19. Sebastian
Chapter nineteen
Sebastian
T onight is the night of my mom’s annual holiday party. I pace along the dark-red-painted hallway with wood paneling in my parents’ apartment, checking the entrance. I should have volunteered to be the coat checker for the first shift. The candles flicker in their bronze sconces. For just this event, my mom insists on real candles.
I call my sister Annabelle because it feels weird that she’s not here. Let’s see if she picks up. My calls seem to be directed to voicemail purgatory. I lean against the wainscotting, still keeping an eye on arrivals.
“Hello.” Her voice sounds tired. Wary.
“I miss you,” I say simply.
“Ugh. You’re so unfair,” she says. “How’s Dad doing?”
“Mom says he’s doing much better,” I say.
“Really?” she asks.
“Really. He’s holding forth in the library right now.”
“Because I really think I have to tell Neville that his son needs to shape up. But if it’s going to cause stress for Dad…”
“You should tell Neville,” I say. “Dad can handle it. And it’s not fair for you to shoulder it all.”
“Yes, you were supposed to handle this with me,” she says, but it’s lacking the heat that was there before.
“It doesn’t excite me the way it does you,” I say.
“I know. Okay,” she says. “Say hello to Rupert and Rowena for me. Are we all going out for New Year’s? I’m looking forward to that.”
“Me too,” I say, my voice deep, so relieved that our relationship seems to be back on track.
“I have to go to bed. Early day tomorrow,” she says.
Someone with glossy brown hair just arrived. It’s Iris.
“I have to go too.” I hang up.
Iris looks stunning in a midnight-blue dress that swirls around her body as she hands her coat to the attendant hired for the occasion.
She meets my glance. My breath hitches. I can’t take my eyes off her—and I can’t get to her side quickly enough.
“I’m glad you could make it,” I say. “You look beautiful.”
She blinks, and a faint blush stains her cheeks.
“Thank you,” she says. “You clean up rather nicely yourself.”
“I haven’t worn a tux since last year’s party,” I say.
“I bought this dress for college formals. I’m glad it still fits,” she says. “But I think I’ve been losing weight with the stress of what’s going on with Dream.”
“Shh,” I say reflexively.
“Sorry,” she says.
“I don’t want my father to know. Can I get you a drink?” I put my hand in the small of her back. Her skin is warm to the touch. The dress is backless. I didn’t realize. I should withdraw my hand, but I don’t want to.
Iris doesn’t seem to be objecting.
I can feel the way her spine dips in. I’d like to trace her spine up to—okay. This is not good.
I need to take it slow.
Iris said she’s not sure she’s ready to date yet.
I need to show her she can trust me.
I pull my hand back before it gets a mind of its own.
“My parents’ friends are mostly in the library,” I say as we pass by the open doors, revealing a room filled with well-dressed gray-haired New Yorkers, and enter the living room. A quartet plays Bach’s “Air on the G String” in the corner next to a Christmas tree decorated in green and red. The violin chords rise up in hope. “We cleared all the furniture to the side to allow for dancing later. There’s a bar in the library and another in the dining room. And plenty of appetizers.”
“This apartment is huge,” Iris says.
“That’s why my father wants me to go into finance,” I say. “But he also bought this a long time ago. What can I get you at the bar?”
“A white wine is good,” she says.
Smiling at each other, we stand there, making no move to join the line at the bar.
An older woman’s voice interrupts us. “Hello.”
Mrs. Potik would be the first to approach us.
“I was so surprised when your mom told me,” Mrs. Potik says. “You said ‘my wife’ so convincingly, Sebastian.”
“Who’d you call your wife?” Melody asks.
Melody too? I just want Iris to myself for a second, but fine. This is good.
“Iris. This is Melody. Melody, Iris,” I say. “We pretended to be fake married as an extracurricular company-related activity.” That’s sort of true because it was for the Secret Snowflake gift exchange. And hopefully Melody won’t ask any questions.
Melody’s brow furrows. She is clearly trying to figure out how being fake married could ever be an extra-curricular work activity. Rightly so.
“I had no idea that so much research went into movie companies creating fake dating or contract marriage plots,” Mrs. Potik says. “What kind of questions did they ask on the survey afterwards?”
I am lost. Iris smirks. I’m never going to hear the end of this. I should have been the one studying up.
Iris says, “Did we feel like a couple because we were fake married? Did we think a contract marriage could lead to deeper feelings? What situations threw us?”
