MERRROW!
Sir Kipling might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water on her head, since the effect was practically the same. Cold shock shot through her and she pushed against Sebastian’s heavy form, trying to scramble away—though a part of her longed to stay there forever.
For a moment, he didn’t budge, just tightened his grip and pressed closer—which sent a spike of panic right through her. But even as her fear registered, Sebastian abruptly sat up, and cool air washed over her flaming skin.
“I guess that’s what we get for being on the couch. Come on, let’s go to the bedroom where we won’t be disturbed.” He stood and, her hand still gripped in his, tried to pull her up with him. But Lily wouldn’t move. She just stared up at him in shock.
“I—not—w-what are you doing?”
“You said we kissed, didn’t you?” he asked, a smug smile lifting one side of his mouth.
“Y-yes, but—I—t-this isn’t—is not—proper,” Lily choked out.
Sebastian’s brows furrowed and he dropped her hand. “Oh. Apologies, then. I guess I misunderstood. I just thought—well you seemed so...” Now it was his turn to trail off into silence, and the look of hurt and disappointment on his face sent a pang of guilt through her.
“No! It’s not like that. I mean, I—I did say—that is, I did mean what I said...at the museum. I just didn’t expect things to move so...fast.” She winced at her own words, knowing Sebastian must think her an idiot. But to her astonishment, his face relaxed and he tucked his hands into his pockets.
“Of course. No worries. I’m sure you’re hungry...want me to cook you something?”
Lily’s mouth worked soundlessly. Sebastian’s offer to do anything food-related besides ordering takeout was almost as shocking as everything else that had happened.
“If—if you want, I suppose. Do you...know how to cook?” she asked, almost afraid of offending him.
“For you I do,” he said, then winked. Before she could reply, he was already around the couch and headed toward the kitchen.
She got up unsteadily and trailed after him, bewildered, flustered, and feeling like there was something she should be remembering. Sir Kipling jumped down from the couch and trotted beside her, uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps he had finally decided to take her advice and keep his comments about her love life to himself.
In the kitchen, Sebastian was bent over, head in the fridge as he rummaged through her vegetable drawer. Lily caught herself staring at his backside and blushed, then looked away. Then she looked back, brows furrowed. Was Sebastian wearing dress pants? She narrowed her eyes, examining them. If they weren’t dress pants, they were something equally as nice. Now that she was thinking about it, he also had on a collared, button-up shirt and it was tucked in. Perfectly tucked in. Not one inch of fabric was out of place, and to top it all off a brown belt circled his waist, its color matching the leather oxfords on his feet. He looked...handsome. Not that Sebastian didn’t look handsome normally. He always had a dashing air about him with his mischievous grin and twinkle in his eye—not to mention that his lean, well-proportioned body was decidedly easy on the eyes. But all dressed up like this he looked almost...stately. Professional. Competent. Powerful.
She liked it.
The moment she thought it, she felt another stab of guilt. Did liking Sebastian in this abnormally classy state mean she didn’t like him when his hair was messy and his shirt was untucked? Of course not, what a silly idea. She could like him both ways, couldn’t she? And yet, as she watched Sebastian pull things out of the fridge and set them on the counter and she admired the pleasing way his neat clothes framed his body, that shadow of guilt didn’t go away.
What was wrong with her?
More importantly, what was wrong with Sebastian? Why had he gotten all dressed up just to sit on the couch and wait for her to wake up? Or had he dressed up because she’d finally declared her love for him and he’d wanted to please her? But all of this was so...un-Sebastian-like, it made her feel off balance.
This was Sebastian how she’d always wanted him to be.
She loved it.
And it felt wrong.
The whole thing confused her into silence, so she simply sat, watching, as Sebastian made some sort of pasta dish with rigatoni and chopped chicken breast he’d found in the fridge. Whatever he added to the chicken as he stirred it in a frying pan smelled amazing. He made quick work of it, and served them up two bowls of steaming pasta topped with a creamy chicken mixture that looked divine. Lily took a tentative first bite, not sure what to expect, and actually closed her eyes and groaned in pleasure. It was so good.
