Page 70 of Taken By Sin
It’s nice to know I’m not the only one he thinks isn’t good enough for his kids. Makes me wonder if Bria doesn’t date because of him, though.
Sin reaches out, his hand brushing mine lightly. “Let’s go.”
The grand dining room is a vision of opulence. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, their light casting a subtle glow over the room. The walls are lined with rich tapestries and portraits of ancestors, their painted eyes seeming to follow your every move.
A long, polished mahogany table stretches across the space, its surface gleaming under the soft flicker of candlelight. Each place setting is perfect: gleaming silverware, delicate crystal glasses, and fine china that looks too beautiful to use. The air is thick with the scent of fresh flowers, their vibrant colors adding an almost otherworldly touch to the already grandiose atmosphere.
Sin’s father sits at the head of the table, a man whose presence looms over the room even as he remains seated. His face is hard, weathered by years of power and secrecy, his eyes a deep, calculating blue that never seem to miss anything. When he sees us, he gives a small, approving nod.
Sin gives a slight bow of his head, pulling out mine and Bria’s seats across the table.
The chatter begins, but it isn’t about business, it’s more casual. Mr. Donati asks about the coffee shop, seeming to have an interest in me now that Sin threatened him.
This isn’t like the dinners at home, talking of work and family business, but I imagine this is a rare occasion with them both being there.
The dinner begins, and each course is more extravagant than the last: delicate hors d’oeuvres that melt on the tongue, a buttery lobster bisque served in fine porcelain bowls, and then the main course—a perfectly roasted rack of lamb, its tender meat surrounded by an array of vegetables that look as though they’ve been plucked from a garden untouched by time.
The wine flows freely, a deep red that matches the warmth of the evening. It’s all too much, and yet somehow not enough. Each bite, each sip, feels like I’m being pulled deeper into a world I don’t entirely understand but can’t escape from.
While Sin’s father has been polite, I do notice his sharp gaze occasionally shifting toward me, measuring, evaluating. Seeing where I fit in this family.
Sin seems to notice my discomfort. His hand brushes mine under the table, a small gesture, but it grounds me.
I look at him, the warmth in his voice a quiet reassurance,though the weight of his world still presses down on me. He squeezes my hand just once, the briefest of gestures, but it’s enough to settle some of the nervous tension in my chest.
The rest of the dinner passes in a blur of conversation, laughter that feels distant, and the clink of silverware against porcelain.
The dessert course is a decadent chocolate soufflé, and by the time the final wine is poured and the meal draws to a close, I’m left with a sense of disorientation as if I’ve just attended some kind of elaborate performance.
“That was weird, right?” I tell Bria, climbing underneath her comforter.
She shrugs. “It went way better than I expected.”
“Really?” I shake my head. “I don’t know. I should have talked more, maybe?”
She climbs in beside me. “You’re doing just fine. Don’t stress, okay?”
All I can do is stress. I want him to like me; I need him to. Sin means so much to me, and I miss him.
Although he’s right down the hall.
As Bria falls into sleep, soft snores coming from her, I lay in silence long into the night, wondering if Sin is missing me just as much.
I can’t sleep without him; this is torture. I’ve been lying awake for hours, trying to justify why I told him no in the first place. Who cares what his fatherthinks?
The quiet of the night is making me braver.
The hallway is dimly lit by the faint glow of sconces casting long shadows along the walls. I walk silently, my footsteps soft against the cold marble floors, careful not to wake anyone. The weight of the night presses in on me, but all I can think about is him—Sin.
I push open his door slowly, the hinges creaking softly, the only protest as I enter. The room is bathed in shadow, with moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains, casting streaks of pale blue across the floor. I feel a pang of longing in my chest, like an ache I can’t shake.
His sleeping face is so lovely, all of the hard edges softened by dreams.
I move to the window and pull the curtain back, the cool night air rushing in as I lean against the sill. Below me, the garden is a maze of shapes and shadows, the ivy-covered walls and tall trees now softened by the moon’s light.
It’s peaceful, quiet, and for a moment, I forget everything else. I forget the dinner, the weight of expectations, and the pressure building inside of me.
All I want is this moment to breathe in the calm of the night and feel the absence of everything that’s constantly pulling at me.