23. Alex Sebring
Chapter 23
Alex Sebring
Of all the games I’ve played, this one has been the most fun. But now? It’s time to stop playing.
Charleston is beside me, but the weight of what I’m about to do presses harder than ever. Tonight, the truth comes out. No more hiding. No more masks.
I grip the wheel, pulse hammering as I steal a glance at her. The soft glow of the dashboard lights casts shadows across her face, her expression calm, unaware that everything is about to change.
This moment is fragile, electric, like a held breath before the plunge into the deep end. Once I say the words, there’s no going back.
Some games end with a whistle.
This one ends with the truth.
Before we left, I told her to pack a bag for the weekend, throwing enough intrigue into the mix to keep her guessing. Now, as we drive deeper into the countryside, her lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “You love surprising me.”
I grin, glancing her way. “I do, but this one’s different. Tonight’s the biggest surprise yet.”
We turn off the main road and on to a long, tree-lined driveway that winds gracefully toward a house nestled into the landscape, its lights glowing softly in the distance. Charleston’s gaze shifts, taking in every detail, her curiosity sparking like a live wire. “Where have you brought me?”
I glance at her, the corner of my mouth tugging into a grin I can’t quite hide. “Be patient. You’ll find out soon enough.”
She narrows her eyes, a teasing glint mixed with curiosity. “Let me guess—it’s an Airbnb. You rented this place for a private weekend getaway.”
Her hand slides over my leg, and her eyes dance with mischief. “A weekend away from the world. Just the two of us. I’m very into that.”
I smirk, keeping my cards close. “Good to know.”
I steer the G-Wagon into the garage and cut the engine, the soft hum fading into silence. As I look over at her, I catch the spark of curiosity lighting up her face. She glances around, clearly intrigued.
“This is a great surprise.”
We step out of the car, the air fresh and slightly cool. As we make our way inside, the space wraps around me like a warm embrace. Stepping into the kitchen, a sense of ease settles over me.
This isn’t just a house. It’s my home.
Charleston’s eyes brighten as she looks around, her gaze sweeping over the room. “This place is stunning.”
“Go on. Explore.”
Charleston glances around the kitchen, running her fingers along the cool marble countertops. “I’m going to cook for you this weekend. Something Southern, of course. I bet you’ve never had cooking like mine before.”
I lean casually against the counter. “Look forward to it. I’m sure it’ll be incredible.” I hold back from mentioning that Laurelyn has cooked Southern food for me more times than I can count. There’s no way I’m bursting her bubble.
She wanders from the kitchen into the living room. Her gaze lands on a framed photo resting on the mantel, and she picks it up, her expression softening as she studies it. “This is you and your family?” she asks, staring at the photo.
“Beautiful chaos,” I say, waiting for her to put the pieces together.
Her gaze sweeps the room again, taking in the small, personal touches scattered throughout and the warmth that speaks of a lived-in home. Slowly, she turns back to me, her eyes widening slightly as realization dawns.
Her laugh comes soft, almost disbelieving. “This is your house?”
I nod, the truth lifting even as I brace for her reaction. “This is home.”
“Julius Caesar!” She scans the space again, her laughter growing as she shakes her head. “You’re filthy stinking rich.”
I step closer, cradling her face gently in my hands, my eyes locking with hers. “My name’s not Julius Caesar.”
Her gaze sharpens, searching mine. For a moment, everything else fades, the world narrowing to the two of us. “Are we really doing this?”
I nod, the gravity of my decision settling firmly in my chest. “I want you to know all of me. Not just the parts I’ve let you see.”
Her lips part slightly, and I catch the faintest tremble in her breath. Her eyes, usually so steady, are filled with uncertainty, betraying a vulnerability I’ve never seen in her before. It twists something deep inside me, the urge to reassure her nearly overwhelming.
“But only if you’re ready,” I add, hoping to ease the fear I can see rising in her.
Her breath catches, and hesitation crosses her face, something raw and unguarded. “I’m scared.” The words are so quiet they barely reach me.
