Chapter 12 Sebastian
TWELVE
SEBASTIAN
Changing out of my sweatpants, I slip on a pair of navy chino shorts and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.
I look like a rich preppy asshole. But I am rich, and I am an asshole.
The only thing that’s new about my outfit is the preppy look, and it’s exactly what I was looking for when I picked out my clothes.
Starling’s brows arch, and I see her struggle to hold back a smile when she looks at me.
“Shall we?” I ask, holding out my arm for her to take.
“Why not,” she says, amusement glittering in her expressive eyes.
As much as what I said about not caring about what she wears is true, I do enjoy seeing my wife dressed in clothes that I’ve selected for her.
When I first tricked her into coming to Kingsacre, I filled our closet with expensive designer clothes, stupidly expecting her to be impressed by the price tags and labels.
Instead, she dismissed everything and was openly disgusted at not only the things I’d picked but also the fact that I thought she’d be swayed by something as inconsequential as clothes.
I haven’t stopped shopping for her, but now I slip expensive things into our closet, hoping she won’t notice that I’ve removed the price tags so she won’t refuse to wear them on the principle of how much they’ve cost. Since I stopped her from going to campus, she rarely wears anything other than athletic wear or jean shorts, which is why I picked the Dior shorts she’s wearing now.
I had them tailored to her measurements, and they fit like a second skin, clinging to her small but perfectly formed ass in the most tantalizing way. Although there’s something about seeing her dressed up like this that’s both gratifying and a little disturbing.
But I need Courtney to take one look at Starling and see all of the privileges that being married to me affords her.
It doesn’t matter that in real life Starling is the least materialistic person I’ve ever met.
After we got together, I added her to all of my bank accounts and made sure she understood that what’s mine is hers, but she rarely spends anything.
In fact, if I gave her the opportunity, I’m confident that she’d find a part-time job or two, but there’s no way I’m going to allow my wife to work cleaning tables in a diner when we have more money than we could ever spend in ten lifetimes in the bank.
I don’t know what she intends to do once she graduates, but I’m hoping that she’ll be pregnant and I won’t have to pretend to be happy for her when she gets a job and devotes too much time to it.
I know that I’m an unreasonable asshole, but I love my wife, and I want to hoard her attention. I’m willing to share it with our children, but nothing and no one else.
Opening the car door for her, I hold out my hand and help my wife slide into the passenger seat. James, the head of her security, is waiting silently across the garage, and I gesture him forward.
“Sir?” he addresses me.
“We’re heading to campus. Mrs. Lockwood wants to visit the bookstore and coffeehouse. I’d like full visible protection the moment we step onto campus.”
Nodding once, James takes a step back. “Of course, we’ll follow and ensure she’s fully protected.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling briefly before I stride to the driver’s seat and slip into it, pulling away from the house with the SUV full of security personnel following behind us.
It takes about thirty minutes to drive to campus, and we leave the car with the valet as we wait for Starling’s security to file into a very visible circle around us.
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Starling hisses beneath her breath. “What would you have done if I’d decided to go to school instead of staying home this semester? Would you really have had four ninjas escort me to all of my classes?”
“Yes,” I say simply, ignoring all the interested looks our convoy is garnering as we stroll through campus.
“Yes?” she hisses quietly.
“Yes, I’d have sent all these people to keep you safe.”
“I’m not in any danger,” she says, trying and failing not to glance at Tom, who is walking stoically on our left, his face expressionless.
“Just pretend they’re not here,” I tell her, subversively reminding her not to pay too much attention to the employee who’s betrayed us.
We reach the bookshop without running into Courtney. I doubt we’ll find her in here, because according to her class schedule, and despite it being her junior year, she’s still only taking basic classes and has yet to declare a major.
Tugging at my hand, Starling tries to pull away from me, but I hold on tightly to her fingers, increasing my pace and following her through the cool, dark wood-lined shelves until we find the section she’s looking for.
Reluctantly releasing her, I watch as she browses the shelves, selecting a handful of books, before she heads to the fiction section and stares longingly at the elaborately patterned fabric-bound classics.
“Which ones do you want, or should we just get all of them?” I ask.
Wrinkling her brow, she shakes her head. “I already have copies of them.”
“So? You don’t have these copies.”
