by Grace Lowrie
While Sebastian was away working in New York, Celeste and I would have long, late night conversations, giggle about things, reminisce on our childhood, and enjoy each other for hours at a time. She’d promised not to do coke again and in return I’d promised not to tell Sebastian. Despite Celeste’s fears – and to her credit – she was finding it easier than she’d expected to make a name for herself within the industry without having to resort to drugs. She still drank too much but I hoped that with time, even that would wane.
Celeste was planning a spectacular birthday bash at the exclusive Kensington Roof Gardens – she insisted that it would be relatively small scale and intimate compared to some of the events she had put on in the past, but I knew that it would be truly fabulous. It was Celeste – how could it not be?
Sebastian and I did not get many opportunities to be alone together. But the physical attraction between us smouldered away just below the surface and I found myself dreaming about him with vivid regularity. In my mind Sebastian plundered my body again and again with the same savage intensity that he had in reality. Sex with Sebastian was urgent, carnal, and masculine, it was absolutely fantastic and the perfect counterpoint to Celeste’s gentle lovemaking. I knew in my heart that a lasting relationship with Sebastian wasn’t possible, but I had no control over my subconscious fantasies.
While both the twins were busy with work I toiled away on my own projects – the V&A always kept me busy and now that I had two young assistants to manage, I needed to be more organised than ever. I was also simultaneously preparing for the modest exhibition of Sebastian’s finest architectural photography, which was set to open in February. With Celeste’s help I already had the perfect venue lined up – a light, airy, characterful building right in the centre of London – and a growing guest list for the preview party. I was now, when time permitted, working on a modest catalogue to accompany the show. Keeping busy helped prevent me from worrying unduly about my unorthodox relationship with the twins. Part of me expected to get caught out at any moment – either Celeste would sense my love for her brother or Sebastian would sense my desire for his sister. I was convinced that I would let something slip or make some thoughtless blunder. But the moment never seemed to arrive. It helped that the twins were individually so caught up protecting their own secret feelings for me that they didn’t notice each other’s deception. And so we carried on, cautiously content in our magical bubble of happiness.
Chapter Thirty-three
At the end of November I found myself seated with seven other people in a beautiful, private, art deco style dining room, complete with our own dedicated waiter. The whole curved back wall of the room was made up of horizontal bands of glass providing a stunning view across a terrace and out over London roof tops and lights, which sparkled in the cool, cloudless night. Celeste was seated in the window at one end of a long oval table with Sebastian seated opposite at the other end near the door. I sat on Celeste’s left where she could smile at me frequently.
To my left was Fabio, a wealthy, handsome Italian with tightly curled black hair, olive skin, and sparkly eyes. His rich accent was as warm and appealing as his natural enthusiasm and whilst he was obviously a shrewd and successful businessman, he wasn’t afraid to laugh at his own expense – and he did so, loudly and frequently, cheerful amusement dancing in his eyes. I warmed to him instantly. I gathered that when he wasn’t working or travelling, he raced cars, but he had also been Sebastian’s best friend since university and for this reason in particular I was curious to know him better. To Fabio’s left, seated between him and Sebastian, was his tall, dark, beautiful sister, Mariella. I couldn’t easily observe her from where I was sitting, and she spoke almost exclusively to Sebastian in a low seductive voice throughout the meal, but this was the ‘lady friend’ to whom Celeste had once referred and I fought to ignore the knot of jealousy in my stomach. I had learned from Celeste that Mariella didn’t have a career as such; she involved herself in various projects when the mood took her, but most of her time was spent simply socialising and enjoying elite Italian society.
