“I don’t know what to say, Bass,” she finally said.
“Say you’ll stop fighting.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sebastian,” his father started to say before taking a seat on the other side of him. “Your mother and I love each other. We just can’t seem to stand to be near each other.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Sometimes life doesn’t make sense, son,” Peter said. “I’m sorry about that.”
A few more platitudes were spoken, but the end result was that suitcases were packed and the kids ended up elsewhere, yet again.
~*~
“Sebastian? Yoohoo!” His mother waved her hands in front of his eyes.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I guess I was lost in thought.”
“I’ve been in touch with an old friend who asked us to dinner tonight,” she said. “She insisted I bring you along, so I hope you’ll join us. Her husband died recently and I think she’s lonely.”
Oh, great, he thought. Just perfect. Dinner with the demented parents and an aging widow. What fun!
“Lest you think it’ll be a meal with the old folks, she told me her daughter will be joining us. Seems she needs some interaction with people. She’s spent so much time trying to help her mother out, and her mother says she needs to get the girl into some more social environments.”
“So, then, you’re, uh, setting me up?”
Oh, man, the last thing Sebastian needed was to be stuck with some sad-sack loser girl who couldn’t even find her own friends to hang with.
“Nothing of the sort. Don’t be so paranoid. I just feel sorry for her and thought it would be nice to help cheer the two of them up. Perhaps you can regale them with tales of your adventures in the Caribbean.”
Sebastian smiled, thinking about some of his more memorable exploits, not exactly G-rated for a mixed audience. Clementine and the Willy-T sprang to mind. Which he tamped down immediately so that something else didn’t unwillingly spring to attention. That would be a pretty mortifying thing to happen five minutes after greeting his quasi-estranged mother.
“Sure, Mum, I’ll tell them how I fended off the Cyclops, and narrowly avoided Scylla and Charybdis, oh and how I was tied to the mast to hear the Sirens’ song.”
“That will be perfect. A little mealtime refresher course on the Odyssey,” she said. “Now are you coming tonight?”
Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. “All right, fine. But only because my time clock is messed up and I know this won’t be a late night, dining with the spinster and the celibate maiden. Plus I don’t have many friends around here at the moment so, shy of an alternate plan, I guess I’m in.”
“Marvelous,” she said. “It promises to be a lovely evening.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Bass, sweetie, you’ve got to wake up,” his mother said, shaking him a few hours later. “We need to leave for dinner.”
Sebastian rolled over and rubbed his bleary eyes, trying to discern where he was. Darkness had fallen early, something he acclimated to readily on his sailboat with the natural tempo of the seasons. But waking up in a somewhat unfamiliar dark room threw him off.
“Right. Of course. I’ll be right there.”
“We’ll be waiting in the car.”
He quickly threw on a pair of khakis and a somewhat wrinkled pale pink button-down, then brushed his teeth and met his folks in the car, where they chattered with each other like a couple in the first bloom of love. He had to shake his head to clear it of all the confusion. He leaned his head against the side of the car door and drifted back to sleep until they arrived.
It was dark, but Sebastian could still make out the basics of the estate as they drove down the mile-long driveway, flanked by tall cypress trees. The property stretched as far as the eye could see, encompassing views of the Mediterranean on one side and jagged alpine peaks on the other. He’d forgotten about the occasionally stark beauty of Monaforte. Maybe Topher had a point—there is some strange familial tug of home that occurs, even when home doesn’t fit the stereotypical mold. Despite himself, it felt unexpectedly right to be back home.
The driver opened the car doors for the family and they approached the Tudor-style home that was in the style quite common for Monaforte. These homes were usually hundreds of years old and retrofitted with modern conveniences while retaining their historical charm. This house was no exception, exhibiting all the grandeur of days gone by. He practically expected the lord of the manor to appear in Renaissance costume.
Instead, they were greeted at the door by a butler, who showed them into an expansive living room where the hostess sat by a large, inviting fieldstone fireplace, like one you could roast an entire wild boar in.
The woman stood and approached them, her near-pewter eyes sparkling, her silver bob catching the warmth from the glowing embers.
She pulled Elisabetta in for a traditional two-cheek kiss; they stood face-to-face, beaming at each other.
“You look like life is agreeing with you, my friend,” the woman said to her.
“And you are as beautiful as ever,” Elisabetta said, holding her at arm’s length to take a long look. “I’m sure you remember Pierre. And this is my son, Sebastian.”
Pierre? Sebastian scrunched his brows at that one.
His father caught Sebastian’s look and smiled. “Yes, after all these years your mother has agreed to give me my name back,” he said in response to his son’s facial gesture. And in turn, I have decided to call her Liz.”
Liz? WTF? Sebastian felt like he was in an alternate universe, with these strange, lovey-dovey parents who were radically unfamiliar to him. For lack of a response, he turned to say hello to his hostess.
“So happy to make your acquaintance,” he said. “Mrs.?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Forgive my manners. This is Lady Charlotte.”
Sebastian nodded. “Lady Charlotte, my apologies. It’s a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” she said. “You’re a cute one. My daughter should be joining us any minute. She came in from a run a while ago and was taking a shower. But in the meantime, Rosa is fixing cocktails.”