“Sebastian,” she said when she’d chewed and swallowed. “You’ve been holding out on me! When did you learn to cook like this?”
Sebastian didn’t answer, just gave her one of his smug smiles and a dismissive little shrug before digging into his own dinner.
Lily tried to get Sir Kipling’s opinion on the food—he had jumped up on the third chair at the table and sat watching them silently—but he turned his head away and ignored her. Miffed, Lily went back to enjoying her dinner, letting the comfort of good food and good company soothe the unease lurking in the back of her mind.
About halfway through his bowl of pasta, Sebastian struck up a conversation about nineteenth-century literature, of all things. Lily was taken aback, but pleased that he’d actually taken the effort to brush up on something she cared about. The fact that he’d often claimed to hate reading had always bothered her, and she was relieved to find he’d obviously exaggerated his dislike, judging by how well he was holding his own as their conversation ranged from Austen to Dickens to Twain.
She was a little sad when they finally finished their meal and the conversation ended. Sebastian stood and took both their dishes to the sink, then began washing things up without her even asking. It should have bothered her more than it did—since when did Sebastian ever wash dishes except under threat of imminent pain?—but it was so nice to see him doing something responsible and helpful for a change. She left him to it while she worked on putting the food away.
Once they were done cleaning the kitchen, she stopped and stood in the middle of the room, at a loss. What was she supposed to do next? If she were at home by herself, she usually read after dinner or worked on her latest spell or crafting project, always with a mug of hot tea within easy reach.
“Hey, why don’t you go in the living room and pick out a good book to read?” Sebastian suggested, saving her from her dilemma. “I was just going to make some tea so we could relax for a while. Sound good?”
“I—yes, yes it does,” Lily said, feeling off balance again. “But...are you sure you, um, know how to make tea? The brewing time and water temperature differs depending on the leaf and some are best with milk while others—”
“Trust me, Lily, I’ve got this,” Sebastian said, shooting her a devil-may-care smile.
“Are you sure? I really don’t mind making my own tea.”
“Yup, I insist. You go and relax.”
Lily blushed, simultaneously embarrassed and pleased. This was strange. Very strange. But if he had learned how to cook somewhere, it was just as possible that he had brushed up on proper tea-brewing techniques as well. Maybe Sebastian was just trying extra hard to give her a no-hassle evening after a crazy and stressful week. Was that such a bad thing? She thought about it for a moment while Sebastian dug through her tea cupboard, and she finally decided that, no, it wasn’t bad at all. It was sweet and thoughtful and kind. All good things.
Her mind made up, she quashed the uneasy feeling in her gut as well as the urge to hover at Sebastian’s shoulder. Instead, she turned toward the living room, meaning to check her to-be-read pile to see what she felt like starting on this evening. The sight of Sir Kipling, still sitting at the kitchen table and watching her, made her stop in her tracks. It bothered her that he hadn’t spoken at all since she’d woken up. Maybe he was annoyed she was paying so much a
ttention to Sebastian—though such jealousy was unlike him. He liked Sebastian. Or maybe he was just tired, like her, and wanted to relax. Lily had a sudden need to feel his warm, purring, fluffiness, and strode over to the chair to pick him up before heading to the living room. He didn’t resist her and simply sat, solid and reassuring in her arms.
She was curled up on one corner of the couch, Sir Kipling silent on her lap, when Sebastian entered carrying a steaming mug of tea and a plate bearing a cranberry scone. From the fragrant smell of cinnamon, vanilla, and cardamom wafting over from the steaming mug, it seemed Sebastian had chosen one of her favorite bedtime drinks: a flavorful Saigon Chai that tasted divine with a dollop of honey and splash of milk. He put both the tea and scone down on the coffee table in front of the couch, then scooted the low table closer to her so they would be within easy reach. Finally, he went over to her bookshelves, briefly browsed the titles, and plucked one from its place before returning to the couch and sitting opposite her.
