25. Mila
The weight of Sebastian feels good. I need to be grounded after so much intensity. I haven’t quite lost the sensation of drifting into the sky.
It’s full dark, and the only light comes from the hallway outside of Sebastian’s bedroom.
I’ve heard people say, “This is a moment I want to freeze in time.” But I’d never had one of those experiences until now.
I don’t want to move on with the evening. The night. Even life.
I want to feel exactly this way, protected by his body. Warmed by his skin despite the cooling air.
Desired even though I’ve never believed I could be.
I’m afraid of breaking the magic. That Sebastian will sit up and think, “Oh, it’s just her.” And find some polite way to get me out of here.
Then, it’s too late. The insecurities have invaded, and the moment has passed after all.
I couldn’t hang onto it.
I shift beneath him, and he rises away from me. “It’s getting chilly,” he says.
“And your curry is going to burn.”
He chuckles. “It could cook all day. But it will get too spicy.” He takes my hand to lift me from the chaise, and now that we’re beyond the act, I feel exposed and self-conscious. It takes everything in me not to snatch up a cushion to hide my belly, the wide hips, the thick thighs.
I hate these voices in my head. Stop it, I tell them. I am worth this.
It quiets the noise.
Sebastian picks up my skirt and his boxers. We dress as we walk, gathering the rest of the clothes from where he left them in his room.
I think we will simply walk down the stairs, but Sebastian swings me into his arms again. “What goes up should go down the same way.”
I laugh, hanging on tight as he rushes down the stairs like I’m nothing to carry. He doesn’t set me down until we’re back at the stools.
“Let me check the curry.” He takes a fresh spoon from a drawer, dipping it in the pot. He tastes the red-orange sauce.
“Verdict?” I ask.
“Dreamy. I think I’m making it as well as my mother. You want to try?”
I nod.
He walks around the island and brings me the same spoon. “I don’t think it’s spicy, but I’m fairly tolerant.”
The spoon is warm, and when the sauce hits my tongue, my first instinct is to brace myself.
And there is spice, but it’s smooth and aromatic.
Sebastian tilts his head. “And?”
“Perfect,” I say.
“Excellent!” He sets the spoon in the sink. “Let me stir fry the chicken.”
He takes out a large wok and sets it on a burner. I take in the kitchen again, and the living room, picking out more details than before.
There are ceramics and sculptures and stacks of books everywhere. I hop off the stool and sort through several novels piled on a table beside the sofa.
I lift one up. “What My Mother Doesn’t Know?” I call out to Sebastian.
He laughs. “It’s Arya’s favorite. She’s read it a dozen times.”
“Not you?”
“Oh, I have, too. She made sure of it. I thought it was good. First love and all that.”
Huh. I sit on the end of the sofa and open to the first page.
And I’m completely sucked in. It’s adorable and sweet and told in verse.
Soon, Sebastian taps on my shoulder. “It’s ready.”
I look up. Fifteen minutes have passed. “Oh! The book got me.”
“It does. Arya might kill me if I loan it to you, but I’ll get you a copy.”
“Oh, I can do that.”
He presses his lips to my hair. “I’d like to.”
I set the book down. “Okay.”
He leads me by the hand to the stools. Two wide bowls are filled with rice, chicken, and the thick orange sauce. “What’s this called?” I ask.
“Murgh makhani, or butter chicken. It’s tomato-based, with garlic and butter and spice.”
“It smells heavenly.”
“Do you want wine? More cider?”
“More cider is good. And maybe water, just in case.”
He grins. “Absolutely.”
I wait until he’s brought the glasses back, then I fork a bite of the chicken.
I almost swoon at my first full-fledged bite.
“It’s so good, Sebastian. Where has this been all my life?”
“I’ll take you to some Indian places in town. There are good ones.”
“When you can cook so well at home?”
His face relaxes, and I realize, he was nervous too. Worried I wouldn’t like his mother’s dishes. That I might not be able to eat it.
I take his hand. “Thank you.”
He squeezes my fingers.
I wonder if I will stay the night, and if I do, what I’ll do if I get caught sneaking back into our hall. I should have brought casual clothes, not something that too obviously looks like I went out.
But nobody saw me leave. No one would really know.
Sebastian touches the crease between my eyes. “What’s worrying you?”
“Just thinking about the hotel crew.”
“About them finding out about us?
Is there an us? I suppose there must be. It’s been a week. And we’ve been all over each other.
“Is this how it always is?” I ask him.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been exactly one week, and we’ve had sex twice, made out in a security office, and did pretty serious stuff in a hallway.”
He laughs at that. “No, it’s not always like this.”
“What does it mean, do you think?”
“That we’re on the intense side?”
“Are we?” I have nothing to compare it to.
He turns to me, running his hand along my leg. “I think it’s means we’re a good match.”
“Even with all the complications?”
“Even so.”
I eat a few more bites before more questions erupt. “I know we’re going to try to be discreet, but what if we are found out? What happens then?”
“I’ll go to straight to Havannah and explain. Then we’ll probably meet with HR. You’ll probably be asked to come in separately.”
I can barely swallow my bite. “Separately?”
“They’ll want to be sure I’m not coercing you, or using my authority in any way. I would expect them to be sure.”
“Okay. What do I say?”
He squeezes my leg. “It will be okay, Mila. It’s a relationship, not a crime. I know I’m the head honcho or whatever, but in reality, it’s Raya who is your sole supervisor, and it’s Havannah who decides if you are promoted.”
“What if we break up?”
“That might happen. I guess we’ll do our best to be kind to each other. Maybe skirt each other at the hotel when we can, at least until the pain lessens.”
He would be in pain over breaking up? He already knows this?
“I’ve never broken up with anybody,” I say. “I mean, I dated a boy freshman year of high school, but technically, we never broke up. We just sort of stopped hanging out. There was no drama.”
“That’s the only relationship you’ve had? At age fourteen?”
I frown. “I ended up with good female friends. None of us dated much in high school.”
“And in college?”
I can’t look him in the eye. “You may not have noticed, but I don’t exactly have hot girl summers.”
He spins my stool so I face him. “Don’t say that about yourself. Don’t even think it.”
“It’s hard not to. Do you know how hard I tried to go home with somebody in college? And all summer?”
He holds up a hand. “I can’t help that most boys are dumb.” He takes my fingers and brushes a kiss on the back of my hand. “I think you are incredible. And I hope that if we ever get to the place where we’re not together anymore, you still believe it when I’m no longer allowed to show you.”
So this is what it’s like to date someone who’s fully formed into adulthood. Who knows what he likes. Who isn’t afraid to say it.
Tears smart my eyes. If going through eight years of rejection and loneliness were what it took to get me here, on this stool with this man, then I know one thing is absolutely true.
It was worth it.