Lisa’s hand went to her hair. “This isn’t what it looks like, Sebastian.”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not together, we won’t ever be together, and I’m married. You can sleep with whoever you want.”

Chelsea leaned in and waved. “Wifey right here.”

Lisa’s eyes went wide and she looked at Sebastian, then Chelsea. Her inflated lips quivered and for a moment she looked like a sad duck. “So . . . it’s really over?”

“It was way, way over two years ago, Lisa. Two years and some change.” He gestured at his sleeping brother. “Wake him up and meet us downstairs in five minutes. We’re filming a family meeting.” With that, he looped an arm around Chelsea’s shoulders and led her out of the room.

She looked up at him as they headed down the hall. “What are you thinking?”

A smile crossed his face. “I’m thinking I’m damn relieved to see that. Now she’s his problem, not mine. She must have decided to hook on to him when her story line with me wouldn’t work.”

“Not disappointed, then?”

He gave her a horrified look. “Never.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the brow. “Not in a million years. This marriage is everything I wanted.”

She doubted that, but she kept those suspicions to herself. Her mind went back to their foreplay last night. She’d been so into it, and then the thought of progressing into actual sex had freaked her out. She had to figure out a way past that.

Because she wanted to have sex with Sebastian now. She just . . . couldn’t. Not yet. But maybe she’d get there soon.

“My father’s downstairs,” he murmured to her. “Come on.”

She nodded and let him lead, her thoughts moving back to the big family confrontation. She hoped things didn’t get ugly between Sebastian and his family. The fact that he cared about them meant that they were still close. She didn’t know what that was like. She’d grown up in a single-parent home until she’d left for college and her mother had found religion and turned into a missionary. She was somewhere in India right now, ministering to the poor and trying to convert them. That was . . . really not Chelsea’s thing. She’d been more or less on her own since graduating from high school, with the exception of her bond with Pisa.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed having someone to lean on. To let her know she wasn’t alone and dependent on the goodwill of a friend. Because a friend was different than family. And Sebastian?

He was her family now.

Sebastian’s dad wasn’t what she’d expected. Maybe because his mom was so over the top and the rest of his family was a tabloid-loving group, she’d expected him to be a bit more like Mrs. Cabral, full of plastic surgery and vinegar. In reality, he was . . . old. Very old. Withered and gray-haired, he was still in bed when they knocked on the door. Sebastian helped him into his bathrobe and then into a wheelchair, and introduced him to Chelsea.

There was at least thirty years between Mrs. Cabral and her husband. But the elderly man had Sebastian’s green eyes and he grinned up at her. “My son picked a pretty one,” he said in accented English. “He is lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, smiling at him. She clasped his hand in greeting, and didn’t miss the warm look Sebastian shot her way. However weird the rest of his family was, it was clear he loved his father.

They wheeled Mr. Cabral into the kitchen and immediately Mrs. Cabral came over, fussing. “You woke up your father, Nugget. That is just terrible of you.” She leaned in and kissed her husband on the forehead. “Are you tired, Daddy Money? Do you need to sleep?”

And there was another surprising aspect of the Cabral relationships, because while Mrs. Cabral was evil incarnate to Chelsea, there was real affection between her and her elderly husband. He kissed his wife’s hand and then gestured at the dining room table in the next room. “I’m here for the family meeting. Where are the children?”

“They’re coming,” Mrs. Cabral said, and she still sounded miffed. “Let’s get you situated at the head of the table, shall we? Do you want some coffee, sweetie?”

Over the next few minutes, yawning family members filed in. Dolph and Lisa showed up, both looking a bit embarrassed. Lisa’s hair and makeup had been fixed, and Chelsea noticed they sat on opposite sides of the table.

Sebastian sat next to Chelsea, her hand in his. He was silent as they waited for everyone to come in, but his fingers moved over her hand, tracing the lines of her palm and brushing over each knuckle and fingertip, then rubbing the back of her hand before gliding up her arm. Over and over, the soft touches continued, until Chelsea’s skin prickled with goose bumps and her nipples hardened in response. She wanted to squirm against his soft, caressing touches, and as she clamped her thighs together, she realized she was aroused.

Just from that simple touch. Oh, wow.

If Sebastian had guessed how she was feeling, he didn’t indicate it. His gaze was on his family as they grabbed cups of coffee, bitched about the hour, and generally prepped for the cameras. The assistant with the boom mic moved into place the moment Amber slid into her seat, and then they were all gathered.

“All right, Nugget,” his mother said, pursing her lips as she drank from her coffee. “Tell us what you want us to hear.”

Sebastian’s hand stroked down Chelsea’s arm, and she had to fight back a shiver of delight at that simple touch. “I feel like it needs to be stated again. I know we’re not a normal family, and no one in this family does things the normal way. Including, it seems, me.” He looked over at Chelsea and gave her a warm, easy smile that made her stomach flutter. “Because I met Chelsea and knew we were meant to be. We dated fast, and we married fast. And we’re happy. She’s my wife, and I’m tired of her being harassed by people in this family. She’s here to stay.”

Mrs. Cabral sniffed. “That’s a very nice speech, Nugget, but I don’t see why you’d marry that whore instead of Lisa, who loves you.”

Lisa’s face turned beet-red.

Sebastian stood up, his chair scraping backward with a screech. “If you call my wife a whore again, Mother, we’re done here. For good.”

The room grew unspeakably tense, and Chelsea felt awkward. Lisa looked like a deer trapped in headlights, and Sebastian vibrated with anger.

“Kitten, kitten,” Sebastian’s father said in a tired voice. “Enough with the words. She looks like a good girl.”

“Hmph,” said Mrs. Cabral. “He’s a billionaire. How do I know she’s not after him for his money?”

“We signed a prenup,” Chelsea offered. “I really don’t want his money, just his company.”

“He doesn’t have any companies,” Mrs. Cabral cried shrilly. “His money is inherited—”

“Shh, shhh,” Sebastian’s father said, and his wife quieted down. “She means she enjoys being with him. Do not be so quick to judge, my love.” He smiled kindly at Chelsea. “What is it you do?”

Oh, now she felt stupid. “I make custom soaps and sell them online.” It seemed like such a small, petty career, and for the first time in her life, she wished she’d finished college so she could say something smarter, like lawyer or biologist.

But Amber perked up, leaning forward over the table. “Soaps? Really? Can I have some?”

“Sure. I can make you a few. Do you have a particular scent you like?”

“Patchouli.”

“We are not having patchouli in this house,” Mrs. Cabral said. “It smells like hippies.”

“Then jasmine,” Amber fired back, and mouthed to Chelsea, patchouli.

“Can I have some, too?” Lisa asked. “Whatever scent you have.”

“Sure.” She tugged on Sebastian’s belt, since he was still standing and looking frustrated at his family. “Sit down, Basty.”

That got his attention. He shot her a not you, too look and thumped into his seat. “All right, then,” Sebastian said after a moment. “Are we clear? Chelsea is my wife. She is not the antichrist. I did not rent her by the hour.” He shot a scathing look at his mother. “I love her. And we want to be left alone by the cameras, by the dive-bomb filming, everything.”