Page 8 of Bared Betrayal
I catch a glimpse of the newspaper Denise brought over with my coffee this morning.
NEW HOLLYWOOD SENSATION, SEBASTIAN STONE, ENGAGED TO MYSTERY WOMAN!
In the pictureis a man kneeling before said mystery woman, her wispy blonde hair floating over her shoulders, shielding her face from the camera and the world.
Ignoring Victoria sitting across from me, I grab the paper and flip to the article, scanning the column. My knuckles turn white as I clutch the paper, reading about Sebastian Stone’s horrible upbringing. About a son growing up without a father. The slimy journalist paints a picture of a neglected boy, how his father wanted no part of his life. An absentee dad.
“What do you say, Gabriel? Shall we continue our business over lunch? Or is there something in that paper you find more interesting?” Her tone is sharply teasing, and I simply snarl her way.
“I’m sorry, Miss Evans.” I stand and grab my suit jacket, rounding the desk. “But I have an urgent matter to attend to.”
“Yeah, like what?” she calls after me as I stomp toward my office door.
“Like going to see my son.”
Three
KALLIE
“Peonies or tulips?”
I’m staring at the pictures in front of me, a knot in my stomach growing by the second while I silently count how many albums we’ve sifted through for hours. The pressure to make a decision is palpable, and with each album, the choices become more delicate.
Sebastian’s grandmother, Elenor Stone, suddenly pulls out an album and slides it toward me. “Peonies,” she says firmly, pointing to the bouquet of red blooms. “Nothing screams true love like red.”
“If I may,” Jillian, the wedding planner, says as she opens another photo album. “This will be a spring wedding, so I’d suggest maybe lavender and rich greens. We can add some darker shades of purple and bright pops of yellow to create that beautiful spring atmosphere.”
“I don’t know about yellow.” Elenor frowns, staring at the photograph with disapproval written all over her forehead. “I still think red is the best choice. It’s the classic color of love—one that is timeless and never goes out of season.”
I peek at Sebastian, typing away on his phone. He’s been on it since we arrived here. He’s been on it non-stop for the last couple of weeks. If it’s not his phone, it’s his laptop. If he’s not on any electronics, he’s off to early-morning meetings and late-night rehearsals. And when we finally manage to have some time together, all he talks about is his new career in something I never thought he’d be interested in. Fame.
God, I miss the time when it was just us and the simple days we spent at the art gallery his grandparents started, only to hand over the reins to Sebastian. Now, it’s a place that has become an afterthought since he exploded onto the Hollywood scene.
I touch his elbow gently. “Sebastian, what do you think?” It’s a ploy to get his attention because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to handle his grandmother alone.
Without looking up from his phone screen, he says, “Whatever you like, sweetheart.”
Seriously?
“What about this, Kallie?” Elenor points to an image of a bouquet of red roses and violets intermingled with tiny baby’s breath and large pieces of fern. It’s big, bulky, bold, and just not my style at all, and I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to tell my future grandmother-in-law that I don’t want this big, lavish wedding she’s planning. And I sure as hell don’t want red roses. But before I can put the words together, another picture catches my eye in one of the other albums strewn across the dining table. I reach for it.
“These are beautiful.”
“Oh, those are sweet peas. A very popular wedding flower,” Jillian says as she sips her tea. “Their petals are wonderfully ruffly and have a lovely fragrance. A cluster of sweet peas with a silk or lace ribbon will make for a stunning feminine bridal bouquet.”
“I love it. I think I want these.”
“You think?” Elenor scoffs. “My dear, this is your wedding day. You can’tthink. You have to know. You’re marrying my grandson, Kallie. This wedding will be front-page news all over the world. Do you really want something as—” she pulls up her nose in disgust “—simple as sweet peas?”
“I guess not,” I mutter, pushing the album away. Within the first twenty minutes of her planning party, I knew trying to reason with her was as futile as trying to predict the weather. She’s determined to turn Sebastian’s and my wedding into the soiree of the season and to keep face with her so-called friends at the country club.
God, this is suffocating.
“Would you excuse me? I need some fresh air.” I stand, purposely bumping my knee against Sebastian to get his attention. When he looks up, I silently gesture for him to walk with me.
“It would be awesome if you could actually be present,” I mutter.
“What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?”