Not bad. Has Iris actually given thought to fake dating?
“And what did you answer?” Mrs. Potik turns to me.
“I answered yes, yes, and meeting someone we knew, like you, Mrs. Potik, definitely threw us.” That’s all true. I liked calling Iris “my wife.”
“Are you a screenwriter?” Melody asks Iris.
“No,” Iris says. “I’m in cybersecurity, but Sebastian and I met through friends, so we agreed to pair up for this.”
“Iris is friends with Lily, Rupert’s girlfriend,” I say.
“Oh, Rupert. I haven’t seen him in ages. And I haven’t even met Lily.” A shadow passes over Melody’s face.
We used to hang out all the time together, but that changed when Melody started dating Wim. I’d call her to invite her to a dinner, but she’d say she and Wim already had plans. And honestly, I don’t like Wim. Not just because he’s Melody’s fiancé. He’s not fun. It makes me sad that Melody will marry him. Even if she doesn’t want me, she should marry someone fun and warm—someone who fits in with our friend group.
“Rupert and Lily should be here soon,” Iris says.
“Did you take the survey separately?” Mrs. Potik asked. She’s not going to let this go, is she?
“Yes. I had the same answers as Sebastian, though,” Iris says. “It was pretty fascinating. One of my close friends writes romantic comedies. We once spent a night debating whether fake dating would actually work.”
How did Iris know what I was thinking?
“You really looked pregnant,” Mrs. Potik says.
“You pretended you were pregnant?” Melody asks, her voice rising.
“It made sense to add that into our fake marriage charade,” Iris says.
And now my mom joins this awkward conversation.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet you earlier. Hosting duties. But I’ve been wanting to get to know you.” My mom smiles at Iris.
“Sebastian told me you insisted I come,” Iris says.
“Did I insist?” my mom asks. As if she didn’t . “But I’m not the one who kept checking the entrance to see if you’d arrived yet.”
Thanks, Mom. Way to out your son. My mom is definitely fanning the fire here. Of course, she’s never forgiven Melody for dumping me.
“I did want you to come,” I say evenly.
“Do you waltz?” my mom asks Iris.
“I love to waltz. My dad taught me. He thinks it’s the best dance ever. I heard from Sebastian that you forced him to learn to dance.”
“He certainly didn’t go willingly, but I think he’s happy he learned now.”
“It has its uses,” I say.
“Does your fiancé now waltz?” my mom asks Melody.
“I don’t think he’s had time to learn since last year,” Melody says. A server offers glasses of wine from a tray. We all take one. The lights in the sconces flicker against the deep-green wallpapered background.
“Where is Wim?” I ask, realizing I have yet to see him.
“He asked if he could use the study for a call,” Mom says. “And then I saw him hanging out in the library talking to your dad.”
“He’s closing a deal in Asia,” Melody says. “Work has been hectic for him lately.”
Wim is in finance—what my father wishes I were doing. When Melody first told me what he did, it hurt. It felt like a betrayal. Would she have fallen for me if I’d been a private equity manager? Was that what she was looking for? Was it because I decided not to join my father at his firm? Was Rowena right about that? Wim definitely radiates that high-powered, high-stress, “time is money” attitude. But Melody wasn’t about all that. Or so I’d thought.
“Mrs. Potik, you mentioned you have a green thumb. I want your advice on my orchid.” My mom winks at me as she walks away with Mrs. Potik, guiding her towards a bare orchid on the windowsill that someone gave her as a gift. She’s never been able to get it to flower again.
“There you are.” Rupert claps me on the back. “Melody. Haven’t seen you in ages. All good?”
One of the reasons Rupert and I are such good friends is because we like each other for the person underneath.
“All good,” Melody says.
“This is Lily. I don’t think you’ve met.” Rupert puts his arm around Lily and pulls her close. “Melody went to college with Sebastian and me. She also loves reading and Wilhemina Chrissy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lily says. “Have you read her latest?”
“The minute it came out,” Melody says. “That twist at the end—mind-blowing.”
“I never see the twist coming,” Lily says. “And this time, I really thought I’d guessed it. And Rupert and I were reading it at the same time, so we were discussing it. We both thought we had it figured out.”
“Melody,” a deep voice says.
Wim.
“Can we go?” Wim reaches for her hand. “I’m sorry. Hey, Rupert. I just flew in from Tokyo, and I’m beat.” He pulls her to his side, slightly away from our crowd, and says in a low voice but one that we can all still hear, “I’ve missed you, and I just want to be with you.”