She motioned for the maid—dressed in a crisp gray uniform—who took their drink orders. They were gathered in the living room, enjoying their cocktails as Sebastian’s parents filled in the details of their renewed love status, when the last remaining guest showed up.
“Mum,” Clementine said, out of breath as she ran into the room. “So sorry I’m late.”
And there before Sebastian stood an all-too-familiar (and all too overly clothed) woman whose acquaintance he’d had the distinct pleasure of making before, thank you.
He just gulped.
Chapter Sixteen
Clementine knew she would be putting herself up against the clock if she went for a late-afternoon run, but she just couldn’t not do it. It was one of those gorgeous autumn afternoons, where the clouds collected as many colors as possible from the rainbow into their midst and conspired with the setting sun to create an explosion of brilliance. It was truly her favorite time of day and the season she loved the most; she wanted to savor every last minute of it before the stark, cold winter set in.
After her run, she’d raced to get ready and could barely keep the makeup on her face, she was sweating so much from scrambling around after her shower. If she had to be truthful, she probably subconsciously made herself late because she was so dreading this dinner with the weirdo whose parents dragged him out to meals with them. She took one more quick look in the mirror, made sure she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth, and took the staircase two by two to hurry into the awaiting crowd, as it were.
“No worries, sweetie,” her mother said to her. “We were just hearing about Elisabetta and Peter’s reunion.”
Elisabetta and Peter. Why was that ringing a bell?
Oh God. That Elisabetta and Peter. They’re who’s coming to dinner?
Well, crap
on that.
“And this is their son Sebastian,” her mother said, lifting her eyebrows with a pronounced “he’s totally hot” look that she aimed at her daughter.
Sebastian. As in Se-bastard-ian? Ha ha. She’d laugh at that if she could, but she most definitely couldn’t because she looked up and there he stood in all of his bloody damned, sexy, suntanned glory, haphazardly dressed with a wrinkly, pink button-down and a stunned look of stupefaction on his actually very kissable face. Damn him.
Clementine fixed her eyes on his with a subtle glare. He returned the gaze and stared hard. They were like two outlaws in the Wild West, preparing for a showdown outside the town saloon.
“Sebastian,” she said finally in a flat tone, drawing out his name to capture every syllable.
“Clementine?” he said with the hint of a question mark, though just enough that no one but the two of them would notice it. He reached out to greet her with a traditional two-cheek kiss.
And she damn near slugged him.
Kiss my cheek? He can kiss my—
“It’s a pleasure to see you,” he said with a pause, as if the word “again” might be on the tip of his tongue.
Oh, but that man’s tongue.
Clementine closed her eyes at the memory.
“The pleasure is all mine,” she said through gritted teeth.
She may have faked it through the greeting, but her eyes told him all he needed to know: no booty call tonight for him.
“Have you two met?” his mother asked.
Clem couldn’t even come up with the appropriate answer for that one, but was mercifully spared when recognition dawned in Elisabetta’s eyes.
“Wait, you’re my niece Isabella’s friend. From Uccelli’s, right?” she said, pointing at Clementine. “And you’re also my old friend Charlotte’s daughter? What a pleasant coincidence! I hope you don’t mind that we brought our son along. He’s come home to help celebrate our engagement.”
Clementine glanced at Sebastian and squinted, trying to make out why it was he’d be voluntarily celebrating this confusing state of affairs, given his family history. She’d have thought he’d stay far, far away from their romantic shenanigans. But his face revealed nothing. So she decided to lay it on thick.
“That’s so sweet,” Clementine said. “What a thoughtful son you’ve raised. Is he in from out of town? Or does he just like to dine with strangers?”
Her mother wrinkled her brows at her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like it came out,” Clementine said. “I just meant how did you end up bringing him along?”
“Bass hasn’t been home in quite a long time,” his mother said. “Years, for that matter. I—we—wanted to bring the kids home to share in our happy news.”
“Ah, I see,” Clem said. “So it’s Bass, then? Gotcha. Well, clearly he is a very good son.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him quasi-staring at her.
Rosa rang the dinner bell and Lady Charlotte ushered her guests into the formal dining room. Where, of course, they had assigned seats. It wouldn’t be a dinner party without that, especially with a matchmaking mother. Which meant Sebastian was seated smack dab next to Clementine, so close that if she wanted to, she could reach over and grab his—
No. That would so not be a good move. Even though it might be worth it for the shock value. And her fingers were itching to do it. Just for fun. And pleasure.
But no. This was going to be a keepa-you-hands-off night for both of them. For him, because she was not going to let the man anywhere near her body, and for her, because she was going to maintain her dignity and not capitulate to her cursed hormones that stood like devils on both shoulders, telling her to just do it and get her horny on.
Where was that best-behavior angel who was supposed to be hovering over one of those shoulders so that she didn’t do something stupid she’d regret?
Clementine looked around the table, seeing everyone engaged in conversation, nary a fight about to break out, and she was deeply, deeply grateful that turkey was not on the menu. Or at least she thought so. Although maybe turkey could spice things up some. As if she needed any more spice, what with Sebastian breathing heavily—was that heavy breathing?—within inches of her.
