Page 48 of First Comes Marriage

“Let’s make a break for it,” she hissed.

“What?”

“We could get back in your car and go. Before they come back. Dad’s probably still mixing his gin and tonic. We could get gone before—”

“Get gone?” His eyes searched the sky above her head as though he’d find the answer for how to deal with her written in the stars. “I thought you wanted to come here.”

“I didn’twantto. Ihadto.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I did. But this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

He stiffened, his jaw going tight, and he pulled his hand from hers, stuffing it into his pants pocket. “If you didn’t want me to come, you could have said something before we sat in traffic for two hours.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want you to come.”

“That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“Ididn’t want to come.”

“What are you two standing out there for?” Sabrina’s father’s voice cut through the air as he appeared in the open doorway. “Come in, come in. Can’t stand here all evening with the door open.”

Sebastian turned to her father and extended his hand as he climbed the steps. “Richard. Good to see you again, sir.”

“Baz.” Her father shook his hand, the ice in the gin and tonicclutched in his other hand rattling against the glass. His voice was several degrees colder when he turned his attention to her. “Sabrina. I expect you to apologize to your mother. Running off and getting married without so much as a note to let us know you were even engaged.” He shook his head. “Your mother was devastated.”

“It was my fault, Richard,” Sebastian said, his back ramrod straight and that muscle in his jaw ticking away. “We got carried away. You know how it is.”

She hardly recognized this sanitized version of Sebastian, as though he were some kind of politician, scraping his rough edges smooth to fit until he could fit his entire personality into a soundbite.

She hated it.

Her father ran a wary look over Sabrina, the hardness of his gaze a clear repetition of his demand that she apologize, before returning his attention to Sebastian. “Women do know how to make a man behave irrationally. I can hardly blame you for that,” he laughed, heedless of the way Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. But her father was not one to be deterred. He clapped Sebastian on the shoulder and continued on, as though he hadn’t accused his daughter of somehow confounding Sebastian’s good sense. “I hear you’ve built yourself quite an impressive firm down in Rhode Island. Good for you, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He led Sebastian into the house, barely sparing a glance for Sabrina. “Can I get you a drink? Maryann’s stocked the bar cart with the best for tomorrow’s shindig.”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at Sabrina as she trailed behind them, closing the front door with a soft click. She tried to send him a reassuring smile as her father led him down the hall towards the study where Sabrina knew a small fortune in alcohol waited to impress the guests her parents entertained, but she barely managed a strained tip of her lips. Sabrina’smother reappeared in the large entrance hall, skidding to a stop a few feet from her daughter.

“Where are your bags?” her mother asked, holding her hands out as though her daughter’s luggage would magically appear.

“Hi, Mom. Good to see you.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Did you leave them in the car? We’ll have to send Baz out to fetch them later. Your father has already corralled him for a drink, I’m sure, and you know how he hates to be interrupted while he’s enjoying his gin and tonic.”

Sabrina did know. Once, when she was about eight, she’d made the mistake of bursting into her father’s study after returning home from a week at sleepaway camp, desperate to show him the collection of pinch pots she’d made. She’d had visions of him displaying them in his office alongside the photos of him and his clients on the golf course, the engraved knickknacks from various charities in recognition of his law firm’s donations. “Sabrina, can’t you see I’m busy?” he’d said instead. No greeting for his youngest daughter who hadn’t seen him in seven days. No interest in the bits of pottery spilling from her small hands.

It was the last time she’d attempted to impress her father with her art.

“Well, let’s see it.” Her mother looked at Sabrina expectantly.

“See what?”

“Thering, Sabrina. What else?”

Sabrina lifted her left hand, allowing her mother to snatch at it and lean close, inspecting the bands on her finger. Her mother hummed to herself, tilting Sabrina’s hand to see how the diamond caught the light. “Not bad,” she said at last, releasing her hand. “White gold, I assume?”

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