I barely recognize myself in the mirror. Cum streaks my torso, and my hair is a mess. Swollen lips, red marks on my skin… Are they hickeys? Oh yes, they are. My face is still flushed from half a dozen orgasms that nearly broke my mind.
I look…debauched. It’s a word I never thought to associate with myself. Men simply don’t do this to me. I don’t let men do this to me.
But with Sebastian, I not only let him, I begged him for it.
And to be honest, I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to do it again after I get some food in my belly, despite a little soreness between my legs. What happened to the nice, staid Lucienne?
Still in shock, I step into the shower and turn on the spray. Hot water drenches me instantly, washing away most of the evidence of our time together.
The thing is, he makes me feel safe. I adore the way he looked at me, like I’m somebody deserving of loving attention. I can’t remember the last time a man did that.
Actually, I don’t think anybody’s ever done that. I only mattered when I served a purpose—as the heiress my mom created to placate her father, the would-be CEO who strived to meet my grandfather’s standards, the daughter who could give Roderick and his other children what they wanted, the fiancée who could further a man’s career and ambitions.
Sebastian was sweet just because. He was playful in the car just because. He gave me orgasms just because. He looked at me with such warmth in his gaze just because.
There was no expectation that I do something to earn any of that from him.
It’s exciting and confusing. Scary, even.
Does he have feelings for me? Maybe he actually likes me?
He said he’s in love with Gabriella, but maybe she dumped him for good when he said he was marrying me. So he could be on the rebound, but… Is it so bad to savor a little affectionate treatment?
I dry my hair and put on a T-shirt and shorts, then go downstairs. Sebastian is leaning against the kitchen island, checking something on his phone. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and black shorts. The fact that I know how strong and gorgeous his body is underneath the simple clothes heats my blood.
He lifts his head and shoots me a brilliant smile. My mind goes blank, like a girl lost in the presence of her first major crush. Good Lord, why don’t you giggle and blush while you’re at it?
“Ready for tacos?” he asks.
“Yes.” I’m glad he gave me a simple yes-no question. I’m beyond forming a complex response that’s going to flow logically, not when my emotions are all over the place.
Sebastian drives us. The car’s quiet except for some soft rock he puts on. The surface of my skin seems to crackle in the confines of the Rolls-Royce. Normally, I might try to fill the silence with some polite small talk, but not with him. It’s so peaceful without any words to break the quiet. I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve been with somebody without feeling a need to say something. Even with Bianca, I’m constantly talking.
He pulls into a Manny’s Tacos near my place. It’s after the lunch rush, so the place is more or less empty. The scent of sizzling meat, veggies and warm tortillas lingers in the air. The speakers fill the place with upbeat Mexican music.
The hostess shows us to a table, and I order a margarita. Manny’s has amazing margaritas—cold and strong. Since we’re starving, we also order our entrées without looking at the menu—beef burritos and Coke for Sebastian, and fish tacos with extra guacamole for me.
We dig into chips and salsa. “Okay, spill. Tell me how you almost ended up with the name Tacos,” I ask after taking my first few bites.
He laughs, then shakes his head. “I don’t know if you know this about my dad, but he has seven sons.”
“Seven? That’s a lot.”
“Yeah. And we were all born within four months of each other.”
“What’d your father have, a harem?” I’ve heard of some bizarre stories about Hollywood, but this is really out there.
“Not exactly. But a lot of girlfriends and a vasectomy fail. It was ridiculous.”
“Wow. I can’t imagine. I guess he wasn’t ready for children.”
“Or anything that didn’t fit his lifestyle.”
Sebastian’s judgmental tone doesn’t lessen my empathy for Ted. “But seven kids! I don’t know what I would’ve done in his situation.”
Sebastian shrugs. “What could he have done?”
“You’re right. He’d already made seven babies. I guess prevention was the key here. Anyway, so…the tacos thing…?”
Our server brings out food and drinks. As soon as he’s gone, I look at Sebastian expectantly while biting into my taco.
“My dad isn’t the greatest with names, and he couldn’t be bothered to remember the names of seven kids, so he named us after our moms. Except me. I’m named after the company my mom’s family founded. But to make my case worse, when my mom had me, he stopped by for some reason.” Sebastian makes a face, then chomps down on his food with more force than necessary.
“Why was that so bad?”
“Because while his assistant was listening for what name my dad would give me, Dad said, ‘Sebastian’…then he saw taco wrappings and said, ‘Tacos.’ And the assistant, being the idiot that he was, told the nurse who was filling out my birth certificate that my name was to be Sebastian Tacos Lasker.”
