Chapter 49 Chapter Forty nine
Lena’s POV
He takes my hand and leads me toward the door—no explanation, no warning, just that confident stride I’ve learned means don’t bother arguing.
“Where are we going?” I ask again as he grabs his sunglasses from the table.
He finally glances at me, mouth tilting.
“I said you will see.”
“How did your meeting go?”
“I canceled my afternoon meeting.”
My steps halt. “You canceled? Why?”
He slips on the sunglasses, looking obscenely good.
“Because I don’t want to waste the day.”
My pulse jumps. He says it so simply, so casually, like he didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb on my insides.
“You canceled a meeting… for me? We are here for work.” I manage.
His brow lifts. “I canceled it for us, Lena. I run the Lancaster empire, I own it. I can do whatever I want, Miss Lena Sawyer.”
My knees nearly dissolve.
We step out into the warm afternoon, and he leads me through narrow cobblestone streets like a man on a mission. After a few minutes, I realize—
He knows exactly where he’s going.
“Did you… plan something?” I ask, suspicious.
“Maybe.”
A smirk. Wicked and subtle.
“Don’t look so shocked. I’m capable of being thoughtful.”
I snort. “Debatable.”
He squeezes my hand once as punishment.
He takes me to a small historical square framed with old stone archways and a tiny fountain in the center. Not the flashy spots the hotel concierge recommended.
It’s quiet. Beautiful.
Intimate.
“How did you find this place?” I ask.
He shrugs, very nonchalant.
“I did some research this morning.”
I stop walking.
“Wait. You looked up romantic places?”
He doesn’t miss a beat.
“I looked up… interesting places.”
I grin. “So you Googled romantic places.”
He buys me a handmade bracelet from a street vendor without blinking. He watches me inspect stalls like he’s memorizing every expression I make.
It feels… shockingly couple-like.
And I can’t help loving every second.
We end up at a tiny gelato shop. He insists he doesn’t want any, but somehow steals half of mine.
When I complain, he finally laughs.
A real one.
Not the cold, sharp corporate chuckle.
Not the amused exhale he uses when he pretends not to be soft.
A real, deep, warm laugh.
I stare at him like I’m seeing a solar eclipse.
“What?” he asks, still smiling.
“You laughed,” I say quietly.
“Like a human.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get emotional about it.”
But he’s still smiling.
We’re walking again when a street photographer approaches us with a grin, waving his camera.
“Beautiful couple!” he says. “Stand together! One picture!”
Before I can object, the man lifts the camera.
“Wait—!” I start.
But Sebastian’s hand slides to my waist.
Click.
I swear time freezes.
The photographer shows us the photo — Sebastian standing tall beside me, his hand low on my waist, both of us smiling in ways we don’t smile at anyone else.
We look like… us.
A real us.
“How much?” Sebastian asks immediately.
My eyes fly to him. “You’re buying it?”
He ignores me and pays.
Then he holds the photo… and just looks at it.
Too long.
Too soft.
Too much.
“Sebastian?” I whisper.
He clears his throat too quickly.
“It’s a good picture.”
We climb narrow stairs to a rooftop he apparently found online.
The sky is melting into orange and pink. Warm light spills over terracotta roofs. The wind lifts my hair, and everything feels like a scene from a movie I’m suddenly living in.
“I didn’t know you liked sunsets,” I tease.
“I don’t,” he says.
“Just this one.”
My heart stumbles.
We walk to the ledge, the city stretching wide beneath us. He stands close behind me, his body heat a slow, delicious burn along my spine.
“This is nice,” I whisper.
He hums. A low sound that vibrates against my back.
Then his hands slide around my waist.
His lips brush my temple.
“Lena,” he murmurs, voice roughened by something real.
Too real.
I turn, and our faces are inches apart.
The air thickens.
He cups my jaw with one hand, thumb tracing my cheek.
We kiss.
Soft at first.
Exploratory.
Like he’s tasting something forbidden.
Then deeper.
Hotter.
His body pressing me lightly against the rooftop wall, breath mixing with mine, fingers sliding into my hair.
I tug his shirt, pulling him closer.
He sucks in a breath, low and sinful, and kisses me again—hard—
Then breaks away suddenly.
Chest rising and falling.
“Not here,” he says, voice so strained it’s practically a growl.
Heat floods me. Want. Need. Something darker.
He smooths his thumb over my bottom lip like he’s apologizing for stopping.
“Let’s go.”
The walk back burns.
Every accidental brush of his hand.
Every glance.
By the time the private elevator glides open to our floor, the air between us feels electric. Overloaded. Ready to snap.
He unlocks the suite door.
I step in.
He steps in behind me—
Close.
Too close.
And the door clicks shut.