by Lyla Payne
“Why?”
“He didn’t want to make your life harder anymore. We told Mum and Dad that things were off so they wouldn’t worry. Mum’s acting like a ton of bricks have been lifted off her shoulders and we all feel better knowing that you’re not getting married. You’re too young.”
“Duh, Cole. I was never really getting married. I just needed Sebastian to keep up his end of the deal, and you assholes wouldn’t leave well enough alone.”
“We care about you. Is that a crime? And don’t think we’re not mad as hell that you put everyone through this instead of trusting us in the first place.” He pauses, glancing around again. “Is that really the only reason you tried so hard to make us believe you? Because you needed his help?”
I start to lie, then close my mouth. I’m done doing that where Sebastian is concerned, but I’m not ready for another Stuart brother lecture, either. “What else would it be?”
“Look, I don’t know what to do with this, or why I’m telling you, but it was clear as day at dinner the other night that Sebastian is wrecked over this whole thing. Bringing us all together—even Toby and Kennedy—to admit that he screwed up just to make your life better? That’s the move of a guy who loves you, sis. Loves you in a way that makes him want to put your happiness above his own.” He smiles, his eyes far away for a moment. “People don’t change, sis, but they can overcome issues to become better versions of themselves. Sometimes it’s worth holding their hand through until the end.”
My ears feel as though they’re full of cotton. I resist the urge to dig around in them like a lunatic and swallow, trying to get words past the lump in my throat. “So what? It doesn’t change the fact that he lied to me. That he blackmailed me. There’s more, too. That you don’t know.”
“There’s always more between two people who care. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if you love him, too, or think you did or you might still, think hard before you chuck it, sis. I’m sorry to say that guys who will sacrifice their own happiness for yours won’t come around every day.”
He pulls me in for another hug and kisses my forehead before turning me loose and heading back into the theatre to collect Ruby. I’m reeling from the influx of information, from the gush of feelings flooding my blood. It’s hard to fathom Sebastian doing this for me. Risking himself and his secrets, his future. His chance to take care of his mother.
Because he knew things were hard for me. That I was sad about my parents and my brothers.
Each little piece of my heart aches. They’re scattered in my chest, a few cobbled together here and there but mostly a mess. They throb with need at the idea of being with Sebastian. Loving him, letting him love me, and seeing how it all shakes out. Others tremble at the thought of putting themselves back together only to be handed over to the man who smashed them in the first place.
After weeks of refusing to admit that I still love Sebastian, there doesn’t seem to be any point in denying that fact. I love him.
The question is, even after everything Cole told me, can I trust him?
The thought that stops me cold in my tracks on the way to the car, though, is my own words. I said them to Ruby when she was afraid to apologize to Cole, to face him again after letting him down so epically, and they echo now in my mind like the pounding of a beaten drum:
“You hurt his feelings, not believing in him, but he’s too sad not to forgive you.”
Now I’m in the same situation as my brother was two years ago. It had been easy to give Ruby that advice, to act as though everything was so obvious and easy for both of them. I’d known my brother’s love would trump his hurt, but now that it’s me in the hot seat, nothing feels easy.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough to follow in his footsteps, but I know I’m going to spend the rest of the night—and probably a few to come—trying to figure it out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sebastian
Everything in my life is finally going according to plan—a new plan, a changed plan, but one that feels right.
Well, almost everything.
Toby’s father called a few days ago to offer me a job on his secret staff, one that requires me to be in Washington, DC, shortly after graduation. I’ve drafted my resignation to my father as well as the letter requesting the withdrawal of my shares, and located an upscale facility that will be able to accommodate my mother starting June 1. It’s almost like it was always supposed to happen this way, but none of it feels as good as it should because of the way things ended with Audra.
I hoped she would change her mind. Find a way to believe that meeting her, falling for her, had fueled my desire to really change, not just pretend in order to get what I wanted. Classes are over and now that I’m about to leave Whitman behind me, it’s never been clearer that I spent years wasting my life building walls between me and the rest of the world. Mistaking control and fear for respect. Thinking that would be enough.
Scheming will always be a part of me—it’s who I am and it’s what I’m good at. It’s how my brain works. Now, at least, I’ll be able to make money doing it and also adhere to some kind of moral code. Since there will be a staff surrounding me I feel okay about not slipping back into old habits. Too far.
The day of the pub crawl, I sensed an opportunity. A reason to hope. But she hasn’t texted or called or just strolled into the beach house as though she owns the place like she used to. I thought I could walk away. That it would all blow over and I’d go back to being alone and happy about it. Maybe in time that could be the case.
But I don’t really believe that.
I’m leaving in a week. There’s nothing to lose except the one girl who makes me want to turn my life around, be a better man, so I figure what the hell.
Go hard or go home.
Quinn’s sitting out on the deck with a drink and a dopey expression on his face when I get home from shipping a bunch of crap to my new apartment. I’m not mailing the letters to Rowland or talking to Teddy until my first paycheck arrives, like Audra suggested, but the senator is very generous. My salary will pay for living expenses for Jocelyn and me until the shares come through, and even then I’ll probably invest most of the cash. I didn’t sit through years of boring board meetings without learning a thing or two about money.