Opposite us on the other side of the table sat the twins’ Uncle Anton from Paris, with his two pretty daughters Sylvie and Camille seated on either side of him. Anton had very similar facial features to Lucille, his deceased twin sister – the same wide, pale blue eyes and wispy hair, although Anton’s was now white. His face was deeply lined as if worn with sorrow, but he was kind and gracious with an old-fashioned, paternal air and an obvious pride in his four charges. Sylvie and Camille were in their thirties with three years between them. They were the epitome of Parisian style and sophistication – well-groomed with a steady, almost solemn quality. They also reminded me of Lucille in some ways, their slim, delicate features and fine brown hair, but their heart-shaped faces and their dark chocolate eyes made me think their mother must be oriental, perhaps Japanese. They were obviously fond of Sebastian and Celeste and teased them gently with comfortable familiarity. They spoke perfect, fluent English but the five of them, the twins included, regularly slipped into French whenever the mood took them. My own French was rusty but I found that I could follow most of what was being said, whereas I hardly knew any Italian at all.
The elder cousin Sylvie, a corporate solicitor, eyed me with suspicion diagonally across the table whenever Celeste wasn’t looking, whereas Camille, the younger sister seated opposite me, seemed more approachable. She was a fully qualified physiotherapist and asked me about the V&A with polite interest. Both she and Celeste shared a passion for fashion and talked in earnest about people I’d never heard of.
‘So, Tasha,’ Fabio addressed me. ‘Tell me – you are single?’
‘Oh, er …’ His direct question caught me off guard. ‘Sort of …’ I said noncommittally, aware of all the eyes around the table.
‘Sort of!’ he repeated with a smile. ‘I suspected as much – a bella donna such as yourself must never be single for long – so who is this lucky man? He’s handsome, no? Why you not bring him along tonight?’
I laughed and evaded his questions, embarrassed. ‘What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘Me? No,’ he said resolutely. ‘You know for me, eh, there are too many belle signore – I cannot devote myself to just one – I love them all, no?’
‘I understand,’ I said. His honesty was refreshing.
The meal was delicious. Celeste and I had melt-in-your-mouth crab cakes accompanied by crushed buttery potatoes and drizzled with sweet chili sauce, while Sebastian opted for the roast goose and cider gravy with mashed sweet potato on the side. We washed it all down with the finest wine and champagne on the menu; raising a toast to the twins with each new bottle opened. As the waiter cleared our plates at the end of the main course I subtly signalled to him and he returned with a huge chocolate birthday cake, alight with twenty-seven candles and hand-decorated with Sebastian and Celeste’s names, my treat. The twins looked surprised and delighted as we all sang happy birthday to them, led by Fabio’s zealous baritone. Celeste squeezed in beside Sebastian and as they blew the candles out, I took a picture of them grinning cheesily from ear to ear and making my heart melt.
It was after ten by the time we left the restaurant and headed for the private members club in the gardens below. I hoped I would feel less self-conscious in the club. The dress I was wearing was one that Celeste had designed and created for me herself. It was, of course, absolutely beautiful and fit like a glove, but she had only revealed it to me that morning and it made me nervous. It was constructed from a very fine fluid silk, cut on the cross and wrapped around a central satin bodice in waves. The off-the-shoulder neckline accentuated my neck and prominent collar bones whilst making the most of my modest cleavage. The soft fabric skimmed my waist and bum and thighs before ending just at my knees. All of this I could have coped with if it wasn’t for the colour – it was a rich, sumptuous blood red which screamed “look at me!”, and although, admittedly, I looked fabulous, I felt conspicuous walkin
g through the brightly lit restaurant. Celeste looked as alluring as ever, her full cleavage barely contained in a teal-coloured sheath dress and her tiny feet strapped into six-inch stiletto heels. I was relieved that my heels were only a modest four.
At the door to the club Anton politely bid us all good night as he retired for the evening, entrusting us five girls to the care of Sebastian and Fabio. We made a very glamorous-looking group, our male chaperones in their sharp suits and us women all dressed to impress. Mariella, who hung on Sebastian’s arm, wore a classic black dress that emphasized her hourglass figure and showcased her golden tan. Her chic, glossy black haircut accentuated her sharp cheekbones, framed her dark eyes, and perfectly balanced her full lips. She was a woman used to being admired and moved with an almost regal refinement. Together she and Sebastian made a magnificent-looking couple and it hit me that it made no difference that I was living under the same roof as Sebastian. He was a highly desirable, notoriously eligible bachelor. I was a nobody; a childhood friend at best. Seeing him with Mariella I realised that he would never love me the way I secretly, desperately loved him. How long would it be before he tired of the frustrating sexual tension between us? How long before another woman took him away from me forever?
