CHAPTER 12 #2
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh God, Seb! I didn’t mean to keep you. Go, go. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”
“I promise. I love you, Mads.”
“Love you too, Seb. And thank you… for everything.”
I end the call and brace myself for the inevitable storm.
May is already fuming when I answer, my ever-demanding, sharp-as-nails agent. She’s been managing my career since I was a child, and she knows exactly which buttons to press to get a reaction.
Still, I’ve learned how to handle her over the years. I also know she has a soft spot for me, one I’ve occasionally, very cautiously, learned to use to my advantage.
With a bit of charm and a promise that I’ll explain everything in person, I manage to calm her down. Then I grab my coat and head outside.
She’s waiting in a sleek black Mercedes, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the steering wheel. As I slide into the passenger seat, she leans in and kisses me on the cheek, then pulls back to give me a slow, appraising once-over.
“Good God, Seb. If I weren’t your agent, I’d jump you right now. You just keep getting hotter.”
I flush, and she laughs at my embarrassment.
“May, darling, you look incredible too.”
And she does, golden skin, black hair, eyes like fire, wrapped in Prada.
“But as you know,” I add with a smile, “my tastes lie elsewhere.”
She sighs dramatically. “Yes, yes. All the good ones seem to.”
I laugh, but say nothing. My mind is already spinning.
Maddie’s call has left me shaken.
But I still trust Remi. I just need to understand what the hell is going on.
“Seb! Earth to Sebastian?”
May snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, sorry. So… how’s the concert planning going? What do you think of the programme?”
She switches gears instantly. “Debussy, Chopin, Dvo?ák, solid choices. But I’m not sold on Piazzolla.”
I brush off the concern. “Actually, I was thinking of closing with Scriabin.”
She stares at me. “Scriabin? Are you insane?”
“Maybe. But I’ve thought about it a lot. I want to challenge myself. I want the audience to see who I really am.”
“Sebastian, there’s a lot riding on this concert.”
“I know, May. I do. But it’s time. I want to push the boundaries a bit. Play pieces that actually speak to me, not just the ones that play it safe.”
She eyes me carefully. “And what do your parents think?”
There it is.
I tense. “I don’t know. And frankly, it’s not their decision. I’m an adult. I’ve been living and working on my own for years. I don’t need their permission. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped going behind my back to consult them.”
Her expression hardens. “I’ve never done anything behind your back. You asked us to handle things when you were younger, and we did. We’ve looked out for you, Seb. We’ve built this together.”
She’s hurt. But she’s also right.
“And if their opinion doesn’t matter anymore, why haven’t you come out to them?”
There it is, her pressure point. Her voice is gentler now, almost coaxing, trying to steer me back onto the safe, familiar path.
But not this time.
“I’m going to Stratford soon,” I say quietly. “And I will tell them. It’s time. I’m tired of hiding.”
May watches me closely. Her expression gives nothing away, but I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Worry. Maybe even fear.
“You know I’ve always tried to protect you. Your image, your career, your future.”
“I know. And I’m grateful. Truly. But I need to live honestly. If I ever meet someone… I want to be free to build something real.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’ve already met someone, haven’t you? Is that what this is really about?”
“No!” The word comes out too fast, too sharp. “There’s no one. I’m not in love.”
Liar.
The image crashes in, uninvited, Remi holding me after the club, his arms strong around me, his breath steady and warm against my skin. That moment of safety. Of something that felt dangerously close to real.
I shove the thought away. I can’t afford it. I have no right.
“There’s no one, May. Not for a long time.”
She doesn’t look convinced. “Then why take risks with your programme? This isn’t like you.”
“Because I need to feel something again. I want to grow. Yes, the usual repertoire works. I could play it in my sleep. But I’m young. If I don’t take risks now, then when?”
She goes quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing as she studies me.
“Fine,” she says at last. “Let’s try it.”
I blink, caught off guard. That was… easier than expected.
“BUT,” she adds, raising a manicured hand, “there’s a condition.”
Of course there is.
“I’m listening.”
“If the concert flops, you find a new agent.”
“What?!”
She doesn’t flinch. “But if it’s a triumph, I’ll cut my commission by five percent.”
I stare at her, completely stunned. “Why?”
“Because you want control. And you should have it if your choices hold up. But if they don’t, I’m not going to be the one cleaning up after the fallout.”
For a moment, I’m too shocked to respond. But then it hits me.
She’s giving me the reins. Not gently, and certainly not without strings, but still. She’s handing me the wheel.
And oddly enough… I’m not afraid.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel clear. Certain.
I know what I want.
And I know exactly what I need to do.