Chapter 20 If At First You Don’t Succeed, Involve a Hawthorne
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Involve a Hawthorne
The library table was an absolute disaster—teetering stacks of books, scattered notes, open ledgers filled with useless scribbles. At the center of the beautiful chaos, Alexander and Emilia sat, looking utterly defeated.
“This is impossible,” Emilia groaned, dropping her head onto an open book. “We’ve searched every archive, examined every royal correspondence, and we still have nothing.”
Alexander methodically turned the pages of another document, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “There’s something here. We’re just not seeing the pattern yet.”
Emilia clicked her pen in frustration. “Then where do we look next? The stars? A seance?”
Alexander’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “I was thinking something slightly more traditional. Sebastian might know something.”
Emilia sat up, wary. “Sebastian? Why?”
Alexander tapped the Paris address they had found in his father’s financial records. “This location is in Paris, and if there’s one person who knows every aristocratic scandal in Europe, it’s him.”
Emilia made a face, but after a moment, sighed in reluctant agreement. “Fine. But if he turns this into an excuse to make us suffer through one of his dramatic monologues, I reserve the right to strangle him.”
Alexander chuckled. “Fine by me. I’ll ask him if he can meet us for lunch.”
As he finished sending a text to Sebastian, he looked at Emilia, then added casually, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I heard back from the palace PR team about your podcast. They’re fine with it—provided it’s a relatively minor scandal and nothing from the last hundred years.
Apparently, they’re still sensitive about Great-Grandfather’s gambling debts. ”
Emilia blinked, caught off guard, then joked, “Minor scandal, huh? So, I can’t touch the time your uncle tried to elope with that pop singer in ‘97?”
Alexander’s lips twitched. “No, sadly it’s off limits.”
Sebastian was already waiting when they arrived at the restaurant, lounging back in his chair like he had all the time in the world.
“Finally,” he said, lifting his glass in mock relief. “I was beginning to think you’d both gotten lost in the archives and perished beneath a landslide of historical inaccuracies.”
Emilia rolled her eyes, sliding into the seat across from him. “Trust me, if I were to meet my untimely demise, I would haunt the archives to correct every misrepresented fact about the monarchy.”
Sebastian flashed a grin. “That’s possibly the most on-brand thing you’ve ever said.”
Alexander, ignoring them both, picked up the menu. “Can we order first, or do I have to endure more of your tragic attempts at humor?”
Sebastian placed a hand over his chest, deeply affronted. “Alexander, I’m hilarious. Emilia, back me up.”
Emilia barely looked up. “You just called me Emilia instead of Emmy. That means you actually need something. Suspicious.”
Sebastian grinned. “Very well spotted. Which means we should probably skip the pleasantries. What brings you to me today? Do you require my unparalleled wisdom? My devastating charm? My blackmail-worthy knowledge of high society?”
Alexander pulled out the document, sliding it across the table. “We need information on this address. It appeared multiple times in my father’s financial records, and we don’t know why.”
Sebastian picked it up, brows lifting slightly as he read. Then, after a beat, he let out a low chuckle.
“Interesting.”
Emilia leaned forward. “What? What is it?”
Sebastian set the paper down, tapping the address with a lazy finger. “Because, my dear scholars, this happens to be my family’s townhouse.”
Alexander stilled. “Your family’s?”
Sebastian nodded. “Indeed. My mother’s family owned it for generations. And knowing my father, if the king was making secret payments to that address, he probably had some… leverage.”
Emilia’s mind raced. “Leverage how?”
Sebastian leaned back, expression unreadable for a rare moment. “My father collects secrets the way some people collect fine art. If the king was paying, it means he owed something. And trust me—my father doesn’t deal in trivial matters.”
Alexander looked wary. “Can you find out what it was?”
Sebastian studied him for a long moment, then replied. “I suppose I could.” He gave a slow grin. “But it will cost you.”
Emilia groaned. “If you say ‘your eternal gratitude,’ I swear to God—”
“No, no,” Sebastian cut in smoothly. “I was actually thinking of a far greater price. Attendance at my party this weekend.”
Emilia tilted her head, unimpressed. “Ah, so this was all a ploy to drag us into one of your ridiculous social gatherings.”
Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Of course not. I was going to invite you anyway. This is just a delightful bonus.”
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Fine, we’ll be there.”
Emilia hesitated. “We? Oh God. This isn’t one of those twisted, cultish, Eyes Wide Shut type things, is it?”
Alexander actually laughed. A rare thing from him. A dangerous thing. “Sebastian is many things, but a cult leader isn’t one of them,” he said, amusement laced through his voice.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure? Because I have to tell you—his whole bored aristocrat with too much money and no moral compass aesthetic really screams secret society initiations.”
Sebastian grinned, clearly delighted. “Flattered, truly. But I must assure you, no one will be wearing masks or reciting Latin incantations.”
Emilia pointed at him accusingly. “Fine. But if I see even one candelabra positioned ominously, I’m leaving.”
Alexander gave her a slow, considering look. “You know… I find it interesting that you immediately assumed you were being invited to a ritualistic masquerade and yet you still agreed to come.”
Emilia sipped her drink, unbothered. “I’m an academic. I live for research.”
Sebastian threw his head back, laughing. “That’s why I love you Emilia.”