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‘Dios mio, you too?’ Sebastian demanded.
‘Okay, this time I really don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,’ Theo replied, the first sign of frustration written clearly across his features.
Sebastian passed a hand across his face, trying to wipe away the days of self-disgust that had gathered around him. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Best you get started then.’
The sun had set by the time Sebastian had told Theo all th
at had happened. Theo, in a strange turn of domesticity, had gathered a half decent meal together and the empty plates and coffee cups attested to the mostly successful sobering effect of the evening.
‘Well, do you? Trust her?’ Theo asked.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Sebastian dismissed.
‘That’s a no then.’
‘No, I do. It’s just...’ Sebastian trailed off, trying to find the right words. ‘I’ve had only myself to rely on for so damn long.’ Theo dramatically cleared his throat, and Sebastian tipped his drink towards him in consideration. ‘For the most part, it’s only been me. Because the trust I had in my father? That was the unknowing, unthinking, unconscious trust of a child to its parent. It was just there and when he broke that? I think he broke something in me.’ Sebastian clamped his jaw against the wave of emotion that swept over him in that moment, the confession, torn from the depths of his past, almost as much of a surprise to himself as it was to Theo. ‘The thought of being that dependent on someone again, I’m man enough to admit that it’s terrifying. I’m not sure that I am capable of it.’
‘Well, I guess you have to weigh it up. The suffering you are feeling now for what you might feel if it doesn’t work out.’
‘I’m not...’ He was about to say suffering when an inner voice whispered in his ear.
Passion is a suffering that you take on yourself for what you want.
Only, rather than willingly taking it on, Sebastian had been pushing it away. Rejecting it, denying it. Denying what he truly wanted. Which wasn’t the painting, which wasn’t revenge. It was Sia. Only her. And if he had a hope in hell of getting what he truly wanted then he was going to have to put himself on the line.
He dropped his face into his hands, pulling at his hair in frustration. Oh, he’d been a bloody fool. The animalistic sound that emerged from his mouth was full of self-loathing and recrimination.
‘There it is,’ Theo said, half satisfied and more than a little patronising. ‘Let it out.’
‘Why do you get to be so smug?’ Sebastian groused.
‘I’ve been there.’ He shrugged. ‘You have a plan?’
‘I think so,’ Sebastian replied, staring into the flames twisting and turning in the fireplace before raising his gaze to the painting that had started it all.
Sia stared at the glowing red figures of her alarm clock and turned on her back, glaring up at the ceiling. The one-bedroom apartment had felt tiny and very, very dark since she’d returned from Siena. The minute hand ticked over and drew her closer to the interview with Bonnaire’s scheduled for just a few hours’ time.
She tried to call up some kind of emotion about it, but since she’d agreed to the meeting all she’d felt was numb. Which was distinctly better than the near constant ache that had sunk into her bones the moment she’d left Sebastian’s estate. A dull agony had swirled in her stomach for the few days since then, ensuring that she couldn’t manage to eat more than a few mouthfuls at a time.
She missed him. Terribly. Every time she closed her eyes she could see his smile. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way it felt to have his gaze, his hands, his lips on her skin. The memory of it caused an aching arousal that led only to sadness and she had cried so much that her eyes felt constantly swollen and puffy, her heart just tired of hurting.
She had given herself two days. Two days to allow herself just to feel it. In that forty-eight hours she had asked herself time and time again why she hadn’t just admitted to him that she loved him. Because, she reminded herself, unlike her mother, she did want more, she deserved more. She needed and wanted to be an equal in their love.
What had he said about not being a Neanderthal? He could be attracted to her without acting on it. Well, she could love him without being cowed by it or him. But, even as she thought it, she knew that didn’t feel right for Sebastian. He would never have sought to dominate her. But the painting would have always been there. Hanging over both of them. An unanswered question, the only one she had never asked.
The other way she had spent those two days was to think about what he had said about her. That she had been scared to embrace her desires, her wants. With a long, hard internal look, she’d been forced to admit that he was right. She’d spent so long, too long, being thankful for things she shouldn’t have been thankful for. The job at Bonnaire’s, where they had treated her with little more than grim-faced tolerance. The obscenely expensive one-bed flat in Archway that was, in reality, hideous and oppressive, just so she could commute to work. The two things combining to ensure that she had absolutely no money or time to do anything else.
On the off-chance that Bonnaire’s actually still wanted to keep her on, did she want to stay? Time and time again over the last forty-eight hours her mind had wandered to her uni things. The sketchpad full of drawings and plans, designs for paintings she’d never completed. She shook her head. Crazy thinking. As if she wasn’t already in enough debt. But, rather than giving up on that thought, Sia had tested out a few options. Maybe going part-time? Maybe an internship or finding studio space she could share? Certainly moving out of the flat would be the first move. She didn’t have to give everything up in one go. She could dip her toes in first.
The alarm finally went off beside her and she forced herself into the shower to wash away the exhaustion and heat from her overactive mind.
Half an hour later, dressed not in her usual office clothes but one of the summery creations Sebastian had given her, she was ready. It was a dress that she felt not only comfortable in but also a little glamorous and it was perfect for the gentle heat of London in July.
She grabbed her purse and stepped out into the street and almost smack bang into a man in a grey suit and carrying a black briefcase.
‘Can I help you?’ Sia asked over her shoulder as she turned back to lock the door. ‘It’s just that I’m running a little late...’
