He winced and looked apologetic.
“Shit, I’m really sorry about that. It was just such a fucking shock. I didn’t know what to think. It sent me into a real tailspin.”
“It was a shock for me, too, Sebastian, but I didn’t behave like a dick.”
He glanced at me, surprised, then gave a small, contrite smile.
“Not your style, Caro.”
His smile faded and I could tell he wanted to ask me something, but wasn’t sure if he should. I could probably guess…
I leaned back in my chair.
“Just ask me, Sebastian.”
He blinked a couple of times, then shook his head slowly, an admiring smile lifting his lips.
“You’re so fearless, Caro, I love that about you.”
His words caught me by surprise, leaving me speechless. Again.
“I was wondering… if you were seeing anyone.”
Yes, that’s what I’d thought he was going to ask.
“No, I’m not.”
He seemed to relax one degree. “But you were? I mean… since…”
“I dated a couple of times, but no, there was nothing serious. Besides, I travel too much to sustain a relationship. And I definitely don’t want to get tied down again.”
He frowned, but didn’t comment.
“What about you? Any significant other?”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Fuck, no!”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not what I heard.”
“What? What did you hear?” he said, almost angrily.
I was rather taken aback by his tone, but as we seemed to be going for broke…
“About your CO’s wife – in Paris? Maybe it was just gossip.”
He grinned wickedly. “Oh, that. Guy was a first class bastard – he deserved it.”
I shook my head in admonishment. “And did she ‘deserve’ it? His wife?”
“Yes, she did.”
I hated to see such an ugly expression on his beautiful face.
“And the possibility of getting court-martialed and thrown out of the Corps… that didn’t matter to you either?”
He shrugged arrogantly. “I don’t give a shit.”
I didn’t like this aggressive, macho-bullshit side to him. I decided I’d done enough strolling down memory lane for one evening.
“Well, I think I’ll call it a night now, Sebastian.”
His startled expression met my cool one.
“Don’t go, Caro! We’ve only just started talking again. You haven’t finished your wine, you…”
“No, I’m tired.”
I started to stand but he laid a restraining hand on my thigh.
“Caro, I really want you.”
What? He was unbelievable! Why was I even listening to this crap?
“For God’s sake, Sebastian! We have one civilized drink together and you think I’m just going to fall into bed with you?”
“You used to.”
I felt like I’d been slapped – and I really, really wanted to hit him.
“How dare you!” I hissed.
The realization of what he’d said and how I’d interpreted it sank in, painting his face with disgust. At himself, I hoped.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said sullenly.
I stood up to leave and he grabbed hold of my hand.
“Caro, wait! Shit! I’m sorry.”
I shook him off.
“Sebastian, we can’t just roll back the last ten years and pretend it never happened. Too much has happened – too much time has passed.”
“Come on, Caro, don’t say that.”
“Good night, Sebastian.”
I didn’t bother with the elevator – I needed to burn off some of the angry energy that coursed through me. I couldn’t help feeling that his clumsy pass was some sort of attempt to punish me – to add me to his list of conquests so he could reach some closure maybe, seal shut the door to his past.
Just when I’d started to feel…
No. Not going there. Definitely not going there.
To add insult to serious irritation, there was still no news from my editor. I stormed around my hotel room, finding insignificant jobs to do, then hammered out more emails to Jenna and Alice as an attempt at distraction. It was a futile attempt.
I didn’t know what the hell was going on with Sebastian. Some moments I thought I could sense the presence of the sweet boy he had been, whose thoughtfulness and kindness had swept me off my feet, as much if not more than his physical presence. But at other times, I saw nothing more than a bitter and predatory manwhore whose primary aim was to bed as many women as possible, and whose primary weapon was his ridiculous good looks.
I was half expecting him to come knocking on my door again, and I had a few choice phrases on standby, but the corridor was eerily silent.
Annoyed with myself, annoyed with him, I flung myself into bed and spent a sleepless night fighting with the duvet.
Before dawn, I gave up and headed to the hotel’s pool, swimming a few dozen laps before other guests arrived to make it unpleasantly crowded.
I staggered out of the pool and wrapped myself in the bathrobe provided by the hotel, before padding back towards my room.