I cover my mouth with a hand, nearly choking on my margarita. “Oh my God.”
“Thankfully, my grandmother caught it and lost her temper. She said no grandson of hers would be named Tacos, and Dad realized what happened. Apparently, he laughed and said, ‘Good thing she wasn’t having sushi. He could’ve been Sebastian Unagi Lasker.’” Sebastian rolls his eyes.
“That’s kind of cute,” I say with a smile.
He looks at me. “Cute? You think that’s cute?”
“He was probably just overcome. At least he made an effort.” My tone grows wistful.
“An effort to be a nuisance.” He sniffs. “I bet your parents didn’t try to name you after food wrappings.”
“Yeah, because they didn’t name me at all.” I flash him a pat smile to let him know it isn’t a big deal, even though thinking about it stings. “My grandfather had already picked it out. Lucien Francis Caesar Peery.”
“That’s a boy’s name,” Sebastian says with a frown.
“Uh-huh. And apparently he was just, like, despondent that I was born a girl. And never tried to hide it.” I smile to cover my sadness. The emotional wound he inflicted stayed even after his death.
“What a jerk,” Sebastian mutters. “Your parents didn’t find out if you were a boy or a girl beforehand?”
“They did, but he kept hoping the doctors had made a mistake.” I pull my lips in briefly, then shrug. It’s one of an endless string of awkward stories of my life. “They wanted me to be certain things. It bothered them—and continues to bother them—that I’m not.”
“Like what? A boy?”
I nod. “I would’ve been a perfect Peery, the ideal heir to my grandfather.” I’m slightly uncomfortable that I’m revealing so much. As a rule, I don’t talk about my grandfather or parents with others. The only person who knows everything is Bianca, who grew up with me—and probably Matthias, who also watched me grow up. But in the face of Sebastian’s tender sympathy, my filter’s not working, and the words have poured out.
“That’s ridiculous,” he says with disgust. “You’re fine the way you are.”
“But am I? A lot of my friendships failed too. Sometimes I wonder if Bianca is disappointed with me for not being better.” Okay, I need to shut up. I’m not sure exactly why I shared that detail about her because… Well, it’s something that has fleeted through my mind from time to time, but I never wanted to voice it in case it was true. There are many times I feel like I could’ve been a better friend to her, who’s done so much to defend me against my family.
“Who’s Bianca?”
“My best friend and assistant.” I’m glad he isn’t asking about the specifics of her possible disappointment with me. “You’ll meet her at the party next Saturday.”
“If she’s a real friend, she won’t expect you to change for her. Like I said, you’re fine the way you are.” His voice is gentle, but firm.
“You sure?” I know I’m fishing for reassurance. He’s been so nice to me for no particular reason, and maybe I need him to tell me I’m not too bad.
“You work hard. You’re disciplined. You’re fun to hang out with.”
I laugh, flattered but also a little sad because I feel like they’re empty words.
“I’m serious,” he says. “You show up. You spent years learning to master the skills on the court, which lazy and undisciplined people can’t. I know because I’ve done it. You have a mischievous sense of humor. You don’t back down from a challenge, and you understand me without my having to spell everything out.” He stops abruptly.
“What?”
He blinks, then looks at me like he almost doesn’t recognize me. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Pretty sure there was something.”
“It’s just…none of the articles about you mentioned any of that.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, then take a sip of my margarita. “The tabloids don’t like me very much.”
He shakes his head. “They’re idiots.”
Others who know about my situation with the paparazzi have almost always said, “What have you done to get them to hate you?” like it was my fault. Sebastian instantly blaming the media for the unjust treatment I’ve suffered loosens a knot that’s been lodged in my chest for a long time. And, for once, I can breathe easy.
He reaches out and pats my hand. The motion feels like a knock on the gate to my heart. And I can feel it crack open, allowing him to slip inside a little.
That night, when he shows up at my door with a pillow and a tray of magnolia tea to “help me sleep,” I laugh and let him in. When he wraps around me in bed like a shield, I clasp him in return, and we do things other than sleep for hours.
On Sunday we have a leisurely brunch and watch John Wick—Sebastian’s choice—and True Lies—mine—in the home theater, sharing a huge tub of caramel popcorn. Our fingers keep brushing as we reach for the snack, and we miss the climax where Arnold Schwarzenegger shoots all the bad guys with his Harrier.
Our time is scarily normal, almost as if there were no contract. Something is shifting between us. And I want to see what happens from here—how far it can go.
