Stealing the Shepherdess: A Lesbian Romance by Sabrina Kane

Author:Sabrina Kane [Kane, Sabrina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Hours later, Emily walked into Ambrogio by Acquerello, a very upscale Italian restaurant in the equally upscale San Diego community of La Jolla.

She was wearing a blood-red sheath dress with black patent leather stilettos, the heels of which were almost sharp enough to plunge through someone’s chest wall and pierce their heart.

She ignored the tall stick-figure-super-model-wannabe hostess who challenged her, and marched straight into the dining room, knowing the stick figure was following her.

She spotted Priscilla easily. Not many women were as tall as her—except the stick figure whose breath Emily could almost feel on the back of her neck. What’s more, the red hair acted as a beacon for her eyes.

Priscilla was with someone…someone who seemed young. Who it was, Emily had no interest in, only that she had to leave.

Emily stopped at Priscilla’s table, glaring down at her.

“I’m with her,” she said to the stick figure, but without looking at her.

Priscilla stared at Emily for a moment before adjusting them slightly to look at the hostess.

“It’s fine, Candace,” she said.

When the stick figure had left, Emily balanced her weight on one leg and crossed her arms.

“Your friend?” she asked.

“Of course,” Priscilla said. “Emily Bacon, allow me to introduce you to Celia Bruce, Countess of Ailesbury.”

Emily, even through her anger, was thrown by this.

Fucking great!

“How do you do?” the young countess asked, extending her hand, which Emily took.

“An honor, Countess,” Emily said. “I apologize for interrupting.”

“Celia,” Priscilla began, “could you please excuse us? Emily and I have some important things to discuss. I promise to be in touch tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” the countess said, rising. “Enjoy your meal…both of you.”

When they were alone, Priscilla gestured to the recently vacated seat at her table.

Emily sat down and stared at the redhead.

“A countess!” she said. “Here in San Diego! Well, if there’s one woman who could manage to pull that off, it would be you.”

Priscilla smirked.

“Celia is young and beautiful, yes,” she said. “She enjoys America, particularly Southern California, which typically has better weather than Ireland. Her family has a home here, and we were just chatting.”

“So, she’s not with you?” Emily asked. “As in, your date for the evening?”

“She wasn’t my date, no,” Priscilla said flatly. “We were just…catching up.

Liar!

There was more to why the countess was here…Emily knew it, but she didn’t care. She was here for other reasons.

“I came here alone,” Priscilla went on. “What took you so long?”

Emily bristled. She hated the way Priscilla made it seem as though she was always three steps ahead of her.

Emily’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not one of your puppets, and you’re not holding my strings,” she said.

Just then, a male server appeared with a cocktail that he placed on the table before Emily. Emily looked down at it. It was a boulevardier. With a twist of lemon.

“You were saying something about not being a puppet?” Priscilla prodded snarkily.

Emily leaned forward, sneering. It took all of her willpower to not throw the boulevardier in Priscilla’s face, and storm out.

“You must have had a field day coming up with that little stunt,” she muttered.

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