45. CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY
SEBASTIAN
Hawthorn? A fucking mess.
That is what I am coming back to, and for what purpose?
To appease Mary? To serve some sort of justice?
Nine months, almost exactly forty weeks, about two-hundred and seventy-four days. That is how long I’ve been away.
Away from everything that matters most to me, all thanks to my fucking wife. Now, I’m coming back to a mess. One I certainly didn’t make, nor do I have any will to manage. How bad, I haven’t a clue a, but knowing Mary, it’s probably a pile of horse shit.
Still, at least I’m home. That was always the goal, wasn’t it? To do what I needed to get back to her, my Little Dove.
It doesn’t matter now, nothing does. Not as the carriage moves with ease through the large golden gates at the edge of the palace property line.
I never thought I would ever truly be thrilled to see my home.
Though, I also never thought my own father would send me away from it.
There’s always a first for everything; I’ve learned that in my punishment.
The closer the carriage gets to the palace, the more my chest tightens. Not one day has gone by without thoughts of Veronica, of our children.
Two of them. Twins.
I can’t say I have a lot of regrets in my life, but not being there for their birth is one of them.
What I would have given to hold Ronnie’s hand while she pushed.
Hell, I would have been thrilled with her yelling at me during the process.
Georgina has written, telling me how beautiful they are.
I requested no photographs, I told Georgina I wanted to see them for myself.
Of course, she respected my wishes. That was the final letter I received from her before I was informed of my father’s health, of my need to return home.
My eyes catch on the bay window where I last saw Veronica’s face.
The farther up the winding gravel path, the clearer her face becomes in my mind.
She was practically hanging out of the damn frame.
Her screams followed me the whole way to Tria and stayed with me even after I closed my eyes that evening.
Getting in that carriage was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Finding her gone from the palace when I was twelve felt like the worst thing that could happen. I was wrong, hearing her shout my name easily surpasses it..
She never wrote to me, not once.
Veronica doesn’t owe me anything.
Not a letter, not her love. I owe her everything.
I wrote her a letter every single day. It didn’t matter what time it was, or how bad things were on the mountains of Tria. As long as my hands were good, I wrote.
None of that matters now. I’m home, banged and bruised, but I’m home.
The door of the carriage is opened, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look away from the window to see Phillip standing on the other side with a soft smile.
There’s no hesitation, I step out from the carriage, allowing the leather sole of my boot to finally hit my home soil.
Phillip must see the relief cross my features, because his own eyes soften.
I nod at him, not bothering to close the door behind me, as I head toward the front doors already pulled open for my arrival.
If there is anything I know about the palace, it’s that it never changes.
The front door is still a cream white with gold etching sandwiched between flaking pillars.
Covering the white and grey marbled flooring of the parlor is a deep royal blue runner, one that’s been freshly placed by the looks of it.
Lining the walls are busts of different royals, names of whom I couldn’t care to remember, resting on dark oak stained tables with gold handles.
Everything is the same as when I left.
I stop a few feet into the parlor, my gaze falling on my mother and Georgina who stand shoulder to shoulder with proud smiles. Then there’s Mary, standing with her chin high. Absolutely wonderful.
“Where is Veronica?” I speak.
The room is silent for a beat.
“Where is Veronica?” I repeat, turning my gaze solely to Georgina. She isn’t smiling anymore.
“Hello to you too, darling.” Mary’s voice grits on my nerves, searing anger into my veins. “I’m so, so glad you’ve returned to me.”
Georgina is silent, her eyes searching mine carefully, as if she is trying to convey something.
I’m not a fucking mind reader. I narrow my eyes, turning to look fully at my wife.
Mary’s blonde hair is down, curled around her face and draped over her shoulders.
If she wasn’t the spawn of Satan, perhaps I would have found her attractive.
Right now, with her spiteful smile and fiery gaze, there’s nothing but disgust burning in my stomach.
“I’m sure you are,” I reply dryly.
I decide I’m done with whatever welcoming this is. The soles of my boots thud harshly against the runner as I head through the parlor toward the staircase. Mary trails behind me, her small huffs of aggravated breath annoyingly heard with each step to the second floor.
“You are truly unbelievable, Sebastian!” Mary snaps out as we scale the staircase. Her hand grips my bicep, and I stop in my tracks.
My shoulders tense, I turn toward her abruptly and her hand falls immediately.
In nine months, I’ve gained more muscle mass than I have in my entire life.
I’m broader, rugged. There’s stubble on my fucking jaw.
Beneath my collared shirt I couldn’t count how many scars now litter my once perfect frame.
“Am I?” My voice is sharp, unwavering. “You have no fucking idea how unbelievable I am about to be.”
The tremble that runs through Mary isn’t hard to miss.
Her bottom lip wobbles in uncertainty, a slip I hold onto.
My boot moves a stair lower, and Mary steps back.
Inside those blue hues, I see myself looming over her like a wolf ready to slaughter a lone pig.
She gasps, the warmth of her breath heating my face as I grab hold of her chin with my fingers to hold her in place.
Any fight she had is gone, replaced with a fear that even scares myself. She has no idea what her little stunt has done. Thankfully, I have absolutely no problem showing her.
“Sebastian…” Mary whispers, I purse my lips.
A soft cry echoes from the top of the staircase.
The sound alone has my whole-body stiffening, I look to the top of the staircase just as a second cry mimics the first. Soft shuffles from someone I can’t see has me dropping the grip on Mary.
She doesn’t dare move, knowing I am likely to push her over the railing of the staircase if she tries anything.
My heart pounds in my chest as I reach the top step and turn toward the sound of crying. Housemaids shuffle in and out of the room down the hallway. The red-haired one pauses at the sight of me, her blue eyes widening for a brief moment. She was one of my handmaids, I think.
Everything is a fucking mess in my head.
I move down the hallway with renewed purpose, exhaustion trying to weasel its way in, but I push it away from my thoughts. The door the red-haired girl shot into is closed, I jiggle the handle once and it creaks open without a fight. For a second, I hesitate.
Behind this white, wooden door holds the future of Hawthorn.
My children. The ones created with Veronica.
Warmth spreads inside me at the thought of what I will find on the other side. Will they look more like her, or me? Will Veronica be happy to see me? Will I be a good father?
I grip the door handle, allowing myself a single breath before pushing it open. Whatever I expected to see on the other side of the door, doesn’t even come close.
Behind the door is my worst fucking nightmare.