I pushed my selfish thoughts away as Celeste took my arm and guided us past the jumping dance floor and towards a private VIP booth that she had secured for the night.
‘Champagne for everybody,’ she instructed Sebastian loudly above the music and he saluted blithely before heading for the bar. The club was spacious and trendy, with ribbon-like windows wrapping right around it offering spectacular vistas out into the softly lit, landscaped gardens and across London beyond. The sumptuous interior space quickly filled up and immaculately dressed men and women spilled out into the garden, braving the crisp night air wrapped in winter coats and furs, to savour the views.
As the night progressed, Celeste, Camille, and I got on particularly well – we drank, chatted, and danced, high on life as we got progressively tipsier. Fabio circulated at a leisurely pace, regaling each of us with witty stories and exuberant self-confidence. Mariella and Sylvie spent much of the evening with Sebastian by the bar. In fact, Mariella hardly left his side and I deliberately avoided looking in their direction.
‘So you are the famous Tasha,’ Sylvie proclaimed, suddenly appearing behind me in the queue for the ladies toilets.
‘Ha, yes, I don’t know about famous …’ I said with a nervous laugh.
‘You are Celeste’s best friend, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you are living with them?’
‘Yes – they kindly invited me … we’ve known each other since we were children,’ I added.
Sylvie was intimidating – a characteristic that I could imagine was beneficial in her line of work. I suspected it was only a strict sense of propriety that prevented her from asking me what she really wanted to know – specifically, whether or not I was after the twins’ money.
‘Celeste used to tell me all about her holidays with you and your sister in France, she loved them,’ I said.
‘Yes. We are very close.’ Sylvie stated, the warning in her words clear. I smiled pleasantly before ducking into the safety of the cubicle that had just become available.
The longer I stayed in the club the more grateful I was to Celeste for my splendid outfit. I was impressed by my own reflection, not recognizing myself at a first glance, my hair swept up artfully on my head, my make-up flawless, and my borrowed jewellery sparkling. Appreciative eyes followed me wherever I went and a record number of men chatted me up throughout the evening. They ranged in ages, types, and professions but all were well-spoken and expensively dressed. I tried to use their attention to bolster my own confidence but I was careful not to engage any of the strangers in conversation for too long. Celeste also had her fair share of admirers to fend off and I could tell she was happy, enjoying the fruits of all her hard planning.
By a quarter to three I was starting to feel I’d had enough and Celeste was fading fast, her eyes unfocused, her speech starting to slur. I realised it was time to go and looked in the direction of the bar, but Sebastian wasn’t there. I left Celeste dancing with her cousins while I searched the various different areas of the now warm and smoky club. I found Fabio busy chatting up a statuesque brunette in a gold lamé cat suit. He grinned when he saw me and beckoned me over while she whispered something provocatively in his ear.
‘I’m sorry I think we need to go soon,’ I shouted over the music.
‘OK Tasha, no problema, everything OK?’
‘Yes, fine. Have you seen Sebastian?’
‘Eh … si, he’s outside, no?’
‘Oh OK, great, thanks.’ I left them to say their goodbyes.
The gardens seemed huge and I was just wondering where to start looking when I spotted Sebastian and Mariella making their way back together. Mariella was wearing Sebastian’s jacket, her arm looped through his while he walked with his hands thrust in his trouser pockets, presumably to keep warm. Sebastian smiled at something Mariella had just said and then saw me, his smile fading, his eyes holding mine as they approached. I was too far away to read the look in his eyes and suddenly I didn’t want to; I was afraid to; sick with jealousy. I turned back to the dancefloor to round up the others, Sebastian’s words from two months ago popping up and replaying in my head: ‘I guess we try harder to ignore the chemistry between us and we move on’.