Rounding the corner, I heard his voice before I saw him, his angry tones echoing down the corridor.
“For fuck’s sake, Caro! Can we please just talk?”
He thumped on my door again, and then I heard him mutter to himself, “This is fucking crazy.”
“That’s one of the words,” I said quietly, and had the vindictive pleasure of seeing him flinch.
He turned around and had the grace to look ashamed.
“Oh. I thought you weren’t talking to me.”
“That certainly would have been one of my better ideas,” I said, coldly.
He sighed, and rubbed the light brown stubble on his chin.
“Don’t be like that, Caro. Look, I’m sorry. I mean it. Around you, I just seem to open my mouth to change feet.”
“You can say that again.”
“I will if you let me buy you breakfast,” he said, raising one eyebrow and grinning at me.
“Are you stalking me, Sebastian? I thought we said everything we had to say to each other last night?”
His face fell and he looked hurt.
“I just want… can’t we be friends?”
“Friends? I was under the impression you wanted to fuck me out of some sense of revenge.”
I glared at him and he gasped.
“No!”
“Are you sure about that? Because last night you told me that’s exactly what you did to your CO’s wife. Why should I be any different?”
He stared at me in disbelief.
“Just go,” I said, wearily.
I really didn’t want to fight with him again; it was too tiring.
He took a deep breath.
“I know I’m saying everything wrong but… We used to have fun, didn’t we? Let’s just spend some time together – get to know each other again. You’re right: we can’t pretend the last ten years never happened. Just… give me a chance. I’m not the heartless bastard you seem to think I am. I’m still me, Caro.”
He was still beautiful, but the same? I didn’t think so.
I stared back at him, remembering how just two nights ago, he had cried in my arms. Was that the real Sebastian, or was it the cold predator who preyed on women? I desperately wanted to believe that the former was the real man.
He must have seen in my eyes that I was weakening.
“We could start with breakfast,” he said, almost hopefully. “Who knows, I might be able to get through a whole meal without making you mad at me.”
“It seems unlikely,” I replied, a reluctant smile creeping across my face.
He grinned back.
“You gonna wear that robe? Not that I give a shit – you could go naked for all I care. In fact…”
I groaned. “I’m going to take a sho
wer. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
“Want me to scrub your back?”
“Sebastian, I thought you were going to try and make it through breakfast before making me mad at you – right now your adolescent flirting is just annoying.”
He grinned at me, but held his hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Okay, I get the message. I’ll see you downstairs.”
He turned on his heel, and strode off towards the stairs, whistling to himself.
God, he was annoying. And cute. But mostly annoying.
I took my time getting ready; I wanted to test his threshold of tolerance. I dressed slowly, checked my messages and took a moment to email my editor – again. It was nearly half an hour before I made it down to the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast.
He was gazing out of the window, an untouched cup of black coffee in front of him.
I took a moment to drink in his beauty, which seemed almost otherworldly in the low light of early morning. His eyes were softer than I’d seen them in the last few days, and had a faraway expression that suggested he was lost in memories. His short, Marine-style hair was golden blond, no doubt bleached by a foreign sun, and his full, sensual lips were slightly parted. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his hands relaxed in his lap.
When he saw me, his eyes brightened and he stood up politely.
“You look great,” he said.
Yeah, in old jeans and a T-shirt.
I rolled my eyes at him, and his smile slipped a notch.
“Did you order yet?”
“No, just the coffee: I was waiting for you.”
“I usually have the continental breakfast.”
He waved to the waitress, who was unusually attentive. I got the impression she’d been watching us. Well, watching him.
Plus ça change.
“Was there anything in particular you wanted to see in Geneva?” he said, once the waitress had left with our order.
“You have to make it through breakfast without being irritating first,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, well, I like a challenge,” he said, smiling. “Seriously: anything you want to see?”
“Not especially: I saw quite a lot wandering around yesterday. The Russian Church, maybe? I hear that’s pretty amazing.”
He fiddled with his napkin, then looked up.
“I had an idea of something we could do – if you like.”
“Which is?”
“How about a trip to Chamonix? It’s only an hour away – or just a bit longer if we take the scenic route through Lausanne. It’ll be a really great trip through the Alps.” He grinned at me. “I’ll have you back before bedtime.”
