Christ, so much for my honorable intentions.
“So, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said, in between bites.
“We’ll talk in a second.”
This conversation would sever our relationship for good, and I was in no hurry to have it out. I wanted to enjoy myself while it lasted. So we made polite chitchat while she ate.
After she had polished off two more donuts, Poppy wiped her hands and gave me her full attention.
“What’s on your mind, Sebastian?”
I gulped. “Unfortunately, I meant what I said earlier—I can’t be involved, but you don’t have to worry about money.”
“I see.” Her gaze dropped to the bedspread.
The crushing weight of her disappointment landed like an anvil on my chest.
“You’re determined to push us away.”
“I…I…” I faltered for the words. Nothing I could say would help this situation.
“You’re making a mistake, Sebastian, and you don’t even realize it.”
Oh, I understood it, all right. I should’ve left her alone. If I had, she’d be going to Stanford, instead of raising our child by herself.
“Believe me—you’ll both be better off without me in the mix.”
“You don’t believe you're worth loving, do you?”
I shut my eyes. “I can tell you’re a psych major, love.” She’d scored a direct hit.
She winced. “That was harsh, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay—I earned it.”
“No, you’re freaked out. How can I fault you for running from your past? You’re only human.”
Her poise and grace humbled me. I’d been expecting a scene, but she never failed to surprise me.
“Regardless, I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She sighed. “This means we’re over.”
I nodded.
“Well, at least we ended with a real show-stopper.” Her smile was lopsided.
I should leave, but couldn’t make my legs work.
“Well, take care of yourself, Sebastian.” She turned away, dismissing me.
And that was that. When I left the room, we’d be done.
No, I couldn’t do this. Not now. Not yet.
I had to step away from her more slowly. I needed an off ramp, to gently disengage. My mind raced as I searched for a plausible reason we could see each other again.
And then an excellent excuse presented itself.
“Hey, um, speaking of shows. Got a date for your dad’s wedding?”
“Um, no.” Poppy blinked, caught off guard.
“Maybe we should go together—as a last hurrah or something. I’m meeting with a tour company on the West Coast to go over logistics, so it wouldn’t be a big deal.” I pulled the lie right out of thin air, but it sounded plausible.
“You’re talking about a last gasp?”
We shared a smile.
“Yes, we’ll say our goodbye properly, in style.”
And I’d bought myself nearly another month. Of course, there’d be more donuts and phone calls, and maybe a trip or two to the skating rink. Plenty of excuses to see each other as we coordinated the trip.
I hadn’t lost her—them.
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Fifteen
Sebastian
Three weeks later we were in L.A. at a swanky wedding. It was a black-tie event attended by A-listers. The reception was outdoors on a terrace, overlooking the valley.
Coming here had been a bad idea. Sure, I’d bought myself some time to let go of Poppy, but it wasn’t working. If anything, I’d become more desperate. These past few weeks had been a special sort of hell as our relationship died a slow, agonizing death.
I’d wanted to spring for a hotel and make a weekend of it, but Poppy had schoolwork piling up and didn’t have time to “waste” on another of her dad’s fleeting unions.
I got the impression Poppy wanted to be rid of me well, and I couldn’t blame her.
At the moment, I was stuck fending off scripts and project ideas from producers and writers, while Poppy fake-smiled at people. We did our duty—nodding and making small talk until we finally grabbed a table away from the crowd.
“Why does he blow so much money on these things? They never last.” Poppy scowled. “They’ll be together six months—tops. Wanna place a bet?”
After seeing the new Mrs. Fisher, I understood Poppy’s point.
Her new stepmother was named Amber. And she was in danger of escaping her wedding dress. Although the term dress was a bit too gracious. She wore a white piece of fluff that came just below her butt cheeks. Up top, it barely kept her nipples in check. Her breasts were large and round as basketballs on her thin torso. The girl had to be a size two at most, and she was probably an F cup, which didn’t happen in nature.
“You’re terribly jaded. Maybe your dad’s a romantic?”
Birds with fake bits were never my scene, but everyone has their own fetish. To his credit, Poppy’s father seemed happy. All in all, it could’ve been worse, I supposed. Poppy hadn’t told him about the pregnancy, so we weren’t in danger of creating a scene.
“Try delusional.” She grimaced. “I’m only going to get married once, and if it doesn’t work out—I’m out.”
That news was a sucker punch to the gut. I didn’t want to think about her marrying another man and the two of them raising our child together. Everything about it felt wrong.
I forced myself to sound casual. “One and done, huh?”
“Yup. What about you? Up for another marriage?”
“Well, I’ve never had a real wedding, just a fake one planned by some television producers. But if I had the chance, I’d like a small church ceremony with just family and close friends. Then I’d hold the reception at my club and ask my mates to play the gig. I’d keep it simple—good music, great friends, and some cake.”
“Hope you get it someday.”
Not bloody likely.
Like I said, this trip was torturous. Here we were talking about life plans—hypothetical weddings. I had no doubt she wouldn’t stay single for long. My fists clenched and then released. This was a disaster of my own making. I had no one to blame but myself, as per usual.
