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I know what’s coming, so I spin on my heel to face him. “I’m sorry. I know I promised no more hiding.”
“It’s fine.”
But it’s not. “I panicked.”
“Hey.” He puts his drink down and cups my cheek. The cool touch of his palm helps. “We haven’t defined it, and I’m not about to put you on the spot. Tonight is about having fun.”
Fun. I can do that.
It’s easier than I expected, considering how many times I’ve had to hear Ginuwine without a single drink in me. Any more, and I’ll take that horse and ride it all the way back home.
I’ve also laughed harder than I remember doing in the last few years, and I’m not the only one. Every time Sebastian laughs, I have to dig my nails into my seat so I don’t launch myself across the table to kiss him.
Rochelle joked earlier that this place was built for secrets, and she must be right, because I can’t seem to hold back tonight. Or maybe it’s just Sebastian’s natural draw. He looks exceptionally sexy tonight, in black jeans and a purple button-down, the cuffs rolled up.
Sebastian’s eyes glow emerald under the dimmed lights, and as always, his attention loosens my tongue quicker than a shot of Patron.
“Do you know what really keeps me awake?” I ask, not expecting an answer. “I’ve always been the side character in other people’s stories. Aiden’s sister, Morgan’s best friend, the secret author of a dozen memoirs. I keep telling myself that if I can do it, finally have something of my own, maybe, just maybe, I’d feel like I belonged.”
Confessing it is a weight off my chest, and the rest tumbles behind it. “Why do you think I’m so afraid? My whole life, I’ve wanted this for myself. I always said ‘someday,’ and it was this possibility, this potential that I was working toward. I just needed to learn a little more, wait a little longer. But now that it’s here, I can’t move. Because if I try, and it doesn’t work out, that possibility?It’s gone. And the thing that I’ve been working toward is gone. And then what? Nothing. What are you supposed to do with your life when the one thing you told yourself you wanted is something you can’t have?”
If only my editor had let me take on another job.
If only I hadn’t opened my big mouth and this Pandora’s box by emailing her while tipsy.
I could have been content with my life as it was.
Except I want more than contentment. I want to grab hold of a little piece of happiness for myself. If I could have that, I wouldn’t ask for anything else.
I saw the same look in Sebastian’s eyes that day at the bank. I understood the need to claim something for himself. To achieve something previously thought impossible.
The thing is, I know I can write a memoir that meets every criterion the publisher wants. I can hit a deadline. I’ve been doing just that for five years. Hand me someone else’s story, and I can wield words in such a way the world would believe I’d created the damn alphabet as my personal toy.
But sit me down and ask me for my truth?
Zilch.
I clench up tighter than a Supreme Court justice getting questioned over a conflict of interest.
And look. I don’t want to blame my parents or Aiden, but doing things for myself has never been easy the way it was for them. For people like Morgan and Sebastian.
“Aiden’s always watching over me as if I’m this fragile thing that needs my hand held. I just want to prove I can stand on my own.” I want to make them proud.
“You’ve more than proven that, Bee. What you’ve achieved is incredible, but your brother doesn’t love you because you’ve impressed him.”
Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s easy to believe.
“I think you might be the only person who knows the real me,” I admit. It’s the most I’ve ever shared with anyone before, even more than with my family or my best friend, but somehow, it’s easier with Sebastian.
Terrifying, but exhilarating.
“Is it that you expect other people to judge you harshly? Or that you don’t trust yourself to be able to handle it if they do?”
The world stops then. Just… straight-up stills, right down to the beating of my heart.
Because he’s right. I don’t trust myself to handle it. Compliment or critique, when it comes down to it, I’m terrified of breaking under the weight of anybody’s opinion of me. Of being bold enough to accept something nice without deflecting. Of being brave enough to tell someone they hurt me.
Of standing up for myself.