My thumb brushes softly against her cheek. “So am I.”
The honesty of my confession is heavier than I expected.
The silence stretches, every second pulling tighter until she exhales. “I want to know everything—the good, the bad, all of it.”
Her words hit me harder than she realizes. She wants all of me, but a small voice in the back of my mind wonders if she truly knows what she’s asking for. There’s so much I’ve kept hidden—the anxiety that grips me without warning, the depression that drags me down when I least expect it, the constant frustration of living with dyslexia in a world that doesn’t slow down for it. And the anger—always there, simmering beneath the surface, fueled by the man who stole my career and the dreams I’d built my life around.
What if she sees it all and decides it’s too much?
Or decides I’m not enough?
The thought twists like a knife in my chest. She deserves better—someone without the shadows I carry. Someone who isn’t weighed down by the mistakes and scars of his past. But the idea of letting her go feels impossible. I know it’s selfish, but I want her. Even if I’m not enough, even if I should let her find someone who is, I can’t let her go.
The thought of her slipping through my fingers is unbearable.
Not yet.
Not now.
“I’m ready to tell you everything.”
Steadying my breath, I brace myself for what comes next. “My… name… is…” I pause deliberately, watching her face for any sign of hesitation. If she wants to stop, this is her last chance.
But her gaze holds firm, unwavering and open, silently urging me forward.
“Alex.” My name feels heavy yet freeing on my tongue. “Alex Sebring. Alexander Bjorn Sebring III, actually.”
A beat of silence follows, stretching longer than I’m prepared for. Her face is unreadable, and dread creeps up my spine, tightening its grip. What if this is too much for her? What if she sees the name, the legacy, the sheer magnitude of it all, and decides I’m not worth the trouble that accompanies me?
Then, to my surprise, she bursts into laughter. It’s soft and melodic, light and playful, cutting through my fears.
“I’m sorry,” she says between chuckles, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But I have absolutely no idea who you are, Alex Sebring.”
The tension in my chest unravels so fast it almost knocks the air out of me. Relief floods in, tempered with disbelief, and I find myself laughing with her.
“Not even a clue?” I ask, shaking my head with a half smile.
“None. Should I? Are you, like, royalty or something? Should I be curtsying right now?”
Laughter rumbles in my chest. “No, not royalty. Let’s just say my name tends to come with a lot of… unnecessary attention.”
She leans in. “Well, none of that matters to me. I’m here for you, not for whoever the world thinks Alexander Bjorn Sebring III is supposed to be.”
Her words settle over me, grounding and liberating all at once. For the first time in weeks, I feel lighter—like I’m finally stepping into the light with her.
“You have no idea how relieved I am. I was so convinced my identity would change everything.”
She tilts her head, her smile soft but teasing. “I mean, I already knew you were wealthy and mysterious. The whole ‘Alexander Bjorn Sebring III’ thing confirms you’re way fancier than I thought. But none of that changes how I feel about you, JC—sorry, Alexander.”
Hearing her say my name—my real name—sends an unexpected wave of warmth through me, like something clicking into place. Laurelyn was right. Charleston isn’t part of the world I’ve been so guarded against—Australian rugby, the constant spotlight, or the expectations of society.
She’s from a world entirely her own, untouched by the noise and pressure that’s always surrounded me. And in her world, none of the things I’ve feared seem to matter at all.
I let out a long, steady breath, feeling lighter than I have in years. For the first time, it feels like we might finally have the chance to be real. “Just Alex. That’s all I want to be with you.”
“ Alex .” She repeats my name, tilting her head with a soft smile, letting it settle in the air between us. “Alex,” she says again, this time slower, as though savoring it, letting it take shape. “You definitely look more like an Alex than a Julius Caesar.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. “My mother and her side of the family don’t call me Alex. For them, I’m Aleki —the Samoan form of Alexander. It means defender of the people.”
Her eyebrows lift with interest. “Aleki. I like it. And your father is obviously Alexander?”
