Page 75 of Mistletoe and Mayday
A bitter laugh rips from my throat. “Am I sure? Am I sure that his dick was in her pussy?” My voice rises with each word. “Yes, Father, I’m quite fucking sure.”
Mother’s hand flies to her pearl necklace, clutching it like a lifeline as her face drains of color. “Sebastian! There is no need for such...such language at this table!”
“I apologize if my vulgar description of being cheated on offends your sensibilities, Mother.” The sarcasm feels strange on my tongue but somehow right, like slipping into clothes I’ve always owned but never worn. “Perhaps I should describeit in terms of a corporate merger gone wrong? Would that make it more palatable?”
Father clears his throat, pivoting to problem-solving mode. “These things happen, Son. Loneliness can drive people to...lapses in judgment. Rebecca’s been under tremendous pressure with her conservation work.”
“Conservation work.” I take a long sip of wine, letting it burn down my throat. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Sebastian.” Father’s tone shifts to the one he uses in boardrooms when he needs to reassert control. “People make mistakes. People work through them.”
Mother nods, already recalculating her social calendar. “Your father’s right. You should talk to her, clear things up. Perhaps over lunch at the club, where it’s private but public enough to discourage any...emotional outbursts.”
“There’s nothing to clear.” I set down my wine glass with deliberate control. “I’m not proposing to Rebecca.”
A fork clatters against fine china—Mother’s, I think—though I’m too focused on the strange calm flowing through me to check.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian. Of course you are.” Father’s voice carries that familiar tone—the one that’s closed billion-dollar deals and crushed competitors. The one that expects immediate compliance because a Lockhart always knows what’s best.
“This isn’t up for discussion.” My voice remains steady despite the storm building in my chest. “Rebecca and I are done.”
“Sebastian,” Mother’s fingers tighten around her pearls like they might somehow anchor her to sanity, “you can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“Sebastian, be reasonable.” She reaches for her water glass, her hand trembling. “I’ve already told half the Ladies’ Auxiliary about your upcoming engagement.”
“Then untell them.” I take another sip of wine, relishing the burn.
“Untell them?” She sputters like I’ve suggested she run naked through the country club. “One doesn’t simply ‘untell’ these things.”
Father shifts in his chair, leaning forward with his negotiation posture—elbows on the table, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed. “Son, the Wards are expecting an announcement. They’re hosting a party next week, and they’ve hinted rather strongly that they’re anticipating good news.”
“Not my problem.”
Mother sets down her glass with a sharp clink. “Not your problem? Rebecca’s parents are our oldest friends. We spend summer together in the Hamptons. We sit on the same boards. Your father and Richard have been golfing partners for twenty years.”
“Again, not my problem that you’ve been planning my engagement without my consent.”
“Without your consent?” Mother’s laugh shatters like thin ice. “Don’t be dramatic, Sebastian. You’ve been dating Rebecca for years. You asked for the family ring. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I thought I’d propose to a woman who wasn’t sleeping with someone else.”
Mother waves this away like an annoying fly at one of her garden luncheons. “As your father said, people make mistakes.”
“And as I said, we’re done.” I cut another piece of steak I have no intention of eating, finding strange peace in the precise motion of knife againstplate.
“I’ve already spoken with the club,” Mother continues, desperation cracking her perfect composure. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to secure a Saturday in June? They had to move the Hendersons’ anniversary to accommodate us.”
Father nods. “The deposit alone was substantial.”
The strange calm deepens inside me. Each breath feels clearer than the last, as if I’ve been living in fog my entire life. Bailey’s voice echoes in my head: “Wow, they planned your whole life without consulting the main character, huh?”
I set down my utensils, the silver clattering against china. “You put down a deposit? For my wedding? Without asking me?”
Mother looks genuinely puzzled, as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “We had to move fast. You know how these things work. Prime dates book up years in advance.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”
