Page 46 of Finally Forever
Sebastian: Where are you?
Me: Exploring. The house has an indoor pool.
Sebastian: I know.
It’s all I can do not to reply with something snarky like, “Okay, Mr. Groucho.”
Sebastian: Two housekeepers will be around to clean and a chef will cook meals. Don’t be alarmed if you see random people.
Me: Thanks for the heads up.
This is typical for the places we’ve stayed at after we left Scotland. Only once was it just us, in an English cottage in The Cotswolds. I cooked and cleaned, and I loved it. Sebastian is used to being catered to and prefers the luxuries that he grew up with and knows. I don’t mind, but it makes me feel a bit lazy when I’m more than capable of cooking and cleaning for us. Maintaining a house like this and the ones where we stayed in Europe, like our French waterfront villa, would have been a challenge because of the large square footage.
Sebastian: Xavier and I will be in a private meeting for the next hour or so.
Private meeting, meaning,you’re not invited. Ugh. What could he possibly want to discuss with Xavier? I know more than he does about Sebastian’s personal life. Maybe it’s about security precautions for Nathan and Riley’s arrival. Sebastian is all about security.
I wander into the pool bathroom. It looks like a Turkish spa. Tiny teal and gold mosaic tiles cover everything: the walls, floor, a small pool, and a jacuzzi. Couches line the walkway that leads to showers and sinks with every toiletry one might need.
“Damn. Celebrities live large.”
I will definitely enjoy the pool and this bathroom before we leave. Maybe I can get Sebastian to join me. Am I above begging? I guess we’ll see.
The rest of the house is just as impressive, with a huge movie theater room. The old Hollywood décor is fitting for a famous actor.
I stumble into a game room that could pass as an arcade. Two pool tables, a ping-pong table, air hockey, two skee-ball machines, and tons of video games—PacMan, Galaga, car and bike racing, zombie and military—fill the large space.
“Seriously?”
I would stay and play, but nothing is turned on and I can’t bother Sebastian or Xavier to help me. Sebastian’s message was loud and clear. Do not disturb.
After exploring several more sitting rooms, each with massive fireplaces, I find my way to the entrance and kitchen, where I rummage through the cabinets and pantry for snacks.
A box of Cheez-It crackers catches my gaze. They’re my favorite snack. My comfort food. Sebastian knows that. Is it a coincidence that it’s here, or did he provide a list? If so, does he remember certain things about our life and me and not know it? One of us always provided a grocery list for the houses we stayed in before.
I tap my fingers on the counter, desperate to text him and ask if he gave the personal shopper for this house a list. I had settled on watching TV or playing on my phone while I waited for Sebastian and Xavier to finish their meeting. Now, the idea of doing anything other than pacing the room sounds maddening.
This is important information! The doctor said even small things are a sign of recovery. Is this box of Cheez-Its a small thing? Gah! I don’t even know where he is in this house. A secret room? It wouldn’t surprise me.
I set my phone on the granite counter and check the time on the text he last sent. Thirty minutes left if he finishes in an hour. Can I wait that long? Do I have a choice?
19
Sebastian
“I don’t know about this,” Xavier says from where he sits across the desk for me.
I found the office a little while ago and called Xavier in for a meeting. I planned to scroll through pictures of my past on my phone but got sidetracked by an album labeled Sebastian’s car crash.
Pictures of my blue Maserati mangled and on its side in the median of the highway filled the album. After a few moments of shock, it became clear why I died. I can’t believe I was put back together as well as I am and that I’m not paralyzed. I touch the scar at the back of my head. Why didn’t I lose my memory back then?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. I have the present, and I intend to take advantage of my rebirth, so to speak. I did things wrong the first time, running away and hiding like a pussy. My father should pay for what he did to me my whole life and for the abuse he inflicted on my older sister. It wasn’t physical like I received, but the emotional and verbal abuse was the same.
She called out our father for killing our mother. He lied, claiming it was a setup to make him look guilty, and shipped her to a Catholic boarding school in Italy the next day. I saw her once a year during the summer until she was married off to a family of my father’s choosing and moved to Florence for good. The distance and four-year age gap kept us from being close, but we always shared the same hatred toward our father for killing our mother.
“You trust this guy?” I ask him, my leg bouncing with anticipation of bringing this plan to fruition.
“With my life. We served together. He spends his time split between America and Italy. He’s over there now, but he’ll reach out if I ask him to.”
