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“You’ve found a lovely girl,” my grandmother says when she finally reaches me. The top of her head is just above my elbow. I hand her a glass of water, and it clinks against her wedding ring. “So much nicer than the one your mother picked out.”
She actually picked someone out? Her schemes went that far? No wonder she’s been prickly about Fliss from the moment we arrived. I’ve thrown an assistant-sized spanner in her works.
“I don’t need a matchmaker.”
“Quite,” my grandmother agrees.
“It’s so controlling.”
“Well, the Bamfords do love to keep us in line.” It takes one hundred years for her to sip her drink. Her wrinkly throat moves as she swallows. “It’s no way to live, though. When they told my Percy to marry someone else, he told them all to go to hell. We eloped to Italy. It was terribly romantic, and you couldn’t just hop on a plane in those days, Sebastian—we crossed an ocean to be together. And to escape the Bamfords for a while,” she adds with a twinkle. “I’m sure you understand.”
I certainly do. In fact: “Why come back at all?” If I coaxed Fliss to the Mediterranean, I’m not sure I’d ever return. It’d be sun, sea and pasta into eternity.
My grandmother wheezes a laugh. “I could ask you the same question, my boy. Well, I suppose because they’re not so bad once they’ve given up hope of controlling you. Your mother can be rather fun when she lets herself relax—and I like the gardens, of course. Did you and Felicity enjoy the hedge maze together?”
She saw us go in there? Did anyone else?
Ugh. Who cares?
“Maybe too much,” I admit.
“Or not enough.” A bony elbow digs into my side. “Loosen up, Sebastian. You’ve got your whole life to stomp around and scowl.”
Isn’t that the awful truth? “They’ll bug you about that tattoo, you know.” Sure, I’m grateful for her distraction, but my grandmother will pay dearly for it.
“Sweetheart?” She pats my arm. “I’m eighty seven. I don’t give a shit.”
Nine
Fliss
This has been aday.A long, tense, confusing day on this fancy estate where I don’t belong and I’m not welcome. My emotions have been buffeted around by gale force winds; I’ve reached the highest highs then plummeted to the lowest lows.
There’s only one thing for it: a video call with Priya and Rusty.
I sneak back to our suite after dinner, tiptoeing through the corridors in my sandals. Heavy gilt frames line the mansion walls, filled with burnished mirrors and oil paintings of landscapes. Everything on this estate is priceless.
What was it like for Sebastian, growing up here? Bet he couldn’t play or run or whoop. Bet he couldn’t invite friends over—unless they were pre-approved. No wonder he’s so buttoned down.
Although…
He seemed looser at dinner. Rougher around the edges, jumping to my defense—and his mom even cornered me on the terrace after dessert andapologized.Forced the words out between her teeth, but still. I swallow hard, and my tongue is thick in my mouth.
None of it means anything. I can’t get my hopes up.
The suite is hushed when I slip inside. I close the door, kick off my sandals, and pad over to the bed—and last night already feels like a million years ago. I pause, heart hammering, and rest my fingertips on the bed covers as I call up the memory: Sebastian’s heat behind me, the mattress dipping with his weight. His low voice in my ear. The warm, gooey feeling in my belly as we read Walking His Plank.
Oof.
With a little shake, I snatch up my phone from the nightstand. Two seconds later, I’m propped against the headboard as it rings.
“Fliss?”
Priya sounds harried, her phone pointed at our kitchen ceiling, probably left on the counter. Clattering noises say she’s cooking dinner.
“Hey. Just calling to check in.” And to see my fluffy baby if he’s around. Priya grunts, and my roomie knows me so well, because she comes into frame then lowers the phone to the floor.
“There ya go.”