“Why are you staring at the ocean like some chick in a bad porn movie?”
His expression turns amused. “Are there good porn movies?”
I shrug. “Depends on what you’re looking to get out of it, I suppose.”
“Gross.” He takes a sip of whiskey and turns back to the water. “All set for DC?”
“Yes. I hired a decorator, so everything should be in order by the time I arrive.” He nods, not really paying attention. I narrow my gaze, trying to figure out the best way to get him to open up, still surprised that I care what’s going on his idiot athlete mind. “What about you? Have you and Emilie procured the necessary horses for your ride into the sunset?”
He laughs, shaking his head, and the mental pictures digs a chuckle from my throat, too.
“It’s funny you should ask,” he replies once his laughter is under control. Quinn reaches a hand into his pocket and pulls out a velvet box a lot like the one I set on the bed between Audra and me the day I fake-but-sort-of-meant-it proposed.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
“You’re going to propose?”
He nods, nervous excitement making his eyes shine. “Yes. Soon, and man I am so fucking nervous.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s going to say yes,” I say, more in the tone of he’s being a moron again than to encourage him. “You two have spent every day together for two years and she hasn’t figured out you’re a complete dumbass yet. You might be in the clear.”
“I know, it’s just … I’m still nervous. I never thought this would be me. I thought I’d be traveling the world, fucking hot Russian tennis stars and supermodels until my dick didn’t work anymore and making so much money I could
burn it in the fireplace to keep warm. How did I get here? What if it’s all some kind of weird dream?
“You fucked up your knee, Quinn. You tumbled pretty damn hard from atop your mountain of glory, which, by the way, wasn’t quite the way you just described it. Somehow you managed to land on a perfectly beautiful girl with ambitions of her own and a good head on her shoulders who is willing to put up with you. That’s how you got here.”
In the ensuing silence, my eyes keep straying back to that little black box on the deck’s wooden railing. The germ of a scheme starts in the back of my mind, but this time the outcome won’t have a negative impact on anyone, except maybe me, if it doesn’t work out.
Go big or go home.
“You know, I never thought this would be you, for what it’s worth. Walking away from Rowland, reconnecting with your mother. Having a conversation with me like you’re generally a normal human being who’s not always thinking of ways to get one over on people.”
“Thanks,” I say flatly, but inside I’m smiling. Other people are noticing my honest attempt. Trying to learn how to trust me. “What would you say if I told you I had one last scheme to pull on the kids at Whitman University? One that could benefit the both of us and have people talking about Teddy Rowland’s sons—in a good way—for years.”
He turns and gives me his full attention, curiosity twinkling in his face. “I’d say I’m listening.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Audra
“I think we should go with a whole new skit for pref night, and maybe a different theme for day two. Baseball is pretty tired—maybe try swimming or tennis or something original, for goodness sake.”
Kylie presses her lips together and nods, her list of things to work on over the first few weeks of summer break already a mile long. It needs to be done. Delta Epsilon and Zeta are both hard on our asses for the highest recruitment numbers on campus, and I’ll be damned if we lose the lead on my watch.
Blair bursts into the chapter room, sweaty and disheveled, her ponytail askew. She’s dressed in workout clothes and her tennis shoes squeak on the polished hardwood as she spots Kylie and me in the corner of the room and races over.
She points at my recruitment chair. “You, leave.”
“Hey, rude much?”
“Seriously, Kyla or Kasey or Kaley, just get the fuck out for five minutes.”
“It’s Kylie,” she huffs as she stands up and gathers her things, shooting me an enraged glance when I don’t stand up for her.
In truth, I’m trying not to laugh and also relieved for the break. Once Kylie’s gone, I give Blair an exasperated look all the same. “You didn’t have to be so rude.”
She slams a creamy linen envelope down on the table between us. “Yes, I did.”
“What’s that?”
“A wedding invitation. You got one, too.”
“Who’s getting married? It’s pretty.” Ms. Blair Paddington is scrolled on the outside in elaborate calligraphy and the envelope is heavy and lined under my fingertips.
“Open it. I think it should be a surprise.”
I do, sighing at her theatrics—at least until I see the names.
Mr. Sebastian T. Blair and Miss Audra A. Stuart invite you to share in celebrating their marriage on Saturday, May 16, at 6 p.m.
The ceremony will take place in the Whitman University chapel with a reception to follow on the university quad. No RSVPs are required because of the late announcement, but dinner and drinks will be provided.
The paper shakes in my hand but there’s no way to know if it’s from shock or rage or just plain incredulous horror at seeing my name typed on a fucking wedding invitation.
“You said you called it off.” Blair’s eyebrows are raised, her lips pursed.
“I thought we did.”
“Sebastian, I swear to God, answer your goddamn phone or I’m going to take a hit out on you. I’m going to break a window and set off every alarm at the Rowland mansion. I’m going to … do a lot of other bad shite!” I hang up my phone and stomp like a five-year-old on the porch of the beach house, where the door is actually locked for once. No one answers my repeated knock, nor have they in the past two days. “Ugh!”