Nope. Still annoying. But I couldn’t resist his enthusiasm and playfulness. Plus, I’d heard that the road to Chamonix was particularly stunning, and I liked the idea of getting out of the city.
“And you absolutely promise you’ll bring me back here by evening? No accidentally running out of gas or getting lost.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, with a look on his face that made me doubt every syllable.
“Okay, but I’m serious about getting back: I’m waiting for my travel permits and I can’t afford to miss them.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Caro, I’ll get you back here tonight, I promise.”
Our breakfast arrived and Sebastian proceeded with alacrity, chowing down on anything that didn’t move.
Something else that hadn’t changed.
“Tell me about Ches’s kids,” I said, trying for some relaxed conversation, but also genuinely curious.
Sebastian smiled.
“They’re great. They call me ‘Uncle Seb’… well, Simone, the youngest one, she calls me ‘Zed’ because she still gets her words mixed up sometimes. She’s nearly three. Ben is four and he’s a little surf-rat already. I see them as often as I can, but every time they seem so much more grown up. Jeez, they grow fast.”
“What’s Amy like?”
“Yeah, she’s okay.”
I raised my eyebrows: his tone was distinctly lukewarm.
“Let me guess – she doesn’t approve of you?”
He looked surprised. “What made you say that?”
“Firstly, because you’re single, and married women get nervous that their husband’s single friends will lead them astray; secondly, because, from the sound of it, you’ve had more women than most men have hot dinners, and that will make her nervous because she won’t want you reminding Ches of what he’s missing out on; and…”
I stopped mid sentence.
“And what?”
“Well, the drinking, Sebastian. She wouldn’t want that around her husband and kids.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, I guess that about sums it up.”
“When did you start drinking?” I said, gently.
“What do you mean? I don’t drink that much, not like that bitch mother of mine.”
I stared at him. “Well, twice in as many days you’ve been so drunk you’ve either passed out or made inappropriate comments to me.”
Sebastian’s face darkened perceptibly.
“I think my question stands,” I said, holding his gaze.
He looked at me, hesitating to reply immediately.
“When I was 21,” he said at last. “That’s when I started drinking.”
And then it hit me, fool that I was. The drinking, the womanising, the reckless disregard for his career: it had all begun when he was 21. It had all begun because he’d given up – given up hope of love… of me.
“Sebastian, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
My words seemed deeply inadequate.
He shrugged and looked away. “Old news, Caro, don’t worry about it.”
I struggled to think of something inconsequential to say.
“Do you like living in Geneva?”
Lame, but it was the first thought that came to mind.
“It’s okay, but I miss the ocean.”
“Ah, no famous Swiss surfing beaches.”
He grinned, his equilibrium restored. “I haven’t found any yet.”
I smiled back.
“Are you done eating?” he said, impatiently. “Shall we go?”
“I just need to go back to my room and pick up a jacket and, I presume, my passport, but otherwise, yes, I’m good to go.”
He frowned. “You’re a journalist: you should always have your passport with you. Hell, that was in that fucking tedious lecture that Parsons gave the day before yesterday.”
“So you were listening,” I swatted back.
He shook his head and smiled.
“Yeah, yeah, just grab a sweater, too: it’s going to get cold.”
I nodded as I left him at the table, but I was puzzled. It was mid March: it wasn’t that cold. But when I saw him waiting for me at the front of the building, I understood why he’d told me to dress warm.
“Are you kidding me, Hunter? You expect me to get on that thing?”
Sebastian was standing next to a large, black Japanese motorcycle with French plates, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Sure! It’ll be fun.”
I eyed the monster warily. It didn’t look like ‘fun’: it looked dangerous and cold.
“Do you know how to drive it?” I asked suspiciously.
“Caro, I rode it from Paris – I think I can manage 88 kilometers to Chamonix,” he said, grinning widely.
“I don’t know,” I muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ve never been on the back of a motorcycle before.”
He looked surprised. “Really? Because we used to talk about riding from…”
He stopped abruptly.
Was it ever going to get easier to talk about the past?
“Oh, what the hell,” I said, shaking my head.
“Such faith in my abilities, Ms. Venzi.”
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