As if she can sense my thoughts, Solange appears at my side, pulling me out of my internal pity party. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” I say, still watching Paulo and Viviane bask in the joy of the new baby.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go, and I’ll walk you out.”

I give her a sidelong glance. “Trying to get rid of me, Pereira?”

“Moi?” she says, wide-eyed, the fingers of both hands fanned out over her chest. “Never.”

“Good. Let’s meet Sebastian before I go.”

Solange and I don’t have much time left together. I intend to make the most of it.

Chapter Eighteen

Solange

“Isn’t Sebastian precious?” I say, looking up at Dean dreamily as we wait for an elevator.

Dean nods, a faint smile teasing the edges of his mouth. “An excellent set of lungs too.”

“I can already picture the screaming matches between him and Natalia. They’re going to be epic.”

Dean has said his goodbyes to everyone, and I’ve offered to walk him out to the lobby. One elevator has been idle since we got here, and the other started at the top and is stopping on every floor. When one finally arrives, it’s crammed with people. Of course. I raise a hand in the general direction of the folks inside, all of whom are giving us the death glare for even thinking about jumping on. “We’ll wait.”

“Let’s just take the stairs,” Dean says. “After being twisted like a pretzel in your bumper car, I could use an excuse to stretch my legs.”

I narrow my eyes at him, giving him my own death glare. “Need I remind you that you still need my help on Wednesday? Consider being nicer to the person saving your ass.”

“You’re right,” he says, pulling me into his arms and steering me in the direction of the stairwell. “Consider me reminded and appropriately chastised.” He holds me in a loose embrace, as if he’s hugging a buddy, but after the night we’ve had my reaction to his touch is decidedly not friendly. God, why does he always smell so good, no matter the scent he’s chosen to wear? With my face inches from his neck, I breathe in the smoky and sweet scents radiating off his skin, a heady combination that reminds me of toasted cinnamon sprinkled over warm apple pie. Mmm, Dean á la mode. Now that would be a yummy indulgence.

Happily basking in the warmth of Dean’s body, I’m startled when he jumps away and holds the door open. “Oh wait,” he says, wide-eyed, a theatrical performance looming. “I’m not supposed to be this close to you, right? You didn’t use your safe word.”