What if Poppy was right, and I was running away for no reason, refusing to find happiness, in case it was ripped away from me again?
I suddenly realized she was watching me.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. There were so many things I wanted to say, but all of them were insufficient.
Instead, I squeezed her hand. “What a bright future you’re going to have.”
Without me.
***
Later that evening, we were on a red-eye flight back to New York. We’d stayed at the reception until the happy couple drove off in their limousine together. The rest of the evening had been awkward. Poppy and I made stilted conversation, she’d refused to dance with me, and we kept on being interrupted by other guests.
Thankfully, all the rows in first class were empty, except for ours, so we were finally alone. Celebrities fly at odd times of the day, under aliases, to cut down on unwanted attention.
Since it was the middle of the night, they hadn’t bothered with the beverage service, and the flight attendants were in the rear of the plane, snatching twenty winks. A quick glance to the rear of the aircraft revealed one man few rows back who had already nodded off.
Poppy had changed out of her cocktail dress into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She had a hooded sweatshirt draped over her body like a blanket, and her eyes were at half-mast.
“Sorry I’m not much company. I tire out quickly these days.”
“Not a problem.”
I didn’t know what to do with myself for the next few hours. My emotions zigzagged all over the place. Part of me wanted to be done with this.
Perversel
y, I wanted to draw this evening out even more. I tried to think of a believable reason we could see one another again, and I was coming up with nothing. It’d all happened so fast, and I wanted more time, just a bit more.
And then I realized: no matter how many more minutes or hours or days I stole—it’d never be enough. Not ever.
“Can I have one last kiss, love?” I blurted. My pride was completely stripped away.
“I thought we were done.” Her expression was inscrutable.
“We’re in limbo, halfway between home and California. This is a gray area.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” She glanced over her shoulder. “What if someone sees?”
“It’s a ghost town in here. What do you say—a bittersweet goodbye to last us the rest of our lives?”
Poppy didn’t reply for the longest time. What if she turned me away?
And then she nodded.
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her softly—nibbling at her lips, tasting them, cherishing every second. When we pulled back, tears were in both of our eyes, and neither of us spoke.
Afterward, I pushed the armrest up between our seats and wrapped an arm around her. For the next couple of hours, I held her, savoring every single touch—committing every nuance to memory.
Music played in my head. “Take Me to Church”—our song, in a way. It was mournful and poignant, which suited our relationship.
The last time you see someone is always heartbreaking, even if you aren’t aware at the moment. But I was acutely conscious of our clock ticking down. Lust is fleeting, a fire that burns out, liking someone is tepid.
But love is a tender ache that never goes away.
Chapter Sixteen
Poppy
I felt like crap.
As soon as the plane landed, Sebastian kissed my forehead and took off. I couldn’t stop crying. Sebastian cared for me—I wasn’t blind. But whatever he felt for me wasn’t enough to persuade him to stay.
I was mentally and physically exhausted from ending my relationship with Sebastian in the worst way possible.
Why hadn’t I finished this a month ago? Drawing it out had only intensified the pain. I realized I’d been waiting for Sebastian to wake up and figure out what a huge mistake he’d made, but it hadn’t happened.
And now I had to carry on with my life, which meant no more secrets.
I hadn’t told my mother about the baby yet. I kept putting it off. Once I talked to her, this path would be set in stone.
For the longest time, I couldn’t find the will to get up. I sat there sniffling, wiping at my eyes until the stewardess ushered me out of my seat.
After I had gone to the restroom for the hundredth time, because I peed once an hour now, I turned my cell phone on. It beeped madly like a hail of machine-gun fire as texts, tweet alerts, and Facebook pings lit up my phone.
“What the hell?” It was barely six in the morning, and I shouldn’t have this many messages.
A terrible, twisted feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
Oh no.
What if someone had seen us?
Sebastian and I held hands, maybe kissed a couple of times, but the plane was nearly empty. We were dressed in scrubby clothes, and we’d used aliases.
With a trembling fingertip, I dialed my voicemail.
Kate’s breathless voice came on the line. “Poppy, you’re breaking the internet! #SebastianSnogsStepdaughter is trending on Twitter. Call me—we have to talk.”
Feeling sick, I hung up, then clicked one of the Facebook links.
My eyes just about popped out of my head.
The page led to a grainy picture posted on a celebrity gossip site—Sebastian and I had our mouths pressed together, and we certainly didn’t look like a stepfather and stepdaughter.
Not only had the American tabloids gotten hold of the story, but the British ones had joined in the fun, since Sebastian was one of their own.
The headline was damning: Sebastian Cross Having an Affair with His Own Stepdaughter.
Oh, God. This was my nightmare made a reality.
***
When I scraped together the courage to leave the terminal, I had to dodge photographers who were lying in wait for me. Flashes went off in my face, and a slew of humiliating questions were shouted at me.
“How long have you been dating your own stepfather?”
“Is Sebastian good in bed?”