I’d believe that more if Mom hadn’t said he just spent the last half hour shmoozing with my dad and his finance buddies.
“Sure,” Melody says. “It was great to see you all. But I think we’ll head home now.”
“No waltzing?” Rupert asks. “But you like waltzing, Melody.”
“I meant to take waltzing lessons after last year,” Wim says, “but there was never time.”
I waltzed with Melody last year. Wim probably wants to avoid a repeat of that. Fair enough.
“Sebastian insisted we take dancing lessons in college,” Rupert says, “so Melody and I signed up together because there was a discount for couples, but then—”
“The instructor separated us because he thought we were a real couple. He said couples have too many fights when they’re learning to dance together,” Melody interjects. “We could never convince him that we weren’t really a couple.”
Wim stares at Rupert as if suddenly wondering if they ever were a couple and then says, “But that’s why you won’t teach me the waltz.”
“Exactly,” Melody says. “He was adamant about it. I figure he knew what he was talking about.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
“It’s okay. You’re with your friends,” Wim says. “We’ll say thank you to your mom and see ourselves out. I’m sorry I’m stealing Melody away and that I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you all. We should plan to have a party soon and get together.”
I’ve yet to see this party materialize in eighteen months.
Melody smiles apologetically as she leaves. Personally, I think he should have gone home to sleep and left Melody to hang out with her friends. But maybe they are really going to spend some quality time together.
The waitstaff offers a tray of quiche appetizers. We all take one. Zeke and Tessa arrive, and we all stand in a group, joking and devouring the finger food. I feel lucky to have this group of friends—and that I like all of my friends’ girlfriends.
And Iris. I turn to Iris and smile at her.
“Shall we get drinks?” I ask. She nods, and we move away to join the line at the bar. There’s quite a cluster, so we stand off to the side by the wall to wait.
Iris takes a step closer. “There was a guy I liked once in college, but I wasn’t his type. He asked out this other woman who was very nice but never seemed to have her own opinion. I felt a lot better about his rejection afterwards.” Iris waves her hand. “So, what I guess I’m trying to say is that I think Melody has a different type than you. You and Wim are completely different.”
“How so?” I agree, but I want to know how Iris views Wim.
“I thought he was kind of a jerk. It could be that he was jetlagged, but there was no need for Melody to leave the party early. Is the only time for them to be together now—when she’s hanging out with friends she clearly hasn’t seen in a while? And he seemed kind of threatened by you. I just think you’d be completely different and suck it up and hang out with her friends even if you were jetlagged.”
Iris’s green eyes blaze. It’s adorable that she’s defending me. And getting so worked up about this.
“Are you saying I fall into the ‘too nice guy ’ bucket?” I ask.
She nods very earnestly.
“That might be the worst thing of all. Do you think of me as a nice guy?”
“Of course,” Iris says.
I pretend-crumple against the wall.
“I admit, at first, I thought you were a bit of a flirt and not to be trusted.”
“But now I’m nice—as in boring and tame?”
“No. As in…” Her gaze searches my face. “Someone I’d trust.”
“Thank you.” That’s a high compliment coming from Iris. “That means a lot to me.”
A waiter passes and offers more appetizers. We each take a chicken satay stick and a napkin.
“Maybe you’re right that Melody thought I was too much of a nice guy. One of our last fights before we broke up was because I was upset she took the hotel bathrobe. She complained that I was such a straight arrow, that we can’t all be born with a silver spoon in our mouth. That hurt. But I said—what if the staff gets blamed? And it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford to buy it. It was an ugly fight, and we broke up soon after.”
How did I ever think Melody and I were meant to be? It’s so obvious now, with Iris, how it should be. Iris sees me so clearly.
“I definitely prefer the nice guy,” she says. “What attracted me to Patrick was his consideration and, to some degree, how open he was about his feelings. At least, I usually knew where I stood with him.”
My phone beeps.
Melody: I’m glad you’ve found someone.
My finger hovers over a reply. Do I write, We’re not dating? Or save my pride and let her believe I’ve found someone? Because maybe I have.
Me: Me too.
The opening notes of The Blue Danube waltz fill the room as the violins call out to the responding cello.
I turn to Iris and hold out my hand. “May I have this dance?” Maybe it was best that Melody did leave.