A/N: So, you guys ready for some more? Book One doesn't seem to have an epic amount of chapters. It's actually only until Chapter Eleven but if you've been reading, you know the chapters are pretty substantial. This was designed to be a real book so I grouped the scenes that way. I'm hoping that if I finish dishing out Book One, you'll want Book Two but I have to decide whether I should merge them. They started out as one book and then it felt too long so.. Anyway!

This chapter is pretty... Hot. At least around the end. But don't skip the rest of it! I hope you're old and mature enough to be reading this. Now, I really think the Restricted rating is appropriate.

Let me know what you think, okay? VOTE and COMMENT! You guys have been great! :)

***

I woke up with a heavy head, puffy eyes and a grim disposition.

The bruise-colored sky outside didn’t help either.

Glumly, I washed my face and put a cold compress on my eyes for a few minutes before padding down to the kitchen in my nightdress and long cardigan.

I stopped by the doorway when I realized someone was already cooking in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sebastian greeted softly with a small smile as he looked up from the egg mixture he was beating. “French toast, bacon, eggs and coffee sound okay?”

Flustered, I glanced around the kitchen, wondering if Bart was going to materialize all of a sudden to announce that he was making breakfast and Sebastian had just poked his nose in.

When nothing happened, I blinked and cleared my throat, nodding briefly at Sebastian. “That’d be great, thanks.”

I had been awake for hours already and spent the early morning tossing and turning in my bed, wondering if I’d find myself all on my own today. He did say he was leaving.

If he was making me breakfast before saying goodbye, I was certain I’d throw the scrambled eggs in his face.

“Here, sit down.” He rounded the prep table and pulled out one of the low-backed high stool for me. He pushed it in after I sat down and went back to the egg batter he was making.

I watched him silently as he dipped some sliced bread into the batter and laid them flat on the griddle behind him where the bacon was already cooking.

He was in his usual linen pants, chocolate brown this time, and a white shirt. His hair was still long and messy but he’d shaved the beard off.

He poured us each a cup of coffee and asked me how much cream and sugar I wanted with mine.

“So it looks like there’s a low pressure sticking around for the rest of the day,” he said conversationally before getting back up again to flip the french toast. “It’s rare for it to be not sunny around here in the summer but it’s a day for staying in.”

I took an experimental sip of my coffee. “Don’t tell me the weather’s what’s keeping you from your plans.”

He glanced at me, his expression clouding over briefly before he sighed and sat back down again. “My plans have changed.”

I did my damned best to keep a steady hand on my cup of coffee but I lowered it anyway before I could pour it all over me.

I didn’t dare look up into his eyes but I managed a stiff nod. “Oh. That’s good.”

“If I was going to leave, I sure as hell won’t torture myself further by having breakfast with you first,” he said in almost a grumble.

I smiled for the first time since yesterday afternoon, finally meeting his annoyed gaze. “I was starting to wonder whether you were just fattening me up for the slaughter.”

His face broke into a crooked grin. “No. I’m just planning on fattening you up. Period. You are way too skinny.”

He proceeded to fill me a plate of french toast, bacon and some of the scrambled egg before serving himself.

I took a bite of the french toast which I’d topped with some icing sugar and maple syrup and moaned a little in satisfaction. “I had no idea you could cook.”

“I know enough to manage on my own,” he said, watching me over the rim of his coffee cup. “This is hardly a feast, you know?”

I grinned and popped a piece of bacon into my mouth. “It was prepared for me. That alone makes it a feast so thank you.”

“Do you do most of the cooking at your house then?” he asked.

“If I want to eat, I have to,” I answered truthfully. “Timothy’s schedule is unpredictable and he barely eats at home. He’s always either drinking or stuffing himself at some nice, swanky restaurant or bar.”

“Was there no other family at all who could take you in? Pendley isn’t exactly guardian material.”

“My father died when I was just a baby and my mother never really told me much about him except that he was a good man and husband. I don’t know a lot about him and I certainly haven’t met any of his family. No one from his side came to see me after my Mom died so I’m not even sure if they know about me. I didn’t mind at all as my aunt and uncle had been good and generous to me. It’s only Timothy who’s been hard to deal with.”

“He must have made your life hell if you’d opted to stay here in the mercy of complete strangers,” he commented, his tone with a slight edge. “I’m assuming you want to get out as soon as you’re eighteen.”

My shoulders sagged. “That was the plan when I thought I could still go to college. Without the money, I now have to wait and see if I got accepted into any of the privately funded scholarship foundations I applied to. If that fails, I’ll have no choice but to work some kind of full-time job and take on a lighter school load. It takes so much longer to finish and I’ll most likely get my nose quite deep into student loans but I’d rather go through all that than stay a moment longer in the same house as Timothy.”

Sebastian leaned forward, his face serious. “I meant what I said last night about giving you everything you can possibly want. College, your own place, your own—”

“Sebastian, stop,” I interrupted rudely, my cheeks flushing. “You are under no obligation to provide me anything at all. I also refuse to take payment for what we may have between—”

“I’m not paying you to whore for me, Cassandra,” he cut in icily as if I’d deeply offended him. “I have more money than I know what to do with. Spending it on you to get you away from Pendley is no sacrifice.”