“Does your mother know you’ve been sleeping with her husband, Poppy?”
Ignoring them, I hopped into a cab and pulled my hoodie up to cover my face. Although it didn’t do any good. They snapped my picture anyway. The paparazzi followed me all the way back to my mother’s apartment.
When I finally got to her place, I heaved a sigh of relief. The reporters following me couldn’t come inside because her building was private property.
But as the elevator ascended, my relief evaporated.
There was no way she hadn’t heard about what I’d done. I kicked myself, wishing I’d confessed everything sooner.
Upstairs, I found Bettie sitting on the couch, watching the news. Since this was the most scandalous story of the day, the photographs were playing on a continuous loop. Apparently, one of the flight attendants had sold us out. I couldn’t even blame her; we were the ones stupid enough to kiss in public. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how to behave.
“Rough day?” Bettie switched the show off. Her face was neutral, so I didn’t know what I was dealing with—anger or betrayal. Either was an appropriate response.
No point in prolonging this.
“Before you say anything, let me explain. Sebastian and I…we…” I stopped.
Was there a sensible explanation I could give her? Other than “this is what I wanted to do, and while I knew it was a terrible idea, I did it anyway.” Not only had I put my reputation in jeopardy, but I’d also harmed hers.
“On second thought, never mind. Since you obviously know what’s going on, I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
I braced myself. “Let me have it—I deserve anything you want to say to me.”
“All I want to say is…” She paused to smile. “Congratulations on finally having some fun.”
Bettie should be giving me a Darcy-style lecture. I gaped, not believing my own ears. Maybe I was asleep on the plane, and this was some sort of nightmare.
“I must’ve misheard you. It almost sounded like you said—”
“Congrats? Because I did.” She placed her hands on her hips. “So this is your secret, huh?”
I nodded.
“Frankly, I’m relieved.”
“You are?” Even she couldn’t be this cool.
“For the past few weeks, I’ve imagined all kinds of scenarios—you were diagnosed with cancer, and you’ve got three months to live, or you got kicked out of Columbia, and won’t be graduating.”
I bit my lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
She hugged me. “You have a thing for Sebastian, huh?”
Had a thing. “Yeah. So, wait, just so we’re clear—you’re not mad at me?”
Her brow furrowed. “No judgment, sweetie. You’re only young once.”
“But Sebastian’s your husband.” I said it like she’d forgotten the marriage ceremony.
“Soon to be ex-husband, and I married him for publicity purposes. Frankly, I’m more concerned you joined the mile-high club.” She sniffed. “It’s a bit tacky.”
A wave of relief rolled through me, and I nearly fell to my knees. I felt like I’d just lost fifty pounds in a second.
Pfft. I should’ve known better—nothing about Bettie was conventional.
She winked. “So tell me more. Does he have a big…?”
“We’re not going there.” Bettie was more like a sister than a mother, but this was a bridge too far.
Bettie laughed. “Fine, but my sex life’s an open book—anything you want to know, just ask.”
&
nbsp; I didn’t need any of those mental images.
“Thanks, but no thanks. What about the contract you signed with Sebastian?”
“We’ll get to that in a moment. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘any publicity is good publicity’?”
“Yeah…”
“Come here, sit down.” She patted the sofa, and I collapsed onto it beside her. “I’ve had the best morning.”
“You have?” At least one of us was.
“The part on Split’s officially mine—I signed the paperwork this morning.” There was a satisfied gleam in her eyes.
“That’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you.” Bettie always came out on top of any situation.
“Thanks. My agent said all the morning talk shows called to book me for an appearance. Apparently, my social media accounts are blowing up, too. I got ten thousand new Twitter followers.” She handed me her cell so I could see the follower count.
“Wow.” I was dumbstruck. Every time I refreshed, the numbers climbed higher.
“And that brings me to Lovesick.”
I braced for impact once more.
“Well, the producers called. Their website crashed an hour ago because of so much web traffic. They want to do a reunion show—with you, me, and Sebastian. It’ll be a ratings smash. What do you say?”
“Um, I’ll have to think about it.” No, not ever. Not in a million years.
“So see? I can’t be mad. This controversy is going to fantastic for my career. After all, I’m the wronged woman—according to the public, anyway.” Her smile faltered. “Although I am concerned for you. How’re you holding up?”
“I’m okay, I guess.” It hadn’t really sunk in it. “Although people think I’m a homewrecker.”
“Pop, don’t stress. It’s going to be okay. It’ll blow over before you know it. Soon, another scandal will come along, and the press will forget all about you.”
“Good.”
“In the meantime, my agent’s working with Sebastian’s rep. He’s going to put out a statement, apologizing for the incident.”
I put my head in my hands. “Do you think it’ll hurt his career?”
She shook her head. “You know how sexism goes—men are considered studs for this kind of behavior. I had the publicist draft a supportive statement—after all, it’s so 1950s to blame the ‘other woman.’ You’re my daughter, and you’ll always have my support.” She squeezed my hand.
Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2) Page 11