offer up experts or find a consultant. To find workers for her to command. Instead, he tucked her into his body, sharing his support without words.

“It’s only for now,” she mumbled into his shoulder, the vibrations warming his skin. “There’s no timetable. Maybe in a few months I can revisit this. Maybe a year. I’ll map out a plan, and I’ll follow it. In the meantime…”

He stroked her hair, waiting for her to continue.

“I went to a wine tasting recently, and aside from the fact that you weren’t there, I had a good time.”

With the man who had a stupid name and bad parents. “I’ve been to some before. Always fun and educational.”

“Exactly.” She left the circle of his arms, pacing the small room. She rubbed at her finger. “Well, why not a whiskey tasting? Or even tours, if Aunt Eulalee agrees. And these are things that can bring in an income independent of Fountenoy Hall. There are probably a number of events I can do to prod Belle’s into become financially solvent.”