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And how come his family is acting like they can see through our carefully constructed façade?
“Hey, can we help you guys with anything?” Alec says, his arm around Oakley, walking into the kitchen from a room down the hall in which a lot of raucous behaviors are taking place, if the whoops and hollers are to be believed.
“Adding Henry to the mix is a riot.” Oakley points a thumb behind her. “He’s intense and all the brothers feed into that.”
“Too true, Oakley.” Stella picks up one of the serving bowls piled high with steaming jasmine rice. She motions to Alec to pick up another. “Henry adds another dimension when he’s around. Except, when he was fixing a small leak in a hose off my water heater today, he barely said a single word. Something’s on that man’s mind.”
I know Sebastian feels it, too. He hasn’t said anything to me about it. For some reason, it stings that Sebastian keeps his problems to himself.
It’s to be expected, though. How’s he supposed to open up to me about his relationships when he and I can’t even be open about our own?
Chapter 30
Elianna
I wake up two days later with a knot in my stomach.
Maybe it’s because I dread going in to work without Sebastian there. Yesterday was not great—there were so many things left undone with him gone. I left work last night unsettled, like I’d been running a marathon, but inexplicably hadn’t finished a single mile.
No wonder he’s stressed all the time. In fact, feeling the absence of him at Tate International helps me see just how well he actually does handle things.
And now I’m thinking of Sebastian. The passion he has for his work. His dark eyes. The way his gaze rests on me—languid, calm, pulsing, delicious.
Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested he go to Chicago. He needs to come back already.
The day progresses much like yesterday, as I try to direct things the best that I can.
Around noon, a courier brings in a huge box full of T-shirts I’d ordered for the resort’s fall festival. I rip the tape off the top and sink my hands into the carefully pressed and folded shirts. The fabric is soft, the color is the perfect, light buttery yellow.
I draw one up and out of the box, shaking it out so I can see it in its entirety.
The design is . . . all wrong.
Instead of the swirling, falling leaf design that the graphic designers had come up with, there’s one single leaf down at the corner. A gold leaf that stands forlorn against the yellow shirt color.
No.
I grab another one from the box and it’s the same thing. The words are fine, “Tate International” is in black, in the font the designers had chosen. But this thing? With only one leaf? It was an early concept file. Not even close to the final one I’d been given.
How did this happen?
My heart burns and I feel queasy. How did I upload the wrong file? And how can we expect the guests to be excited to get a free T-shirt if it looks like this?
I know it was my fault, and my stomach gets even more knotty as I take a photo and text it to all the pertinent people. I admit my mistake to them, apologize, and ask them what they think we should do.
Except for Sebastian. I’m waiting to reach out to him. I tell myself I shouldn’t bother him during the conference, but I know it’s more than that.
I’m ashamed I made such a big mistake.
We’re in the process of dealing with it when several texts come through.
Dori:Any luck with those grants? Cuz we need ‘em.
Dori:Our leading man just quit. He found out his paycheck will be coming after the show’s run, not in November like he’d been told. He’s not happy.
Dori:And now the high school where we were going to perform is saying we can’t actually have those dates because of a big Christmas band thing they’re hosting here. We’ve been trying all morning to find a new venue.
My heart drops for the second time today. Yes, I’ve had some luck with grants, but these things take a very long time to come to fruition.