I winced slightly at the blunt term he used but I understood his motivation.

I shook my head, sighing heavily. “Don’t, please. I’m confident I’ll manage on my own. It won’t be as comfortable as I’d hoped but it’s nothing different from what an average college student goes through. I assure you, nothing will stop me from getting away from Timothy.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” he asked, without heat this time.

I absently stirred the surface of my coffee with the tip of my forefinger before sucking it into my mouth with a small, wet pop.

“I’ve lived most of my life on the charity of others,” I answered. “My mother was a struggling music teacher and we could barely afford anything beyond the basic necessities. Friends and neighbors helped us out a lot. Then when she got sick, our landlady helped looking after me, feeding me leftovers and passing me hand-me-downs from her own daughter. When she realized she was dying, she moved back to Bluefield where her family could help us out. When Mom died, my aunt and uncle took me in and although they were kind to me, I did not once forget I was a burden to them.”

I looked up to him with a faint smile. “I want to stop being indebted to others for once in my life. Relying on you for my comfort is hardly the way I plan to start my attempt at independence.”

He shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting a little bit of help when you need it.”

My smile broadened as I raised a brow at him. “Do you see yourself taking your own advice, Sebastian? I have strong evidence proving you don’t like turning to others for help either.”

He looked away, caught. “Not really.”

“Pride is a savage affliction,” I said softly. “Some people would rather bleed dry before they’d admit they’ll die without help. There’s very little that separates integrity from pure idiocy.”

Sebastian watched me for a long moment, his green eyes enigmatic as he took a long, slow sip of his own coffee. “Your old soul amazes and grieves me, Cassandra.”

I chuckled. “Why?”

“Because on one side, you’re a young woman wiser than most. On another, you’re a child robbed of a chance to be blissfully ignorant of the pains of the world.”

My laughter died and silence ensued.

Somehow, that quiet, brief statement left me strangely bereft—as if I had met this child and saw all that was cheated of her.

Trust Sebastian Vice to drag you in front of a mirror and point out just how unfortunate you are no matter how hard you try to avoid catching your reflection. But then again, I might be doing the same to him.

“So, have you decided on what you’ll pursue in college?” he asked after a stretch of silence. He was willing to let me off and I wasn’t going to argue.

“Something in finance, probably,” I said. “Numbers and I agree. Also there could be lots of money in it too.”

“But is that what you really want?”

I scrunched up my nose in thought, my cheeks warming slightly. “Well, I have other interests but I don’t think I’d land a lucrative job pursuing them.”

“Big things start with small ideas,” he advised in actual seriousness. “Don’t dismiss it just because it seems far-fetched at the moment. So, tell me. What do you really want?”

I grinned. “My own bookstore. A quaint and cozy one with a vintage vibe. And there’ll be a gourmet bake shop with a glass display of decadent cakes and cookies and coffee that go perfectly with a good book. And there’ll be an outdoor patio in the summer afternoons with a local musician playing his guitar or his piano. And in the winter there’ll be a fireplace and an intimate reading area around it, filled with plush sheets and warm rugs. Oh, and I want a beautiful, lavish garden outside of it with trimmed hedges, flower beds and stone paths—like an English garden!”

I burst out laughing at his incredulous look.

“It sounds more than just a quaint and cozy little bookstore. It sounds like nirvana. I don’t know if all of it is practical but it has potential.”

A giddy streak of excitement sprung inside me as I looked at him with widened eyes and a shy grin. “You think so?”

He nodded, unable to suppress a boyish grin himself.

I was delighted. “You’re probably right that it’s not all practical—I wasn’t thinking of it from a business perspective. I was just thinking of all the things my favorite place in the world would have.”

“A creative idea can be converted into a business model. The first important step is to get inspired,” he assured me, much to my surprise. He was infamously ruthless and rigid in business—pondering on a girl’s whimsical idea hardly seem to support that reputation.

Before I could think of it further, I placed a hand on top of his own, leaned forward, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He pulled his hand out and slipped it over mine and gave it a gentle squeeze.

With a faint flush on his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes, he smiled and sipped his coffee.

***

The rest of the day had been miserable—dreary, cold and steadily raining.

But for the first time in the many weeks since I’ve come to Cove Manor, things felt... right.

Whatever had happened last night, despite Sebastian’s declaration to walk away from me, brought about a completely unexpected change—one I couldn’t trust completely yet but one that gave me hope.

Neither of us brought it up—probably both worried about the fragile condition of our new understanding. I was perfectly content with that.

After breakfast, we retreated into the library and spent the day reading. I left to make us some lunch while he took a long call from work. He joined me in the covered patio for a late lunch followed by some tea and little honey cakes I’d made the day before.

Later in the afternoon the rain slowed to a light mist and we ventured out in gum boots to check for any damages on the flower garden I’d been looking after all summer.