“Maybe I could just get one,” she says, more to herself than me, her fingers hovering between a copy of Jane Eyre and The Secret Garden.
Rolling my eyes, I move her to the side and pull both books from the shelf, adding them to the pile of textbooks in my arms, before I lead her to the cash register to pay.
“Thank you,” she says, sweetly.
Biting my tongue, I manage not to tell her that a couple of hundred dollars on books is pocket change, considering the necklace fastened around her neck cost eighty grand.
“You’re welcome,” I say, reminding myself how lucky I am to have found this woman, and making a mental note to order her the rest of the books in the series, and to build her a library to store them in.
Carrying the bag of books in one hand, I take her other hand and entwine our fingers together, leading her out of the store and back into the quad that is now full of bustling students.
“Coffee?” I suggest.
“Coffee sounds good,” she says, like it’s a brand-new idea and not like accidentally bumping into Courtney is the entire reason we’re here.
Chuckling to myself, we saunter across campus toward the small coffee shop that is heaving with people.
“Would you like me to order for you, sir?” Josh asks politely.
“No, you don’t—” Starling starts, but I speak over her, interrupting her.
“That would be great. I’ll have a double espresso, and my wife will have a large caramel macchiato.”
“Sebastian,” Starling hisses, “They’re bodyguards, not servants. We can get our own coffee.”
Leaning down, I cup her cheek with my palm, sliding my hand down until I’m gripping her neck above the necklace. Tipping her face up toward me, I press a possessive kiss to her lips, then slide my lips to her ear and whisper. “Courtney is to our right, sitting at a table.”
Starling makes a noise of understanding, then does a barely perceptible nod. Loosening my hold on her, I take her hand and stride toward an empty table, two tables down from where the bitch is sitting sipping a frou-frou coffee and scrolling on her cell.
When we reach the table, I pull out the chair facing Courtney for Starling, making her step around me and closer to the bitch before she can sit down.
“Court?” Starling says, quietly, then louder. “Courtney, is that you?”
Courtney’s eyes go wide, then harden, as she turns to look at my wife, her ex-best friend, and the woman she recently decided to blackmail.
“Starling?” Courtney says, sounding almost pleased to see her.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s been what…a couple of years? How are you? I can’t believe I forgot you go here,” Starling gushes, sounding so bright and fake that it takes all of my focus not to laugh.
Forgoing the chair I’m holding for her, Starling moves to the chair opposite Courtney, pulls it out, and sits down. “Sebastian, look, it’s Courtney from high school.”
Courtney’s assessing gaze moves from Starling to me, then back to Starling again, cataloging the Dior clothes and the Cartier necklace.
“Courtney,” I say, acknowledging her coldly as I lift Starling from her seat, then sit, placing her back in my lap.
“Sebastian.” Courtney’s lips seem to curl around my name in a flirtatious way that makes my skin crawl.
“So much has happened since we last saw each other. God, when was that? I think it was at the start of our freshman year. Did you hear that Sebastian and I got married? We just celebrated our first anniversary in the summer,” Starling boasts, holding her hand out so Courtney can see the huge diamond I had to bully my wife into wearing.
“I think I remember seeing the announcement. Congratulations,” Courtney says.
When the table behind Courtney empties, I signal to James and our security team to surround us. It’s over the top and ridiculously dramatic, but it forces Courtney to acknowledge the full team of guards we have with us.
Just as Courtney opens her mouth, Josh appears with our drinks, placing them in front of us before retaking his position in the circle of security.
“Thank you, Josh,” Starling says sweetly.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Lockwood,” Josh replies.
“PA?” Courtney asks sarcastically.
“Security,” Starling says, and I feel her eye roll even though I can’t see it.
“Sebastian is an important man,” Courtney says, turning her poisonous gaze on me.
“Oh, they’re my security. I’ve had them for years,” Starling says, like it’s no big deal, as she picks up her coffee and takes a sip, humming appreciatively.
“Oh, that’s so good. But I wish I’d ordered a muffin,” Starling says, turning her head to boldly look toward Tom, who is standing directly to my right.
“Tom, would you mind going to grab me a blueberry muffin?”
Clearing his throat, he glances toward Courtney—who pointedly ignores him—then back to Starling. “Of course, Mrs. Lockwood.”