Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
SEBASTIAN
Mother has arranged my welcome-home dinner with the precision of a military coup. Every fork gleams at perfect angles, every silence pulses with expectation. I stare at the chandelier crystals and imagine Bailey making explosion sounds each time someone drops another hint about Rebecca.
“Rebecca called non-stop after you disappeared,” Mother says, slicing her meat with surgical precision. “Poor thing was beside herself when she heard about the crash.”
I stare at the seared steak on my plate. Thirty-six days dry-aged, cooked to medium-rare, garnished with microgreens. The meat sits in a pool of reduction that probably took a chef three hours to prepare, yet I can’t eat any of it.
“Did you hear me, darling?” Mother’s voice slices through my thoughts like the knife through her steak. “I said Rebecca was so worried.”
“I heard you.”
Father clears his throat. The sound practiced to be neither too loud nor too soft. “Your mother arranged for Rebecca to join us tonight, but she had that charity function. The one for... What was it, dear?”
“Endangered owls,” Mother supplies, dabbing her lips with a napkin. No lipstick stain remains. “Always engaged with causes. One of the many things we adore about her.”
Causes my ass. I wonder how many charity cases have shoved their dicks into her.
I choke on my wine, grabbing my napkin to cover the reaction. The vulgar thought burns through my mind, foreign yet fitting. Exactly what Bailey would say if she were here, her green eyes flashing with that unfiltered honesty.
“Sebastian? Are you alright, darling?” Mother’s arched eyebrows knit together.
“Fine.” I take another sip of the Bordeaux, letting the $400-per-bottle vintage wash away words I can’t afford to speak. “Just went down wrong.”
The crystal chandelier fractures light above us, casting precise patterns across the mahogany table that’s been in the family for four generations.
Mother continues extolling Rebecca’s virtues.
Her charitable nature, her impeccable family connections, her picture-perfect suitability.
Each word builds a cage around me, iron bars of expectation I never noticed until now.
The memory of Rebecca with another man hits differently now—less like a knife to the heart, more like watching an actress break character.
I’d spent years crafting the perfect relationship with the perfect woman who perfectly fit into this perfect fucking life.
Wealthy Family Dining, Early 21st Century. Do Not Touch.
“Did you salvage the ring?” Father asks, cutting through my thoughts. “Your grandfather’s diamond is irreplaceable.”
“The ring,” I repeat, the words hollow in my mouth.
“For Rebecca,” Mother clarifies, as if the trauma of survival might have wiped clean my memory of who I’d been planning to marry. “Such a shame about your little adventure delaying things. But perhaps Valentine’s Day would be just as romantic for a proposal?”
The dining room shrinks around me, walls closing in with their hand-painted silk wallpaper imported from some exclusive atelier in Paris. The crystal chandelier catches the light, splintering it into tiny rainbows across the table.
Bailey would have named each rainbow. Given them backstories and personality quirks, and made me laugh until wine came out of my nose.
“Sebastian?” Mother’s looking at me with that mixture of concern and disapproval she’s perfected over decades. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”
“Not hungry.”
“Well, you must eat. God knows what that pilot fed you in that dreadful cabin.”
My knife scrapes against the Wedgwood china with enough force to make Mother flinch. “Bailey.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Her name is Bailey. Not ‘that pilot.’”
Mother exchanges a look with Father. One of those silent conversations they’ve mastered through forty years of marriage.
“Of course, dear. Bailey.” She says the name like she’s pronouncing a disease she might catch. “Anyway, the important thing is you’re home now. Rebecca was saying she thought the entire experience might have been a blessing in disguise.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A blessing?”
“Well, you know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder.”
“Rebecca was sleeping with another man,” I announce, the words bursting from me.
The dining room freezes. Mother’s fork hovers halfway to her mouth, a piece of asparagus suspended in the air like time itself has stopped. Father’s hand tightens around his wine glass, knuckles whitening.
“I–I beg your pardon?” Mother’s voice drops to that horrified whisper reserved for social catastrophes.
I lean forward, enunciating every word like separate sentences. “I. Found. Her. In. Bed. With. Another. Man.” My fist slams the table with each word, rattling the Wedgwood china. “I was going to surprise her with a proposal, and instead, I got the fucking surprise of my life.”
