Tidy?
There wasn’t a dirty dish to be seen, and a three-course meal could’ve been eaten off the floors, they were so clean. Greta, who I assumed was their housekeeper, should definitely be getting a raise if she alone was keeping the mansion in this unblemished state. But of course, Mrs. Covington’s protests had nothing at all to do with the state of her home. Southern manners demanded a certain modicum of respect be paid to all houseguests, even to those one so blatantly disapproved of. And she’d been bred a political animal — as the wife of a politician, she couldn’t say what she really meant, which was likely something along the lines of, Get this trailer trash out of my house immediately.
In politics, image was everything. Propriety always reigned supreme. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be proper for a senator’s wife to demand that her perfect son remove the poor girl from both her presence and her pristine household, lest she soil something.
Like the furniture. Or the family name.
“Mom—” Bash began.
“Sebastian.” Her smile was arctic. I fought off a shiver. “Drive your…” Her beat of silence was timed impeccably — the work of a masterful conversationalist. “…friend home now, please.”
I wanted to point out that adding the word “please” to the end of an order didn’t detract from the fact that it was, in actuality, still an order, but I figured that would only make a bad situation worse. With her ringing endorsement hanging in the air, she glided from the room, her heels clicking sharply against the gleaming hardwood floors.
“That went well,” I joked lightly, eyes averted. “I think she liked me.”
“Lux,” Sebastian said, sympathy threading his voice. “I’m sorry about her. I thought she’d be at Pilates or a DAR meeting or one of her afternoon activities. I had no idea she’d be here.”
“No worries,” I said breezily. “This is her home, she’s entitled to her opinions and decisions.”
“Well, her opinions are wrong,” he said, leaning in to wrap his arms around me. I tensed in response, wary of his mother’s disapproving eyes. “Relax,” he whispered.
“We should go,” I told him, feeling completely out of my comfort zone and wanting to be anywhere on earth but in his kitchen. “Please.”
“Alright, come on.” He grabbed my hand and led me back through the kitchen to the patio door we’d entered through. “I want to show you something.”
Despite my continual requests that he give me at least a hint about our destination, Sebastian remained stubbornly silent. He led us out onto the patio, skirted around the perimeter of the house, and cut through the yard toward the back edge of the property. The well-kempt greenery of his sloping lawn eventually gave way to longer, wilder grasses and a copse of tall yellow poplar trees. As we wove through them, I stopped asking about our destination and silence descended over us. The poplars were old, soaring high above our heads with a majesty only Mother Nature can conjure. Walking beneath the shelter of their branches, we seemed miles from civilization rather than mere steps, as though we’d been transported to another world when we crossed the barrier from landscaped lawn to untamed wild.
There was serenity here, a hushed dignity it felt wrong to interrupt with words. Our footfalls were quiet against the mossy earth, and the only sounds were that of the wind whistling through the trees and the gentle trickling of a nearby stream as water flowed over the rock bed.
There was no trail — none that I could see, anyway — but Sebastian walked with purposeful strides, as though his feet had walked this path so many times he’d long since committed it to memory. After about five minutes, we broke through the dense-packed trees and came to a small clearing.
I gasped when it came into view, in awe of the mammoth sentinel before my eyes.
At the center of the glade was a huge, red oak tree. It dominated the clearing, dwarfing the surrounding trees with its thick trunk and long-reaching branches. It was so wide that had Sebastian and I stood on opposite sides and stretched our arms around its circumference, our hands wouldn’t have touched. Its boughs were low-hanging, the bottom branches only about ten feet from the earth. It must’ve been a dream to climb as a child.
Detaching my grip from Sebastian’s, I ran forward to skim my hands across the trunk, moving around it in a circle with my neck craned to catch a glimpse of the top. I felt a wondrous smile break out across my face as I made myself dizzy running in circles with my gaze trained skyward.
Giggling and breathless, I came to a halt with one hand planted firmly against the bark to steady myself. “Wow,” I breathed. It must’ve been seventy feet tall.
“This is my favorite spot on the property,” Bash revealed. I looked up to find him standing ten feet away, his eyes locked on my face. I could feel the color in my cheeks and I was warm in spite of the crisp air. My hair had slipped out of its ties during my mad dash and was hanging loose around my torso, a wind-tousled mess. “I hate that house,” he added, nodding his head in the direction we’d come from.
I could see why. The plantation-style mansion he lived in was gorgeous — certainly fit for a senator’s family. It looked like something off the set of Gone With the Wind, with its grand-scale white columns and sprawling front lawn. The circular drive leading to the house wound around a huge fountain, and the freestanding car garage was larger than my entire house. On our way to the woods, we’d passed a bean-shaped, in-ground pool in the backyard, as well as a stable which, from the soft neighing sounds and wafting fresh-hay smell, I’d bet contained more than one thoroughbred. Though I hadn’t seen much beyond the kitchen, I could imagine the rest of the interior was equally extravagant.
And yet, for all its apparent wealth, the house was cold, impersonal. Like some museum exhibit where everything was warded with look-but-don’t-touch signs, encased behind glass panels, and cordoned off with red velvet ropes. It was probably as pristine and unlived-in as the day it had been constructed.