As soon as Sebastian sat, Sir Kipling rose and hopped off Lily’s lap without so much as a stretch. The cat turned and sat on the floor, facing the couch, and just watched her. His yellow eyes were neither wide in alarm nor hooded in feline contentment. They were just...watchful. Lily huffed in annoyance, but refused to let him ruin her evening. She raised her gaze, and her eyes were drawn to Sebastian. She indulged herself by examining him for a moment, amazed at how relaxed he seemed sitting there reading a book. As if he could feel her eyes on him, he looked up to see her watching him. Instead of commenting or teasing her, though, he just gave her a half smile, amusement tucked into the corners of his eyes, then went back to reading.
What in the world? The moment felt absolutely surreal, and yet utterly perfect at the same time. Here she was, quietly reading in the company of her best friend—and, she’d finally admitted to herself, first love—with hot tea and a purring cat. Okay, so the cat wasn’t cooperating this time, but he was usually there in her lap. She couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening. Everything was as quiet and relaxed as her inner introvert could want. She didn’t have to talk to anyone, or even get up to make another cup of tea when she needed it. Because she knew Sebastian would, if she asked. Somehow, she knew he would do whatever she asked, even leave, if she’d wanted to be alone.
Lily wanted nothing more than to enjoy it all: to read her book until she was tired, then go to bed. No drama, no adventure, no responsibilities. But one thought kept distracting her, like a fly buzzing around her head.
Why?
Why was Sebastian being so nice, so...unlike himself? Why was he giving her everything she’d ever wanted?
Well, to please her, obviously. Maybe he’d finally figured out that this was the best way to show his affection, instead of all the ridiculous antics he’d tried on their first few dates.
Something about the thought bothered her, but she pushed it away. She deserved this. She deserved to be happy, deserved to finally have something go right. She wouldn’t let her stupid, overly critical brain ruin it all.
Determined, she got back to her book, already well into the first chapter of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. It was a famous classic that she’d always wanted to read, but had never quite been brave enough to commit to—it was over eight hundred pages of tightly packed text. She’d read his War and Peace during college, and though she’d appreciated the masterpiece as a whole, the long slog through it had left her hesitant to dive into another of Tolstoy’s heavy, complicated, and often tragic stories.
She tried to concentrate on her book, she really did. But every few pages she couldn’t help but glance up at Sebastian. His attention, by contrast, remained completely absorbed in his book. After a while, she mostly gave up reading and just stared at him over the top of her giant tome. This wasn’t right—at least not for him. She appreciated what he was doing, but she didn’t want him to have to endure something he hated—quiet, unexciting inactivity—just to make her happy. And yet, he didn’t look like he hated what he was doing. He looked perfectly content, actually.
He was happy, she was happy, so what was the matter? Why couldn’t she just appreciate the good fortune that had fallen into her lap?
Lily shifted her gaze to Sir Kipling, who was still sitting on the floor, staring at her. Waiting. She wanted to ask him what his problem was, wanted to ask him what was wrong with Sebastian. But she felt embarrassed to do it in front of her friend. What if he got offended or thought Lily didn’t appreciate what he was doing?
And yet, Sir Kipling kept watching. It was so unlike him. He was usually all over Sebastian, purring and begging to be pet. He loved Sebastian. So why was he acting so weird? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Sebastian to be acting weird, but Sir Kipling was predictable—at least when it came to pettings, salmon, and naps. He wasn’t one of those moody cats who rubbed all over you one moment and tried to murder you the next.
And she trusted Sir Kipling. Trusted his judgment.
Why he hadn’t said anything yet, she didn’t know. It was almost like he was waiting for her to come to her own conclusion. Like this was a decision she had to make by herself, even though he stood faithfully by as her silent guardian.
