His announcement renders me speechless as I glance between the two of them.

“It’s the best way to protect her,” he says. “As a member of the Brotherhood, no one will dare contest me when I say the child is mine.”

I turn to my lady. “This is what you want?”

Cheeks flushing, she sends Landon a furtive look. “Yes.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I’m grateful to him for looking after Elise, especially since Mr. Bordeaux forbade me from being there for her myself, but my experiences so far have taught me to use extreme caution when trusting the men in this tower.

“We’d like your blessing.” The tender look he gives Elise says more than words alone.

“Then you have it.”

Landon nods. “Good. We’ll also need your support when we announce our engagement to the Brotherhood.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“Then it’s set. Tomorrow night, I’ll announce during dinner.” Landon rises, his attention on my lady. “But first, the queen and I need to talk to someone.”

4

Excited flutters warm my belly as Landon ushers me out of the elevator two floors below the House of Gemini, because I suspect who lives here.

He halts in front of the main entrance—the same style of double doors I’ve seen on the other floors I’ve visited. Landon rings the doorbell, and a whole minute passes before Sebastian stands on the threshold, bare-chested and wearing his signature ripped jeans that are so low slung they’re almost indecent. The only difference this time is the paint spattering the stonewashed denim.

The displeased curve of his mouth is all too familiar. “What do you want?” Sebastian directs the accusatory question at Landon, though his gaze is on me.

“We need to talk,” Landon says, pushing past Sebastian and pulling me behind him. He navigates the lion’s lair with ease, as if he’s been here a thousand times and the place is as familiar as his own. We come to a stop in a spacious great room that’s more art studio than living space. Paintings ranging from abstract to portraits line the walls, shelves hold jars of various-sized brushes and stacked canvases, and a black sheet covers what I assume is his latest work-in-progress. The thing is gigantic, propped upright in front of the wall of windows. It seems Sebastian cares more about his artistic obsession than the incredible ocean view.

I sense him on my heels, the heat of his body radiating from where he’s standing behind me, and I tense, caught between needing more space and craving less.

“Since you’ve invaded my house,” he says, voice gruff as his fingers brush the small of my back, “you might as well have a seat.”