I want to tear out my hair. It seems as though everyone on campus got one of those stupid invitations, and the so-called wedding starts in less than an hour. Even though I’m obviously not getting married and Sebastian has refused to answer any of my repeated messages over the past several days, there’s no way I’m going to be able to talk myself out of showing up at the chapel. It’s like a car wreck or a YouTube video where you know the kid is going to fall off his skateboard and smash his face but you can’t look away.
I can’t help it. I want to show up at this thing to see what happens. Sebastian probably knows that, since he knows me, a fact that builds my curiosity higher and higher. He wants me to show up, but why?
The chapel is fifteen minutes from the beach, right in the center of campus. I stay in my car across the street, watching my fellow Owls dressed up in pretty summer dresses and uncomfortable suits and ties as they mill about on the green grass, checking their watches for the time. My so-called friends are all in attendance—Emilie and Quinn, Kennedy and Toby, even my brother and Ruby showed up. Nox and Law aren’t going to be able to resist even though I convinced them all I had nothing to do with any of this, which means a real shitshow might be about to go down inside a house of God.
Wouldn’t be the first time, I guess.
It’s five minutes to six when the last attendee slips into the chapel. I wait until five minutes after just in case there are latecomers—which there are, two girls I don’t recognize—and then creep across the lawn and pry open the huge, heavy wooden doors at the back.
The Whitman chapel is simple but pretty, with gothic arches filled with stained-glass windows lining both sides and a long aisle sporting a pretty white runner at the moment, stretching all the way to the altar. To that end, there’s not a preacher in sight. No uptight groomsmen, no bridesmaids cursing the bride for their uncomfortable shoes or ugly dress. There are decorations—the place is beautiful, hung in pale peach and cream roses pinned in draped greenery along the ends of the pew and overflowing on the altar table. The same arrangements drip down the candelabras, and the effect is summery and beautiful, not overdone but breathtaking.
I almost wish for a moment that this was my wedding.
That’s the moment Sebastian chooses to step out from a door that’s hidden behind the cross at the front, handsome in an ash gray tuxedo and a peach vest and bow tie. He’s got a microphone in his hand and he clears his throat as his dark gaze sweeps the room. Even hidden in the back it’s impossible to miss the nerves tightening his cheeks and forcing little tremors into his hands.
Our eyes lock and my palms start to sweat. My mouth dries up and my heart thuds, desperate to get me the hell out of here. My feet obey after a few breaths, backing me slowly toward the door, but then Sebastian raises the microphone to his lips.
“Everyone, please welcome the guest of honor in the back of the chapel, Audra Stuart.”
I freeze when everyone turns around to watch me. Their faces say they’re confused about why I’m wearing a simple navy-blue sundress and espadrilles instead of a white gown, but luckily, Sebastian keeps talking and at least the attention is only half on me.
“I’m sorry to tell you folks that Audra and I won’t be getting married today.” People murmur and whisper, the sound bouncing off the walls and rolling down the aisle like scattered marbles. “I sent those invitations because I needed to see her, and I needed to do it in a way that made her stop running and listen. So, if you’ll all indulge me for about five minutes, I promise you won’t be disappointed about coming here today.”
That makes me cringe. We’re supposed to provide some kind of entertainment but I’m just mortified. My heart pounds in a rhythm, asking over and over, What on earth is he doing?
“Audra.” My gaze snaps
up and our eyes lock.
And I know right then that I forgive him. I believe him, that he loves me and that he’s different, that if he could go back he would undo it all from the beginning. Tears well up in my eyes but I don’t blink them away.
I’m hot all over, then cold, then both at the same time and my body is shaking as he continues.
“I think you know that I love you. I also think everyone in this room thinks I don’t deserve you, and they’re probably right. They are right. But you’ll never find anyone who loves you the way I do, not if you search your entire life.”
Somehow, I’m halfway down the aisle. The people watching have disappeared. Sebastian’s words float around me on little peach clouds, drifting close enough to brush softly against my skin. I think I decided—I knew—deep inside that this moment would come at some point.
I didn’t think it would be at my fake wedding, or in front of all these people, but it’s perfect. It’s grand and it’s personal and it’s a public acceptance of me and us and all the wrongs that added up to a right, and most of all, it’s so Sebastian.
Tears soak my cheeks. I’m closer to the altar now and see his own wet gaze, still latched on to mine. “I’m not going to ask you to marry me, Audra. I don’t have a ring, but I do have a key to my apartment in Washington and I’m really hoping that you’ll come spend the summer with me. Give us a chance.”
People must be freaking out. I’ve done a good enough job sneaking around, spending plenty of nights at my brother’s house or coming in late and up the back stairs, that no one suspected Sebastian and I were off. Now they clearly know that someone has been lying to them and they don’t know who or for how long.
I don’t want them to ever find out.
A grin spreads across my face, a little bit wicked and too pleased over sharing this secret with Sebastian Blair. This scheme the two of us pulled off with more than a little flair. Despite his early protests, we do make a good team.
