Page 170 of Mexico Can Choke On It
Sebastian cradles his cup. “I am aware of my many gifts. However, who has time for such pursuits when the fashion-challenged require constant saving?”
He pauses, studying me with his sharp little eyes. “I find myself in the rather unprecedented position of needing to say, I’m sorr—sarcastically aware that I may not have been fair to you.”
“Wait. Are you trying to say you’re sorry?”
“No. I’m Sebastian Bellini. I’m saying… I acknowledge your greatness while reminding you that I am the sun.”
“Oh, thank God. For a second, I thought I’d entered an alternate dimension.”
“Do not make this more insufferable than it already is,” he huffs. “I’ve been especially hard on you because you strutted into my space with confidence and zero regard for my reputation. Your arrogance and style were… irritatingly difficult to comprehend.”
“So I annoyed you into respecting me?”
“Precisely. The sassier you got, the more curious I became. I thought,this one… this little barracuda might be bold enough to swim with the sharks.And then there was Mr. Sterling. The way his eyes were glued on you. It was like watching a duke fall in love with a flamethrower.”
“He doesn’t love me, Sebastian. I don’t belong in his world.”
“Ridiculous! Was not a single syllable of my incredibly moving personal story absorbed? I just told you—passionately, I might add—that belonging isn’t somethingtheydecide. They don’t get to define your worth.Youdo. Always. And if that handsome man is the one, then for the love of Prada, don’t let anyone stop you.”
“I appreciate the pep talk, I really do. But Bryce made his choice, and it’s not me.”
He rises with signature grace, collecting our cups as he moves to the counter.
“Such a pity. You two were radiant together. And might I add, you’ve created quite the sensation—I have acquired several new clients thanks to your dramatic transformation!C’est la vie!Looks like I’ll be riding the wave of your new sister-in-law’s scandal instead.”
“What scandal?”
“The Whitfield family’s spectacular implosion, naturally. What else could I mean?”
“What the hell are you saying? And don’t give me some cryptic fashion metaphor, or I’ll Photoshop Crocs onto every one of your clients and run a paid ad targeting the staff atVogue.
His face twitches, then illuminates with delight.
“THERE she is! My spicy little honey badger.”
“Sebastian!”
“Rumor is, they’re bankrupt. I had an inkling, of course. Their account has been delinquent for nearly two years, but one doesn’t discuss such vulgarities. Mr. Whitfield borrowed beyond his means to keep up appearances. The estates, the properties, even the jewelry—it’s all about to be seized. And according to my sources, he’s looking at prison time. So naturally, he’s fled the country.”
The floor dissolves beneath my feet.Oh fuck.
Fiona’s card being declined. Her desperation. The rush to move up the wedding.
It all makes sense.
“My brother has no fucking clue! Fiona convinced him to marry her without a prenup. She’s gonna take everything he has.”
He gasps. “No. Not that magnificent, symmetrical specimen! He’s one of my most lucrative clients.”
“Glad your screwed-up priorities are consistent.”
My mind’s doing cartwheels. I need to call my brother, but my phone is fish food, and he’s still furious with me. Plus, this isn’t a convo you have through a screen.
“I need to sneak into that wedding and get five minutes alone with him.” I swallow hard. “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
I take a deep breath, like I’m about to jump off a cliff.
“Sebastian… will you style me?”