Mother recoils like I’ve slapped her.
“Sebastian!” My name comes out as a gasp. In thirty-four years, I’ve never uttered that word in this house.
“Sebastian, are you certain?” Father leans forward, already calculating damage control. “Perhaps you misinterpreted what you saw.”
A bitter laugh rips from my throat. “Am I sure? Am I sure that his dick was in her pussy?” My voice rises with each word. “Yes, Father, I’m quite fucking sure.”
Mother’s hand flies to her pearl necklace, clutching it like a lifeline as her face drains of color. “Sebastian! There is no need for such...such language at this table!”
“I apologize if my vulgar description of being cheated on offends your sensibilities, Mother.” The sarcasm feels strange on my tongue but somehow right, like slipping into clothes I’ve always owned but never worn.
“Perhaps I should describe it in terms of a corporate merger gone wrong? Would that make it more palatable?”
Father clears his throat, pivoting to problem-solving mode. “These things happen, Son. Loneliness can drive people to...lapses in judgment. Rebecca’s been under tremendous pressure with her conservation work.”
“Conservation work.” I take a long sip of wine, letting it burn down my throat. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Sebastian.” Father’s tone shifts to the one he uses in boardrooms when he needs to reassert control. “People make mistakes. People work through them.”
Mother nods, already recalculating her social calendar. “Your father’s right. You should talk to her, clear things up. Perhaps over lunch at the club, where it’s private but public enough to discourage any...emotional outbursts.”
“There’s nothing to clear.” I set down my wine glass with deliberate control. “I’m not proposing to Rebecca.”
A fork clatters against fine china—Mother’s, I think—though I’m too focused on the strange calm flowing through me to check.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian. Of course you are.” Father’s voice carries that familiar tone—the one that’s closed billion-dollar deals and crushed competitors. The one that expects immediate compliance because a Lockhart always knows what’s best.
“This isn’t up for discussion.” My voice remains steady despite the storm building in my chest. “Rebecca and I are done.”
“Sebastian,” Mother’s fingers tighten around her pearls like they might somehow anchor her to sanity, “you can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“Sebastian, be reasonable.” She reaches for her water glass, her hand trembling. “I’ve already told half the Ladies’ Auxiliary about your upcoming engagement.”
“Then untell them.” I take another sip of wine, relishing the burn.
“Untell them?” She sputters like I’ve suggested she run naked through the country club. “One doesn’t simply ‘untell’ these things.”
Father shifts in his chair, leaning forward with his negotiation posture—elbows on the table, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed. “Son, the Wards are expecting an announcement. They’re hosting a party next week, and they’ve hinted rather strongly that they’re anticipating good news.”
“Not my problem.”
Mother sets down her glass with a sharp clink. “Not your problem? Rebecca’s parents are our oldest friends. We spend summer together in the Hamptons. We sit on the same boards. Your father and Richard have been golfing partners for twenty years.”
“Again, not my problem that you’ve been planning my engagement without my consent.”
“Without your consent?” Mother’s laugh shatters like thin ice. “Don’t be dramatic, Sebastian. You’ve been dating Rebecca for years. You asked for the family ring. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I thought I’d propose to a woman who wasn’t sleeping with someone else.”
Mother waves this away like an annoying fly at one of her garden luncheons. “As your father said, people make mistakes.”
“And as I said, we’re done.” I cut another piece of steak I have no intention of eating, finding strange peace in the precise motion of knife against plate.
“I’ve already spoken with the club,” Mother continues, desperation cracking her perfect composure. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to secure a Saturday in June? They had to move the Hendersons’ anniversary to accommodate us.”
Father nods. “The deposit alone was substantial.”
The strange calm deepens inside me. Each breath feels clearer than the last, as if I’ve been living in fog my entire life. Bailey’s voice echoes in my head: “Wow, they planned your whole life without consulting the main character, huh?”
I set down my utensils, the silver clattering against china. “You put down a deposit? For my wedding? Without asking me?”
Mother looks genuinely puzzled, as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “We had to move fast. You know how these things work. Prime dates book up years in advance.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”
“We were going to tell you after the engagement. As a surprise.” She smiles, the expression not reaching her eyes. “A wedding at the club has been your dream since you were a boy.”