Page 44 of Broken Crown

I squeezed her hip and chuckled, leaning close enough that my words stirred the fine hairs at her temple. She was lying but I would indulge her. "I heard you."

At my innuendo, the blush on her cheeks darkened, spreading down her neck to disappear beneath the neckline of her dress, making me wonder just how far down it went.

Pushing away from me, the absence of her warmth immediate and jarring, she approached Arabella, who was refilling her glass with the dark, herbaceous Nero Chinato. "So tell me, how do you play this game?"

We played several rounds, Sabrina holding her own among my formidable siblings.

The light faded gradually, and servants lit the lanterns that hung from the courtyard's trees, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow.

Glasses were refilled, plates emptied and replaced with new delicacies—tender octopus drizzled with olive oil, marinated artichokes, and slices of fennel sausage.

I couldn't take my eyes off Sabrina as she played.

The way she bit her lip in concentration, the sway of her hips when she lined up a shot, the spark in her eyes when she succeeded.

Each movement was unconsciously seductive, driving me to distraction.

When she bent to retrieve a ball, the hem of her dress rode up to reveal another inch of toned thigh, and I nearly groaned aloud.

Rafaello caught my expression and smirked knowingly.

"Your turn, Sebastian," Arabella called, jerking me from my thoughts.

I cleared my throat and focused on the game, channeling my frustration into a perfect throw that sent Arcangelo's ball spinning away from the pallino.

Sabrina then knocked one of Rafaello's balls out of contention. Just when we were celebrating, a voice interrupted us.

"Quindi è questa la puttana illegittima che sta causando tutti i problemi?"

We all turned to face the figure who'd entered the courtyard, her silhouette backlit by the palazzo's interior lights.

I positioned myself in front of Sabrina, shielding her.

A slow, deliberate tilt of my head conveyed exactly the kind of menace that made men question their odds of survival. The smirk I offered wasn’t welcoming. It was a warning.

“Hello, Mother.”

CHAPTER 13

SABRINA

Holy hell. I was not mentally prepared to meet Sebastian’s mother.

Wait…had she just called me an illegitimate whore?

There was something deeply disturbing and distressing that the word I recognized the most in Italian conversation was whore. Especially since it was the second time this week I’d been called one.

Clearly I was not wanted at this family gathering.

Shifting, I moved to slip out a side door of the courtyard.

Sebastian’s arm lashed out, wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his side. The heat of his body seeped through my thin dress, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in my bones at his mother’s words.

A low growl emanated from his chest. “Apologize.”

His mother, dressed head to toe in Versace, looked like the older sister of Sophia Loren.

She dramatically waved her hands over her head. “Perché dovrei scusarmi con la puttana che ti stai scopando sotto il tetto dei tuoi antenati?”