CHAPTER 20 #2
Edward and Jane Welland are a striking pair, tall, angular, dark-haired, with piercing ice-blue eyes. They could pass for siblings. Their daughter is unmistakably theirs: statuesque, poised, her hair twisted into a ballerina bun. The crisp white lace dress clinging to her frame screams Valentino.
She extends a manicured hand. The beige polish is so precisely applied that it makes me wish I’d painted mine black.
We take our seats around a carefully curated mint-and-beige tablescape. Before I realize it, I’m wedged between my mother and Cressida, who immediately presses a bare knee against mine and leans in, lashes fluttering.
“Sebastian, what do you recommend? I haven’t been here in ages…”
The shy girl I barely remember has vanished. This version knows exactly what she’s doing.
Throughout lunch, she keeps finding reasons to touch me, light brushes of her fingers, the occasional lean-in, her smile a little too rehearsed.
Her flirting is tireless, and honestly, it’s starting to grate.
Even if I were into women, even if I weren’t completely, hopelessly in love with someone else, Cressida wouldn’t be my type.
She’s all surface. All performance.
Meanwhile, my parents wax lyrical about my accomplishments. The Wellands respond in kind, detailing Cressida’s long list of achievements, she’s finishing a business degree at Cambridge, and is set to join the family empire.
“In a few months, they’ll both be graduates, ready to start adult life,” my mother says brightly. “We’ve raised two exceptional young people, don’t you think, Jane?”
Jane nods politely. Then Edward cuts to the chase.
“So, Sebastian, what are your plans after graduation? London? Or Paris? Our headquarters are on Oxford Street, and Cressida will be starting there soon. But we also have major offices across Europe. Including Paris.”
I don’t need a translation. The subtext is blindingly clear.
Every gaze at the table turns to me. And just then, Cressida slides her hand onto my thigh beneath the tablecloth.
I bolt upright.
“Excuse me, I need the loo.”
Without waiting for a response, I slip away from the table and lock myself in the bathroom, hands trembling.
How dare they?
They tried to arrange me, pair me off with this polished socialite like I’m some pedigreed show dog.
And Isabel, blissfully unaware of who I really am, handed me over like I was a bargaining chip in some bourgeois mating game.
The memory of Cressida’s constant touching turns my stomach. Made worse by the fact that I’d ordered roast duck, a dish I can’t stand. Why did I even choose it?
I splash cold water on my face. Deep breath. I need to get back out there, wrap this up, and make one thing absolutely clear: I will never, ever, be Cressida’s anything.
When I return to the table, the offending duck has mercifully disappeared. But before I can sit down, Cressida’s hand drifts once again toward my lap.
Enough.
I catch her wrist mid-motion and place it firmly on the table.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say a word. Our mothers notice; I can feel their gaze sharpen. The fathers, still buried in the dessert menu, remain blissfully unaware.
Mum clears her throat. I don’t acknowledge it.
Jane swoops in to smooth the moment. “How long will you be in Stratford, Sebastian? We’re hosting a charity dinner tomorrow evening, you simply must come! Cressida would love to introduce you to her friends. And perhaps you’d play something on the piano?”
“I appreciate the invitation, Mrs Welland,” I reply, voice cool but polite, “but I’m heading back to London tomorrow evening. Conservatoire commitments. Rehearsals.”
It’s a lie, but I’m not taking any more chances.
Edward seizes the moment to ask about tickets to my next concert.
I’ve had enough.
“Sorry, but I’ve come down with a headache. Mum, Dad, do you mind if I head home?”
Before I can so much as push back my chair, Cressida is at my side. She brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, then lets her fingers linger on my cheek.
I flinch.
Her hands aren’t the ones I want. Her touch feels invasive.
“I’ll walk Sebastian home,” she says sweetly. “He shouldn’t go alone if he’s feeling unwell.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nonsense,” Mum cuts in. “It’s better if someone goes with you.”
Cressida loops her arm through mine just as the staff hands us our coats. Before I can protest, we’re already outside.
She lets out a breathy sigh. “Finally free of the old crowd. That headache excuse? Genius, Sebby…”
Sebby?
No one has ever called me that. Not even in nursery.
She’s already striding ahead, dragging me along like some reluctant accessory. I try to slow her down, keep my voice even.
“Cressida, I really do have a headache. I need to lie down.”
“Don’t be coy,” she purrs. “I know you faked the headache just to get some alone time.”
She pulls the pins from her hair and gives her head a shake, letting it fall in perfect waves around her face. Then she steps in, far too close.
“You’re gorgeous, Sebby. And if you’re half as good in bed as you look, this’ll be fun.”
Then, without warning, she licks my cheek.
What the actual fuck?
I recoil instinctively. My patience snaps.
“Are you completely insane?” I snap. “I’m not sleeping with you. Don’t ever touch me again. Is that clear?”
She freezes, stunned. Blinks at me like she’s been slapped.
“I thought you liked me… We don’t have to tell anyone. Our parents would be thrilled, anyway.”
“That’s not the point. Yes, you’re beautiful, but I’m not interested. I’m seeing someone. Someone I care about. And I want to do this properly.”
Her head tilts, eyes narrowing. “Do your parents know?”
“Not yet. But they will. And for the record, it’s not a girl.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Then a crooked smile breaks across her face.
“Knew it. Too handsome to be straight. Honestly, every time I really like someone, they end up being gay…”
She sighs. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m around.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
I can’t help laughing. She’s a menace, but undeniably a character.
She studies me for a moment, then smirks. “Our parents probably hear wedding bells already. We could play along, keep doing our own thing privately. They’d leave me alone if I were ‘settled’…”
“I get it. But the guy I’m seeing? He’s… possessive. Even a fake girlfriend wouldn’t go down well.”
She winks. “Can’t blame him. If I had you, I’d be possessive too.”
By now, we’ve reached the front door.
She hesitates. “We could still be friends, right?”
The flicker of vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard.
“Sure. On two conditions. One: stop touching me.”
She pouts. “But you’re so cute… fine, I’ll try. What’s the second?”
I open the door, grinning. “Never. Ever. Call me Sebby again.”
I don’t even have to look back, she’s already gone. A silent exit. But something tells me this won’t be the last I hear from her.
I close the door behind me, exhale slowly, and head upstairs.
After changing into something more comfortable, I collapse onto the bed.
Last night was incredible, but I barely slept. My body’s aching for rest.
And I know what’s coming next.
A conversation I can’t avoid any longer.