She felt his foot press against hers beneath the table and she nearly jumped. Instead she pressed her heel hard into the top of his shoe, suggesting in no uncertain terms that he keep it away from hers. She resisted starting up a conversation with the man, but had to say something or else the parents would start to wonder.
“What’s that you’re drinking?” she asked him with a smirk. “Rum?”
He choked on a sip of his drink, which was decidedly not rum.
“Actually, rum seems to make me do crazy things,” he said. “So I’ve been abstaining from it.”
He threw her a sly smile.
“Oh really? Such as?”
Sebastian blew out a puff of air. Game on.
He discreetly leaned close to her ear, making sure no one was watching.
“Oh, crazy things, like licking it off of a beautiful woman’s near-naked body in a bar full of strangers until she’s so turned on she nearly climaxes.”
The memories stirred up with just those words, coupled with the way he’d done it, with his breath tickling her ear, caused her pulse to accelerate and a warmth to spread deep down in her belly. Damn, Clem never expected him to step up to the plate.
“Huh,” she said. “Bet that was downright exhausting for your poor tongue.”
“Actually, there was plenty more waiting for her where that came from. Shame she missed out on it, cause I was just getting started.”
Clementine suddenly felt an acute case of the vapors coming on.
Luckily the chatter in the room was broken by her mother, who tapped the tip of her knife to the stem of a champagne flute that Rosa was filling with the best bubbly, from a supply her father had brought back last year upon visiting a few of the premier boutique houses in Champagne.
“I’d like to make a toast,” she said, holding up her glass once everyone’s was filled. “To everlasting love. Something I had with my beloved Hubert and something I am happy to see the two of you have finally realized with one another.”
For a second, Clementine thought her mother was referring to her and Sebastian, but then she got a grip on things and realized that was never gonna happen.
“It just goes to show,” her mother continued, “love can happen anytime in life, and I give you both credit for being mature enough to give it another go. It’s not everyone who can admit they’ve made mistakes and then do something to fix it.”
Clementine wanted desperately to throw back her entire glass in one fell swoop, but she knew that would be a little obvious, so instead, she politely took a sip and smiled blithely. However, out of the corner of her eye she noticed her dinner partner’s arm flash past with lightning speed. She glanced to see his flute completely empty. She nearly burst out laughing.
“So, Sebastian,” she said. “Or Bass, is it? Like the fish? So, um, Bass, what do you do for a living?”
Sebastian had just as quickly returned his still-full highball glass to his mouth at the same time she asked him that question, and he nearly spilled the drink right down his front.
“I sail,” he said, clearing his throat from the burning sensation of the Scotch racing a little too quickly down his throat.
“Ahhh, a sailor,” she said. “I’ve heard about sailors.”
He squinted at her. “You have?”
“Yes. A woman in every port, is it?”
“Not my Sebastian,” his mother said, chiming in. “He’s always been so respectful of women.”
“Oh, of course,” Clementine said. “I didn’t mean to imply anything inappropriate. Just making small talk. I’m sure ‘your Sebastian’ is not one of those types.”
The conversation was interrupted when Rosa brought a large tray of antipasti to the table, and soon their
conversation was overtaken by serving and eating and passing. At least for a few minutes.
“And what is it that you do, Clementine?” Peter—or Pierre, as the case may be—said.
It was the question she hated to have posed to her at dinner gatherings. She wanted to tell them she was a trash collector. Or a crime scene cleaner-upper. Or that she emptied bedpans in a nursing home. Anything that would discourage follow-up questions.
But her mother chose to intervene.
“My baby has been my savior in these months since we lost Hubert. She’s been at my side when I was most heartbroken and made sure that I wasn’t lonely,” she said. “She gave up her job to take care of me. But now it’s time for Clementine to regain her footing and find what she’d love.”
“What did you do before?” Elisabetta asked, her face softening in empathy for their plight.
“I managed a barrister firm for my father’s dear friend,” she said. “It was nothing, really.”
“It sounds like a heavy responsibility,” Peter said.
“More like a snore a minute,” Clem said without thinking, hoping after the fact that they weren’t friends with the fellow whose firm she ran.
Sebastian cracked up. She glanced over to see him clearly amused at the idea of Clem living in a buttoned-up office all day long.
And she could hardly blame him, being that he likely supposed her to be the opposite of buttoned up. More like opened up. Splayed out like an all-you-can-eat-buffet sort of way. Like a luau. Oh, God. She was a damned luau! Nothing more than a big fat bloated meal complete with a stuck pig that people don’t even particularly enjoy but then promptly forget about once it’s over. A washed-up, picked-over, luau of a girl.
“Actually, Clem loved organizing events for the firm. Didn’t you honey?” he mother said. “Very swank cocktail parties and receptions. All with the intent of impressing their premier clients.”
Clem rolled her eyes. Enough with pimping your daughter, Mum.
“Really?” Sebastian’s mother said. “So you planned big receptions like wedding-type events?”
Shame of Thrones Page 6
