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Hours ago, I was notified that there’s an event happening tonight. I’ve been kept in the dark, and seeing as we’ve never had a changeover of bosses in my lifetime, I don’t really know the protocol. It was always something I assumed my father would teach me when the time was right, but I forewent that pleasure when I was cast out of the city.
When Sean presented me with the dress I’m being made to wear, I knew it was time to remove any childish quips and give London a taste of the queen they’re missing out on. I asked for a few extra things to really elevate the moment without pushing my luck too much.
Pushing out onto the balcony, I allow the doors to slam against the building, rocking slightly against their hinges. It’s raining. One of those perfect British days where the sky is blue with a tiny smattering of clouds, but the rain still spits out of nowhere. I relish the feeling of it on my face.
Cataloguing everything that’s happened, my brain starts to run a million miles a minute. As a pain echoes from behind my eyes, I steady my thoughts for a moment, allowing myself to exhale on the fact that Alistair has the biggest hand to play in all of this.
The constant catalyst in both my and Beckett’s life.
“You do realise it’s raining, right?”
I turn to see Sebastian and quickly turn back to face London. I haven’t put any make-up back on and I don’t want him to see the markings left on me. The fact Beckett didn’t even notice tells me he either didn’t care to look or I’m better at hiding them than I thought.
“It’s quite refreshing.”
Which is the honest truth. I always found rainfall to be a cleanser, always taking away the dirt and grime. Cleaning the slate if we want to be philosophical over the matter. This drizzle isn’t enough to baptise anything, but it’s enough to awaken me.
“I bet,” he says, and I sense him move. “So, the father-in-law, hey?”
The swagger he presents as he moves to the balcony edge, keeping his back to me as he places his hands to the rails and braces himself against the view of the city tells me he’s here with every motive he could get his hands on.
“So, the dead bestie, hey?”
My retort is sour at best, but I don’t care. It forces him to turn, and I don’t even try to hide the marks on my face and neck.
The moment his eyes find me, his face drops.
“Natalia. Your face and neck.”
I shake my head. We are not dealing with this. “It’s nothing.”
I’m not sitting out here for sympathy. I especially don’t think I’ll seek it in Sebastian.
“It’s something.” He moves across the decking, dropping in front of me. “Who did this?”
“No one,” I say, laughing mirthlessly as I feel exposed in his presence. “It’s nothing.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why? Itisnothing.”
There are a few silent beats between us. The city carries on moving, but we’re frozen in this moment, eyes locked, fighting one another, but neither cave. Then, as if the penny drops, Sebastian’s eyes grow softer with realisation before they darken.
“Did Beckett do this?”
“Beckett?!” I gasp, laughing at the audacity. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Well? Did he?” he pushes, not yet touching me. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”
We move together—him to leave, me to stop him.
“It wasn’t Beckett. Fucking hell, Seb.”
“Then who?”
“Nobody.”
“Yeah, because nobody busts a lip and leaves marks like that on a girl’s neck.”
