“Yeah, let’s do it,” I tell him, even though the idea terrifies me. He must sense it, because he kisses me on the forehead and tells me to meet him at the car once I’ve grabbed my stuff. Life put Sebastian Wilcox in my path, and there’s no way to avoid introducing him to my family.
I just hope that everyone can survive.
25
Sebastian
If I had to picture a scenario of me taking Sugar—or any girl—home, it would not have been to the soundtrack of a howling cat about to give birth.
“Holy shit,” Sugar says, peering into the crate, “Abby really does not like being in this thing. Is it much further?”
“Nah, we’re almost there.” The ice is coming down harder now, the tiny pellets bouncing off Jasmine’s windshield. I’m as confident as anyone can get about driving, but I’m still tense and anxious. Maybe it’s the fact I’m carrying precious cargo that makes my hands clench, white-knuckled around the steering wheel. After we pass two accidents, I’m ready to get off this fucking hellscape of a road.
It feels like it takes forever for the stone pillars marking the entry of my driveway to finally come into view. I turn in, following the long path toward the house, and can’t help but sneak a quick peek at Sugar, trying to anticipate her reaction. Sugar knows enough about me and my family’s financial status to expect a nice house. But exactly how nice is relative.
Even I’m aware that our house isn’t only big. It could almost be qualified as a fucking compound. We could house a cult in here and no one would be the wiser. Any other girl would be impressed as hell, would probably want to jump straight on my dick when they realize just how loaded I am, but Sugar? She may decide we should go back and stay in that shitty motel off route 64 instead of accepting the reality of my family’s wealth.
I’m already anticipating some pushback about the Mustang. Probably a lot of pushback. Maybe even more of like a shoveback. I’d planned for it to be done by now, and it mostly is. Mechanically, it’s completely solid, all rebuilt. I even took a chance and replaced the sound system, all by myself—new wiring and all. I sent the dash façade off to a guy in Nebraska, the best of the best for restoring those things, and paid someone from out in Thistle Cove to re-do all the flooring. But this cold weather has made painting the exterior impossible. I just need a few warmer days and I’ll have that Mustang looking shiny and new again. I’ve been excited about it for days now, having gotten the seats back from the upholsterer yesterday. My grand plan is that it’ll look so perfect, so fucking amazing, that maybe my girl will only be a little bit pissed when she finally finds out I’m the one who restored it.
Hey, a guy can dream, can't he?
I pass the old course greens and the little entry gate, seeing her look out at the various buildings we pass. Most of them are guest quarters. My dad likes to entertain here on a regular basis. There’s a cottage tucked against the tree line behind the house he just refurbished and expanded last year. For all that my dad is gone most of the time, he fucking loves this place, dolls it up whenever he gets the chance, like the biggest jewel in his crown.
I feel her go very still next to me when the main house comes into view. I risk taking her hand to squeeze it, wanting to remind her that she’s here with me—and that one simple fact means she belongs.
I pull the car around the looping drive and stop right in front of the house. I peer up at it through the window. “Home sweet home.”
“This is your house.” Her hand clutches the handle on the top of the crate. “Not one of the ones back there?” She looks over her shoulder, back at the buildings we passed on the way up. When she meets my gaze again, seeing the look on my face, she pales. “No. You’re kidding me.”
I sigh. “There are eight buildings on the property—although I suspect my dad is planning to build again. Some people buy a car when they get a mid-life crisis, but my dad calls a contractor.”
She gapes back at me. “I thought you lived in a gated community with a country club or something. I didn’t realize the country club is the house.”
“Used to be, anyway.” I lean over and capture her lips in what I hope is a reassuring kiss. She still looks gobsmacked when I pull back. “Fair warning; it comes with all the trappings. Gourmet kitchens, a theater, three pools, luxurious bathrooms with double-headed showers, my troubled mother, and a cranky German head of staff who keeps the whole place afloat.”
She looks at the house again, then back at me. “What about your dad?”
I wave a hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s a weekday, which means he’s up in New York, slaying dragons and stealing gold on Wallstreet or whatever the fuck he does up there. He only really stays here on the weekend.” I don’t mention that Heston is back at school, and thank fucking god, because if he weren’t, we would be staying at that shitty motel on the highway. She still looks at the house and me uneasily, like the second we step inside, everything changes. I reach out to give her dog tags a gentle tug, showing her that we’re still us. “It’s just a house, Sugar. It may be all pretty and intimidating on the outside, but the inside is nothing to be afraid of. Just like me.” I wink and she pulls a face.
“Gross. You never stop, do you?”
“Nope. Never.”
I hop out of the car, slip-sliding on the icy driveway, running around to open the door and take the crate from her. While ice spits on our face, I carry the crate in one hand and take Sugar’s hand in the other, carefully guiding her up the front steps, already sprinkled with salt.
Liesel has the door open before I can reach for the knob, her thick accent calling out, “Sebastian! Oh, goodness! You’re soaked.” Her eyes dart to Sugar, down to our clasped hands, over to the howling crate, and then back to Sugar again. A million questions cross her face, but she straightens her shoulders and says, “Come inside and get out of the ice.”
We step inside and Liesel fusses over our wet shoes, sternly directing us to take them off. I shuck off my coat, take Sugar’s from her, and see Liesel staring into the crate.
“That mama cat is close.”
“I know,” I say, “that’s why we brought her here. Where should we put her?”
“There’s space in the garage,” she says.
“I’ll take her to my bathroom,” I declare, shutting down that train of thought now. “So she can be close to us.”
She gives me a scandalized look. “Your bathroom! But the towels!” Liesel has the biggest fucking hard-on for perfectly white towels, but I’m not sitting in the garage all night, and neither is Abby. Liesel must see the determination in my expression, because she admits a swift defeat. “I’ve got some old linens in the laundry room that you can use.”
“Thank you,” I say, noticing again that her eyes dart to Sugar. She’s gone silent next to me while her eyes bug out, taking in the tall, ridiculously grand foyer. “Er, Liesel, this is Sugar, a friend from school.”
“Oh, a friend.” Her eyebrow raises skeptically. Before she can grill me more, Abby lets out the low, deep howl of a frightened animal in pain. “Go on, then. Take her upstairs. I’ll bring up the supplies.”