“Look, you can stop pretending, okay?” Lily bit her lip, not realizing she’d decided to speak until she had already done it.
Sebastian looked up, eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”
“You can stop pretending to enjoy yourself. It’s okay, I know you don’t really like sitting around reading. You don’t have to pretend to enjoy it to make me happy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lily,” Sebastian said, a little chuckle in his voice. “I am enjoying myself. I always enjoy myself when I’m around you, no matter what we’re doing.”
“Uhhh, no you don’t. The last time we tried to have a quiet, relaxing date, you almost went stir-crazy. Seriously, I can just stay here and read if you want to go do something more fun. It’s okay. I promise.”
But Sebastian was shaking his head before she’d even finished talking. “You’re wrong. Making you happy makes me happy.” He put down his book and scooted closer to her on the couch, then laid a hand gently on one of her legs as he stared deep into her eyes. “All I want is for you to be happy. Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Y-yes?” Lily said, feeling the urge to shrink away from his touch even as she longed to lean into it. Her breath quickened and she felt trapped—and not entirely certain she wanted to get away. She looked at Sir Kipling, desperate for something, anything. Advice, criticism, encouragement. To her immense relief, he did not leave her wanting.
“You know what I would say. Live by my words.”
Her cat’s advice was stereotypically cryptic, and there was something wrong with his voice. It sounded deeper and somehow more resonant. But then, who knew what determined how her brain translated his meows to English—maybe his tone of voice was just her imagination. Whatever the case, his admonishment did exactly what she’d needed, and as she looked back at Sebastian, his question still hanging between them, she remembered another conversation about happiness—it seemed like weeks ago, but it had only been a few days.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about humans, it’s that life is never perfect, and the sooner you stop trying to make it that way, the sooner you’ll be happy.”
“But—”
“No buts. Now that you’ve finally had the sense to ask for my advice, you should at least close your mouth and listen to it.”
“Yes, I want to be happy,” Lily repeated after a deep breath. She knew what to do. She’d known it all along, yet hadn’t wanted to admit it. “But what I want more is for you to be...yourself. Life is never perfect, and I’ll be happier knowing you’re being the most you that you can be, instead of trying to be what you think makes me happy.”
Sebastian’s brow furrowed. “I...I don’t understand.”
“This,” Lily said, reaching out and grasping Sebastian’s hand, “this isn’t you. Thi
s isn’t Sebastian.” Even as she said it, she realized it was true—much more true than she’d thought. She leaned forward slightly, examining his face…
His eyes were wrong. They were beautiful—breathtakingly so—but they lacked the warm depth and joyful sparkle that had always drawn her to him. Everything else was perfect, but his eyes…
Even as her suspicion and unease grew, something dark flickered in those eyes.
Lily jerked her hand back and shrank away, every instinct suddenly screaming at her to run. But Sebastian—no, the thing wearing Sebastian’s face—loomed over her and trapped her on the couch.
“Who are you?” Lily whispered, too terrified to move.
The thing smiled, a deep, wide smile that most definitely reached its eyes, but in all the wrong ways. “Your deepest desires.”
“No.” Her objection was barely a puff of air that died even as it left her lips. The sheer weight of power that emanated from him like a heatwave flattened her to the couch. She couldn’t move, couldn’t defend herself.
And then Sir Kipling was there, hissing, yowling, and scratching with the fury of the most rabid guard dog you could imagine. Her cat tore into the back of the thing’s neck, mauling cloth and flesh alike. The imposter reared back and an unholy screech ripped from its throat as it flailed and finally threw Sir Kipling off. The feline executed a near impossible feat of aerial acrobatics and managed to land on the couch between the thing and her. But even as the cat crouched and hissed in warning, Lily felt the reality around her waver. Somewhere far off she heard voices, but they were muffled as though the sound were traveling through a thick barrier.
“I told you it wouldn’t work, Your Majesty. My daughter is infuriatingly uncooperative.”
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity Page 19