“That’s right. And my tinā’s name is Malie.”
“Does your tinā know about me?”
“Skipping Sundays with the family hasn’t gone unnoticed. Tinā started asking questions, so I had to tell her I was seeing someone.”
Her lips curve into a wry smile. “I don’t imagine she’s too happy with me for keeping you from Sundays with the family.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. Tinā’s thrilled I’m seeing someone. Her exact words were, ‘as long as she’s not like Celeste.’”
Her smile falters. “Celeste is your ex––the one who posted the video?”
Now is my chance to lay it all out, no matter how messy or uncomfortable. If we’re going to have a shot at a future together, Charleston must know everything.
“Celeste Warrington. If you look her up online, you won’t see the video on her socials anymore, but it’s still out there. Nothing ever really disappears online.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not interested in watching some staged video she posted to rack up likes and comments.”
A small wave of relief washes over me, but I know this conversation isn’t over. “I’m glad to hear that, but there’s more to it, and I don’t want this hanging between us. I need to tell you exactly what happened so there’s no misunderstandings.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
I take a steadying breath and dive in. “Celeste called me over one day, saying she had something important to talk about. When I got there, she held up a positive pregnancy test, waiting for my reaction.”
The memory comes into focus with startling clarity. “I didn’t handle it well—not because of the baby. I’ve always wanted children, always known I’d love being a father. But the thought of having a child with her, especially when I’d already made the decision to end the relationship, was overwhelming. It was the permanence of it, and the way it could ripple through any future I might build with another woman. It felt like my entire world tilted, like the ground was shifting beneath me. The idea of being tied to her forever through a child hit me harder than I could’ve imagined.”
I watch Charleston’s reaction, willing her to understand. “None of it added up. Celeste is calculating. A pregnancy wouldn’t happen unless she planned it. And I said as much.”
I pause, bracing myself for the worst part. “What I didn’t know was that she was recording me—without my consent. An hour later, she posted the video online, along with another of herself crying hysterically, claiming I was abandoning her because she was pregnant. The narrative was set: I was the villain, and she was the victim.”
Charleston’s eyes narrow. “You have a child with her?”
“No.” I raise my hands quickly. “I probably should’ve led with that.”
She frowns, confusion plain in her expression. “Then what?—?”
“Celeste was never pregnant. It was all fake. She had her sister, who was pregnant at the time, take the test for her.”
Charleston’s jaw drops. “She faked a pregnancy? For what?”
The absurdity is still hard to process. “Followers and attention––she couldn’t get enough. It was another stunt to keep herself trending.”
“That’s insane. She dragged you into it like it was nothing?”
“Exactly. And when it all fell apart, I was left to deal with the fallout.”
Her brow furrows as she shakes her head. “Did it not occur to her that at some point, she’d have to explain why there was no baby?”
“She faked the positive pregnancy test and then claimed it was a false alarm. Honestly, I think her original plan was to fake a miscarriage to keep the spotlight on herself. But then she must have realized she could milk even more sympathy by spinning it into a story about how I mistreated her.” Saying it out loud makes it sound even more absurd, like some over-the-top plot twist in a bad soap opera.
Charleston’s disgust is unmistakable. “That’s vile. Not just to you, but to anyone who’s experienced that kind of loss. It’s cruel and disrespectful to women who’ve suffered miscarriages or struggled to have children.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“How could you date a woman like that?”
The sting of regret is sharp even now. “She wasn’t like that at first. Or maybe I just didn’t see it. She was charming, confident, always the life of the party. For a while, I thought that was what I wanted. But over time, the cracks started to show. I learned that Celeste is one of those people who can become whoever she needs to be. She’s like a chameleon—she knew exactly what to say and how to act, like she’d rehearsed it all. I thought I knew her, but I was fooled.”
Charleston’s gaze softens. “I know that type all too well. Robin and Charlene are the same. They can shape-shift into whoever they need to be in the moment.”