No wonder Sebastian hated it.
“Have you ever climbed it?” I asked gesturing up at the massive red oak. I was genuinely curious but also hoping to steer his mind to happier topics.
Bash grinned. “More times than I could count,” he told me.
“I’d like to see that sometime,” I said, grinning back at him happily.
“Come here.” His command was soft, his eyes beckoning with a gentle intensity. My feet responded instantly, drawn like the proverbial moth to his flame. When I came to a stop in front of him, he leaned forward into my space so only a hairsbreadth existed between our faces. His hands came up to cup my neck, then slid back to wind into my hair. With the lightest of pressure, he guided my mouth forward to brush against his.
His lips were softer than I’d expected, pushing against mine with gentle insistence. I bent into his frame, bringing my body flush with his. My lips parted and Sebastian deepened our kiss, the unfamiliar sensation of his tongue brushing mine nearly startling me off balance. My mind raced at twice its normal speed and I prayed I wasn’t messing this up, making a fool of myself.
“Is this okay?” he asked me softly, pulling away a fraction of an inch.
“More than okay,” I whispered back.
“Your heart is beating really fast,” Sebastian said, his right thumb skimming over the pulse point in my throat.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted.
“Don’t be nervous.” He leaned down to brush a featherlight kiss across my lips. “It’s just me.”
“That’s exactly why I’m nervous,” I pointed out.
He laughed lightly, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me in for a comforting hug that warmed me down to my bones. Without fully detangling our limbs, Sebastian walked me backwards until we were standing directly under the tree. Stepping out of my space, he sat with his back leaning against the thick trunk and extended one hand up to me.
“Come sit, Freckles.”
I sat next to him and within seconds he’d hooked one arm under my knees and swung them acros
s his lap so I was settled on top of him. My head landed on his shoulder, and one of my arms curled naturally around his waist. I sighed contentedly when Bash’s lips pressed against the hair on the crown of my head.
We sat for a long time, the prince and his pauper, sharing a moment beneath the most beautiful tree I’d ever seen. I could only imagine what it would be like in a few weeks, when spring arrived and it was once again full of lush green foliage.
“Lux?” Sebastian asked, his arms tightening around me slightly.
“Yeah?”
“What’s wrong with Jamie?” He turned me in his arms so he could look into my eyes. “It’s cancer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed roughly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s just—” He broke off and took a deep breath that shifted my whole body. “I really like Jamie.”
“He likes you too.”
“Will he get better?” His question — the question, the one people were always terrified to ask and I was even more terrified to answer — hung in the air between us.
I was silent for a long time, trying to breathe normally.
“I don’t know,” I whispered eventually. “I hope so. We take it one day at a time.”
Sebastian’s arms hugged me tighter. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Keep visiting. Keep talking football and messing around with him. Keep treating him like he’s a normal seventeen-year-old boy, who’s not dyi—” My voice cracked on the word. “Who’s not sick,” I amended. I felt my eyes fill with unshed tears, and Sebastian leaned in to kiss my forehead gently.
“Keep being you,” I whispered.
“I think I can do that,” he whispered back.
Pushing aside all the worries that I’d screw it up or move too fast, I turned in his arms, followed my instincts, and brushed a light kiss across his lips. He kissed me back gently, as though I might shatter right there in his arms if he were to apply too much pressure.
And for a moment — for one blissful, perfect, sun-dappled moment in the arms of a boy I barely knew — I didn’t feel so alone.
Chapter 13
Now
* * *
Simon and Fae were smashed.
Then again, after watching them down seven rounds of lemon drop martinis, I couldn’t say I was surprised.
“Where in the name of Kristin Chenoweth are all the goddamn cabs?” Simon yelled, shaking his right fist at the heavens.
“In the theater district?” Fae proposed, which set them both off in an uproarious fit of laughter.
“It’s two in the morning,” I pointed out.
“So?” Simon said, turning incredulous eyes on me. “This is the city that, I remind you, never sleeps. Except apparently at two in the morning on Fridays in August. Not a freaking cabbie to be found for miles.”
“We could always walk to Fae’s,” I suggested. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the Meatpacking District from here — twenty at the most.
“I’ll ruin my Manolos,” Fae muttered forlornly.
“We’re so not walking. Plus, I thought we’d agreed — sleepover at my loft,” Simon whined.
I rolled my eyes. Simon always wanted to go to his loft. Not that I could blame him — it was located at the heart of SoHo, and between his own larger-than-life personality and the equally large presence of his two artistic roommates, the loft was a veritable hot spot every night of the week. Music throbbed at all hours and random strangers that had been collected by one of the loft’s three residents were always filtering in and out. And, in a stroke of good fortune for Fae and me, Simon’s roommates were extreme eye-candy.
Shane was a model — gorgeous, easy-going, and interesting in spite of his intellectual shortcomings. He slept almost exclusively with other models, and most weekday mornings saw a near-constant parade of women sneaking out of his room for their walks-of-shame.