By the time Sebastian and Mariella joined us at the cloakroom, we were all assembled with our coats and bags and two taxis waiting outside. I avoided Sebastian’s eye but couldn’t miss the enigmatic smile on Mariella’s face. Had I looked like that after Sebastian had fucked me? I shook my head at my own self-destructive thoughts and led Celeste gently over to the lifts while the others followed.
Sebastian, ever the gentleman, took a taxi with Sylvie and Camille, determined to make sure they got back to their hotel safely, despite Sylvie’s amused protestations. Meanwhile the rest of us, Fabio, Mariella, Celeste, and I took the second cab back to Holland Park. Thankfully it wasn’t a long journey and as Fabio chattered away loudly, I wasn’t forced to make any polite conversation with his sister.
Back at the house Celeste slumped inelegantly into the breakfast room sofa while I started to made coffee. I knew that Fabio and Mariella had been allocated a guest room each, but I couldn’t help wondering if Mariella would go looking for Sebastian, or worse, him for her …
‘Mi scusi …’ Fabio stifled a yawn. ‘Please excuse me I must go to bed – we are meeting friends for Sunday brunch across town later today, so we will need to leave by 9 a.m.’
‘OK, do you need anything? Can I show you your room?’ I asked.
‘No, no, I’ve been before, it’s OK. Goodnight, ladies,’ he added blowing us all a kiss and retreating up the stairs.
‘Maybe we should think about retiring too,’ I said nudging Celeste gently with my elbow, she was almost unconscious.
‘Yes. You go ahead,’ Mariella said, perching on a stool at the breakfast bar and smoothly crossing her tanned calves. ‘I will wait for Sebastian.’
Celeste roused herself, stretched and yawned loudly. ‘There’s no need,’ she said half-heartedly. ‘He’ll be back soon.’
‘Thank you, but I will wait. Goodnight.’ Mariella dismissed us with a graceful nod and a smug smile that made her intentions towards Sebastian clear.
I numbly followed Celeste upstairs, undressed her and tucked her into bed like a child, my ears alert for the sound of Sebastian’s return. I knew it was pathetic to wish Sebastian loved me and completely crazy considering I was in a loving relationship with his sister. It was selfish and greedy and completely at odds with my rational mind, but if I was completely honest with myself, I wanted Sebastian and Celeste both. As I removed the earrings I’d borrowed and returned them to Celeste’s dresser by the window, I saw a taxi pull up in the street below and briefly glimpsed Sebastian arriving at the front d
oor. Celeste was already fast asleep so I drew the heavy curtains, slipped her dress onto a hanger, and quietly escaped into the corridor. As I paused I could just make out the sound of voices two floors below, between the heavy beats of my heart. Thoughts of the two of them together assaulted my brain making me sick and miserable. How had I managed to get myself into this situation, In love with a man I could never have? How could I have been so stupid?
In my bedroom I wearily stripped off, crawled into bed, and tried desperately
not to listen out for two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs together, or entering Mariella’s bedroom across the landing …
Chapter Thirty-four
I woke just after 8:30 to the sound of hushed Italian voices. Swamped with misery I was sorely tempted to stay in bed wallowing in self-pity. But reason won out – I had no right to feel sorry for myself, not when I had Celeste’s sweet love and devotion, for which I was so grateful. I quickly showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, running a brush hurriedly through my wet hair. As I headed downstairs I noticed that the two guest rooms had already been vacated but I fought the masochistic urge to check whether Mariella’s bed had been slept in. On the first floor I stuck my head around Celeste’s door, but she was gently snoring, lying in almost exactly the position I’d left her in, so I withdrew, softly closing her door behind me. As I reached the ground floor, Fabio and Mariella were just leaving. Fabio wished me a fond farewell, enthusiastically bear-hugging me while Sebastian loaded their cases into the waiting taxi. Mariella, fresh as a daisy in tight jeans, a white tailored jacket, and perfectly applied make-up, kissed Sebastian goodbye on both cheeks before climbing into the car with her brother. Then they were gone. I stood alone in the entrance hall as Sebastian turned back to the house dressed only in pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, his hair ruffled. His eyes swept up over my body to meet mine.