Her hand shifts, resting lightly over mine. “Even though we’ve been playing this game with aliases, I want you to know I’ve always been real with you. Everything I’ve told you about myself is the truth. I’ve never pretended to be anyone else. But there’s one thing I haven’t shared—not because I was hiding it, but because it didn’t feel relevant before. Now that I understand you attract public attention, if someone ever decided to dig into my life, they might uncover something about my family.”
I grip her hand. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
She hesitates, taking a deep breath. “My father is not a good man. He’s serving life in the penitentiary for killing someone during a drug deal gone wrong.” Her eyes drop briefly, then rise again, steady but uncertain. “I would understand if you don’t want ties to the daughter of a convicted murderer.”
“I don’t care what your father’s done. His actions aren’t a reflection of you.”
A small, shaky sigh escapes her, her fingers tightening slightly around mine. “I know that logically. But it’s still embarrassing. Admitting all of this about my family is hard.”
She hesitates, her gaze dropping for a moment, embarrassment crossing her face. “Honestly, my family is like a never-ending train wreck. Every time I think I’ve escaped it, something drags me right back, reminding me of where I come from.”
“There’s no need for you to feel embarrassed or ashamed. It doesn’t change how I see you or how I feel about you.”
Her shoulders relax, relief softening her expression. “Thank you for not judging me for things beyond my control.”
“There are things I haven’t told you either. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid that your knowing who I really am might change what we have. This connection has been so good and so real. I didn’t want anything to ruin it.”
Her eyes meet mine, unwavering. “I want to know everything about you.”
There’s no turning back once I tell her. “My family is wealthy, but that’s not where my fame comes from. My career was in rugby. I used to play professionally, and not to brag, but I was kind of a big deal. Highest-paid player in the league actually.”
A spark of amusement lights up her face, her lips curling into a playful grin. “So, you had big Dak energy?”
I can’t help but laugh, nodding. “Yeah, something like that.”
She leans back, her laughter ringing out as she shakes her head in surprise. “Unbelievable. I’ve been dating the Australian Dak Prescott and didn’t even know it. That’s actually kind of hot. Honestly, I’m not surprised. You’ve got an athlete vibe about you.”
Her gaze softens a bit. “I must admit, though, I feel a bit clueless. I could talk football all day, but rugby? I don’t know the first thing about it.”
“That’s all right. I’m more than happy to teach you. I think you’d love it.”
“If it’s anything like football, count me in.”
Her gaze softens, her expression growing serious as she studies me. “Is there anything else I should know?”
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “There are personal things I’d like to share with you, things that matter. But I’ll tell you in time when it feels right.”
“I can take any truth. Just don’t lie to me.”
“I’ll never lie to you.”
She studies me for a moment, her eyes searching mine. “Are we okay?”
I don’t hesitate, reaching for her. She slides onto my lap, wrapping her arms tightly around me.
“We’re more than okay, favorite.”
Her closeness melts away any doubts. Our lips meet, the kiss starting slow but quickly deepening, charged with something electric. My hand glides along her thigh, my touch instinctive, as the moment between us grows hotter, more intense.
She shifts, repositioning herself until she’s straddling me, her body fitting against mine like it’s where she belongs. The air between us is heavy, wordless, but full of meaning. After a beat, I pull back slightly, a grin tugging at my lips. “Feel like skipping the house tour and heading straight to the bedroom?”
She laughs, her eyebrow arching playfully. “No grand tour of the Sebring estate?”
I wrap my hands around her hips, pulling her even closer. “The bed’s the only tour you’re getting tonight. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”
Her smile turns mischievous. “All right. But I’ll need a minute. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise for me?” I shift beneath her, a mix of anticipation and impatience bubbling up. “And I have to wait for it?”
She grins, leaning in close. “Only for a minute. Promise.”
Untangling herself, she slips off me, heading toward her bag. My heart races with the thrill of what’s to come, but then it hits me—she still hasn’t told me her real name. The thought tugs at my curiosity for a moment, but I let it go, caught up in the rush of the moment. Her name can wait a little longer.