Nate was an oil painter — brooding and darkly handsome, with a quiet edginess and a troubled aura that seemed to follow him around. He always smelled faintly like acetone and every article of clothing he owned was splattered with paint, but that only enhanced his appeal, judging by the harem of hippie-chic female art connoisseurs who trailed in his wake from his studio to the loft and back again.
Unfortunately, while both attractive in their own rights, they were also completely undateable — in part because they lived with one of our best friends so any potential breakups would be messy, but mostly because since adopting Simon into our fearsome twosome, Fae and I had become fixtures at the loft and thus born witness to so many farts, belches, and sleazy one-night-stand-aftermaths that whatever initial attraction we’d felt had quickly died.
Now, we were standing on a street corner in the Village, outside the small hole-in-the-wall jazz lounge Simon had dragged us to after work. With fabric-draped walls and a dark, modern speakeasy atmosphere, the trendy little gem was always packed on Friday nights, with every velvet booth and candle-lit high top filled. It was a popular venue for those who wanted to escape the pounding electronica that poured from the speakers of the dance clubs, or those who aimed to avoid spending $25 for a cocktail in the more exclusive bars of Manhattan.
“Oh, shut up, you princesses. If we walk half a block west we’ll have better luck,” I said, gesturing toward the cross street where 10th bisected Hudson. Grumbling unhappily, they followed along after me.
It had been an interesting night, to say the least.
After work, the two of them had dragged me out and immediately plied me with drinks in hopes of getting the full backstory of my saga with Sebastian.
“Hit me,” Simon had said, his eyes lit with anticipation.
“It’s time,” Fae had chimed in, her patience expired after two days of waiting.
“Fine, fine.” I’d taken a fortifying sip of my martini before launching into the details. Or, to be more specific, the few details I could actually reveal to them. “It’s not all that dramatic, honestly. We were high school sweethearts.”
Simon and Fae nodded simultaneously, like two twin marionettes controlled by the same strings.
“I was dirt poor and he was ridiculously wealthy, and besides the fact that we both lived in Georgia, we had pretty much nothing in common. But somehow it worked,” I told them, a faint smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as memories filtered through my mind. “His father was a U.S. Senator. Now I hear he’s considering a run for the next presidential race on the Republican ticket. I don’t know for sure.”
Simon and Fae both stared at me expectantly, even as my words trailed off.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s it?” Fae complained.
“You’ve barely told us anything!” Simon said. “We want the dirt, woman. The juicy details. So go ahead and spill it.”
“I just told you! We were from completely different backgrounds. It never would’ve lasted.”
“So you ended it,” Fae guessed.
“Yeah,” I said, sipping my drink. “I ended it.”
“Even though you loved him?” Simon asked, skeptical.
Especially because I loved him, I thought.
“Listen, guys, you’re not getting it. He was Princeton-bound. I was lucky to even go to college. If I hadn’t gotten that academic scholarship to UGA I’d probably be barefoot and pregnant in a trailer somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line right about now, rather than sipping martinis with you fools.”
“But, Lux, baby,” Simon said, shaking his head in incomprehension. “Lots of people make long distance work. You could’ve figured it out, or at the very least tried. I don’t understand how you could just give up on someone you say you loved. It’s not like you.” His light blue eyes scanned my face, searching for answers I couldn’t give him. “The girl I know is fearless. She meets challenges head on. She moved to New York City all by herself, walked into Luster without an appointment, and walked out with a job that pays more than mine. She haggles with street vendors and, despite
her deceptively soft southern accent, can be a force of nature when someone insults her friends.”
“He’s right, you know,” Fae added, her head tilting as she examined me. “You’re not telling us everything.”
“Alright,” I conceded. “Maybe I’m not. But I’ve told you all that I can. Trust me when I say that if I could talk about it, you’d be the first to know. For now, though, can you guys do me a favor? Can you please just be my friends and not push me on this?”
“Are you in trouble?” Fae asked immediately, concern overtaking her features. “Did something illegal happen?”
“Ohmigod!” Simon exclaimed. “Are you in the Witness Protection Program? I bet that’s it. You found out his dad was a mob boss or something, and he was gonna have you whacked so you had to go into hiding!”
“No one says ‘whacked’ anymore, Simon,” Fae chided.
“What about ‘sleeping with the fishes’? Can I use that one?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a Hollywood fabrication,” I added. “And as for your theory… No, I am not in the Witness Protection Program. And no, Sebastian’s father is not a villain — he’s just a politician.”
“Some would argue those are actually one and the same,” Fae noted.
“Damn, I’ve always wanted to know someone who was in hiding. Leading a double life. On the run from her past,” Simon said, his tone dramatic and his eyes distant. Strangely, his comments made Fae’s cheeks flush red and she diverted her gaze abruptly, scrutinizing the cracked imperfections in our tabletop with studious intensity.
Hmmm. Curious.
She was not easily ruffled. Cool, collected, polished — that was Fae. In the nearly three years I’d known her, I’d never once seen her blush. I wanted to ask about it, but I’d have to wait until later, when we were in private. I wouldn’t put her on the spot.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I told Simon. “Let’s get another round, shall we?”
Love & Lies Page 11