Page 72 of Broken Crown

We passed an old woman sweeping her doorstep, who called out a greeting to Sebastian. To my surprise, he responded in a warm, friendly manner, exchanging pleasantries as if he'd known her for years and was not an elusive billionaire heir to a diamond dynasty.

"I spent the occasional summer here as a child," he explained. "Before things became…complicated with my family."

The rare personal revelation caught me off guard. "With your mother and father, you mean."

Sebastian's expression hardened. "Yes. Before…well, you saw."

"Is that why you brought me here? For more family drama?"

His hand at my back pressed more firmly, guiding me around a corner into a small piazza dominated by a Romanesque church. "I brought you here precisely because there is no family drama here. No Judge Delluci. No House of Diamanti politics. Just this."

The simplicity of the statement disarmed me. I looked up at his profile, strong and severe against the winter sky, and my shoulders dropped, the tension I'd been carrying in my jaw released.

"It's peaceful," I admitted.

"Sei l'unica pace che abbia mai conosciuto," he murmured, so quietly I almost didn't catch it.

I was about to ask for a translation when he directed my attention to the church. "Twelfth century. The frescoes inside are remarkable."

We spent the afternoon exploring the village, Sebastian pointing out architectural details and historical landmarks with the knowledge of a scholar, not a businessman. This version of him, passionate about history, art, and culture, was yet another facet I hadn't expected.

As the afternoon waned, the temperature dropped. I hugged my coat tighter around me, trying to suppress a shiver.

Sebastian noticed immediately. He unwound the cashmere scarf from his neck and draped it around mine, his knuckles brushing against my throat as he adjusted it. The wool held the warmth from his body.

"Better?" he asked, his face close to mine.

I nodded. The simple act of sharing his scarf more intimate than it should be, another invisible thread binding us together.

We walked back toward the tower as the sun began to set, casting the village in hues of gold and amber. The beauty was almost painful, a perfection that couldn't last.

"Why did you really bring me here, Sebastian?" I asked when we reached the arched doorway that led to the courtyard where he'd parked his car.

He turned to face me, the setting sun illuminating half his face while casting the other half in shadow.

"I wanted you to see what you're fighting against," he said simply.

I frowned. "What does that mean?"

"This." He gestured between us. "Us. What we could have."

"There is no 'us,'" I insisted, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

Sebastian stepped closer.

His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones. "Isn't there?"

Blood rushed in my ears. "Sebastian…"

"Tell me you felt nothing today," he challenged. "Tell me you didn't imagine, even for a moment, what it could be like."

I couldn't lie—not to him, not to myself.

Today had been perfect.

The food, the wine, the village, and the most dangerous part—the man showing it all to me.

For hours, I'd forgotten the violence and secrets that defined our relationship in Rome.