Page 77 of Mistletoe and Mayday
I push my chair back from the table, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor. Mother winces at the sound.
“Do you know what Bailey did when we were attacked by wolves?” I look between them, not expecting an answer. “She threw her favorite snow globe. Her Las Vegas one. She said it was her lucky charm—never flew without it. And she threw it to save me.”
“How...resourceful,” Mother manages, clearly struggling to find something polite to say about the woman she sees as a threat to everything she’s built.
“No, Mother. It wasn’t resourceful. It was a sacrifice. It was important to her. I was more.” I run my finger along the edge of the crystal water glass. “When’s the last time anyone in this room sacrificed something they truly valued? Not for appearances, not for business, not for social standing—just because someone else mattered more?”
Father adjusts his cufflinks—platinum, monogrammed, a gift from some business partner whose name he probably can’t even remember. “Sebastian, this entire conversation is becoming melodramatic. We’re simply trying to guide you back to the path that makes sense.”
“The path that makes sense.” I taste the words like sampling a wine I’ve suddenly realized is vinegar. “You mean the path where I marry a woman who cheated on me because it’s convenient for business? Where I pretend to be happy in a relationship that’s as artificial as Mother’s flower arrangements?”
Mother gasps again, pressing a hand to her chest. “The finest florist in Chicago does myarrangements.”
“Exactly my point. They’re perfect. They’re expensive. And they’re completely soulless.”
Father’s expression hardens. “That’s enough, Sebastian.”
“No, it’s not enough. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” I stand up, tossing my napkin onto the barely touched meal. “For years, I’ve played by the rules. Perfect grades. Perfect university. Perfect job at the family company. Perfect relationship with the perfect society girlfriend. And what did it get me? A woman who cheated, parents who plan my wedding without asking me, and a life so empty I didn’t even realize what was missing until?—”
“Until some pilot with questionable social skills showed you the light?” Father’s voice drips with sarcasm.
“Yes.” The simplicity of it strikes me like a revelation. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”
I can almost hear Bailey’s voice in my ear. Now’s the dramatic exit part, Sebastian. Make it good. Knock over a chair for emphasis.
My chest heaves with emotions. I’m different now—broken open and somehow more whole than I’ve ever been.
“I love her.” The words feel like freedom. “I love every annoying, inappropriate, honest part of her. I love her snow globes and her stories and the way she calls me on my bullshit. I love how she doesn’t fit in our world because our world isn’t worth fitting into.”
Mother sinks back into her chair, ashen-faced. Father stands rigid, knuckles white against the table edge.
“I need to go,” I announce, my voice steady with the certainty of someone who’s found true north after years of following a broken compass.
“Go?” Mother’s voice cracks. “Go where? It’s nearly nine o’clock.”
“To find Bailey.” I’m already moving toward the door, pulled by something stronger than gravity. “To tell her I love her before it’s too late.”
“Sebastian, be reasonable. It’s late. You’re emotional.” Mother employs the tone she uses to talk people off social ledges. “Decide in the morning, after you’ve had time to think clearly.”
“I’ve never thought more clearly in my life.”
Mother stands. “At least wait until tomorrow. Sleep on it. Important decisions require?—”
“Planning?” I cut her off, the word sharp as a blade. “Schedules? Perfect timing? That’s exactly what I’m trying to escape.”
I pull out my phone and dial the office. James answers on the second ring.
“Mr. Lockhart, good evening. What can I?—”
“I need Bailey Monroe’s contact information.”
“The pilot?” His fingers are already clicking on his keyboard. “I believe we have it on file from the incident report, but, Sir, it’s rather late to?—”
“Now, James.”
Twenty-Three
SEBASTIAN
