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“Sure.”
He hit a button on the armrest of his seat and the sound of soft jazz filled the cabin. I'd never really listened to jazz before, but my father had, and it reminded me of him. I stared out the window as the tears started to well up in my eyes. I bit my tongue hard, willing those damn tears not to fall.
“I'm sorry,” he said softly, stopping the music. “I forgot that your father shared my love of jazz.”
“No, it's fine,” I said, wiping the tears away before looking at Sebastian with a smile. “Keep it on. It's nice actually.”
“You sure?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Positive.”
He hesitantly pressed the button again, continuing with the music, and I closed my eyes. It reminded me of my father sitting in his study with the same sort of soft music in the background. Mom used to say that the music put him in a good mood, and often I'd find them dancing together to the music in his office. My dad was a romantic at times, and liked to take my mom dancing when he could – and when he couldn't, he turned his office into a private ballroom for the two of them.
So, of course, the music made me think of love and romance. It was a nice addition to the touch of sadness that came along with my memories.
I opened my eyes and found Sebastian staring at me. I so badly wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but I found myself afraid of what me might say. Would he say it was a mistake to bring me along? Would he talk about my dad and make me cry even more? So many people felt pity for me, and I hated it. But the look in Sebastian's eyes wasn't one of pity, it was one of awe, as if for whatever reason, he was admiring me. And as soon as our eyes met, he looked away, an expression of guilt upon his face. It was as if he were scolding himself for the thoughts running through his mind.
That of course, piqued my curiosity and made me want to ask even more than ever.
Before I could stop myself, I did. “What are you thinking about, Sebastian?”
CHAPTER SEVEN - SEBASTIAN
Her question caught me off-guard and I knew I couldn't tell her what I was thinking; that she was beautiful, that she was strong like her father, and that she blew me away in every way. Despite the fact that it was all true, it felt like it would be a bit creepy to say out loud.
Considering the fact that I was her father's best friend and was way too old to be entertaining such thoughts about her, I decided I should keep my admiration to myself.
“That you remind me a lot of your father,” I said, keeping my thoughts to something more appropriate for the situation. “And your mother. You have the best of both of them, Violet, and that's amazing to me.”
I'd never had children of my own, and sometimes I regretted that decision. In many ways, Violet was as close to a daughter as I was likely ever going to get, but it felt incredibly weird to think of her like that. She was a young woman now; a bright, ambitious, and beautiful young woman. If the situation was any different, I'd be hitting on her nonstop. And I could see myself settling down with someone like her.
My history with women had been rocky, to say the least. Jessica wasn't the first clingy, needy, and emotionally unstable ex from my past. I seemed to draw in the needy women, which was something I was completely at a loss to explain.
Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I was just attracted to those types of women. I had a type all right – fake boobs, fake lips, fake tan, blonde hair, you name it. Not that I found all that fakeness more beautiful than natural beauty, it's just women like Violet always scared me off. She was too smart, too ambitious, and yes, even as a strong male, that scared the crap out of me.
Up until now, that was. Because Violet wasn't scary. Nothing about her was scary.
She looked down at her hands, something she'd always done when put in an uncomfortable situation, or when she was trying not to say something. It was her biggest tell. She was a sweet girl, but as I witnessed at the restaurant recently, she could stand up for herself and others if push came to shove. There was a backbone of steel inside of her and she wasn't one to take shit from anybody.
Watching her stare down at her hands like that unnerved me, because she shouldn't be uncomfortable. Not with me. If I was doing something to make her uncomfortable, it needed to stop. I needed to do everything in my power to make her feel safe.
“What's wrong, Violet?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, biting her lip and continuing to stare at her hands as she picked at the polish on her thumb nail.
“What are you thinking?” I pressed.
She blushed, and I remembered the teenage crush she used to have on me all those years ago. I recalled how every time I spoke to her, she turned bright red and tried to hide her face from me.
“Well, I just don't know how to respond when you say such nice things about me, Sebastian,” she said softly. “Because you know how I feel about you.”
I had to wonder, had her childhood crush ever subsided? From the way she looked up at me though, I thought I had my answer.
My heart raced as I realized that perhaps, Violet still had feelings for me. And truth be told, I had some feelings for her; feelings I knew weren't right. Feelings I shouldn't be having about the daughter of my best friend.
I quickly looked away and chugged the rest of my champagne, needing a moment to compose myself and get my head on straight.
She too, drank the rest of her glass and silently stared out the window for some time.