I was just tipping a small pot over to drain some of the water that had pooled on the surface when a single, dark pink gerber daisy was held out to me.

I looked up and locked gazes with Sebastian who had a half-smile on his face.

I put the pot down and slowly reached for the flower.

Unlike other girls, I had always been partial to daisies instead of roses or other more elegant flowers. I’ve never said it out loud and something strange and disquieting strummed across my heart to know that Sebastian had picked it out among all of the flowers in the garden.

I fought a blush in vain as I lowered my eyes and gently brushed the petals against the tip of my nose. “Thank you. No boy’s ever given me flowers before. Not even this guy I dated for a little bit.”

His eye narrowed slightly. “Most of the men in your life seem to take you for granted.”

I shrugged, smiling a little. “Nah. The others did what they could do for me out of charity. Kyle, the guy I dated, just wasn’t the flowers-type of guy.”

“Did you think I was?” Sebastian asked in a dry, amused tone.

I grinned. “Not at all and that’s why it means more to me.”

His mood lightened back up again and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “It reminds me of you—sturdy, bright and playful.”

I arched a brow. “Sturdy? I don’t know if that’s something—”

“You’re strong and resilient,” he interrupted, smiling. “You don’t fall apart at the slightest adversity. You stand tall, face down the world with a smile and continue to blossom beautifully.”

I closed my mouth and blinked a couple of times.

Well, he certainly expounded on that not-so-obvious compliment.

Clutching the flower in one hand, I grasped the sleeves of Sebastian’s rain jacket and raised myself on my toes, pressing my lips against his.

One arm circled behind my waist and another pressed against my back as he returned the kiss, his lips teasing mine to open so he could deepen it further.

I don’t know how long we went on kissing but we probably wouldn’t have stopped if heavier raindrops didn’t start sprinkling down on us.

We pulled away, blinking through the rain and grinning silly before he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the house.

We discarded our rain jackets and boots and shook ourselves dry by the covered patio.

A bit chilled from our trek out in the rain, we readied some hot water for tea while planning out a simple dinner of some salad and panini sandwiches.

Warm in dry, fresh clothes, we cuddled in the library with our tea, the daisy he gave me standing in a slim, crystal vase.

“There’s a poem Francis Thompson wrote called Daisy,” he murmured as he flipped open one of the hardbound books sitting on a stack on the coffee table. “It struck me as purely whimsical but when I met you, it made perfect sense. Want to hear it?”

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

He found the page and pulled me close to him as he started to read.

“Where the thistle lifts a purple crown

Six foot out of the turf,

And the harebell shakes on the windy hill—

O breath of the distant surf!

The hills that look over on the South,

And southward dreams the sea;

And with the sea-breeze hand in hand

Came innocence and she.

Where ‘mid the gorse the raspberry

Red for the gatherer springs;

Two children did we stray and talk

Wise, idle, childish things.

She listened with big-lipped surprise,

Breast-deep ‘mid flower and spine:

Her skin was like grape whose veins

Run snow instead of wine.

She knew not those sweet words she spake,

Nor knew her own sweet way;

But there’s never a bird, so sweet a song

Thronged in whose throat all day.

Oh, there were flowers in Storrington

On the turf and on the spray;

But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills

Was the Daisy-flower that day!

Her beauty smoothed earth’s furrowed face.

She gave me tokens three:

A look, a word of her winsome mouth,

And a wild raspberry.

A berry red, a guileless look,

A still word, —strings of sand!

And yet they made my wild, wild heart

Fly down to her little hand.”

Sebastian paused, glancing at me, smiling. He leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips before continuing with the poem.

“For standing artless as the air,

And candid as the skies,

She took the berries with her hand,

And the love with her sweet eyes.

The fairest things have fleetest end,

Their scent survives their close:

But the rose’s scent is bitterness

To him that loved the rose.

She looked a little wistfully,

Then went her sunshine way—

The sea’s eye had a mist on it,

And the leaves fell from that day.

She went her unremembering way,

She went and left in me

The pang of all the partings gone,

And partings yet to be.”

His hand found mine and squeezed it, his voice catching a little as he read on.

“She left me marveling why my soul

Was sad that she was glad;

At all the sadness in the sweet,

The sweetness in the sad.

Still, still I seemed to see her, still

Look up with soft replies,

And take the berries with her hand,

And the love with her lovely eyes.

Nothing begins, and nothing ends,

That is not paid with moan,

For we are born in other’s pain,

And perish in our own.”

I looked up to him, my own voice breaking as I said his name.

“He lost her,” I said quietly.

He put the book away, nodding gravely as he pulled me over his lap, his arms tightening around me.

“He did,” he murmured, pressing his lips by my ear. “Something I don’t intend to happen with you.”

There was an intimacy that neither of us denied but other than the random, sudden bursts of them when we couldn’t help ourselves like that kiss out in the rain and this promise-filled embrace in the library, we approached it cautiously and slowly.

We enjoyed a nice, quiet dinner with some wine and conversation before I coaxed Sebastian into watching a movie.