Page 22 of Sebastian

“Joint custody would imply we’re over, as in divorced. I thought we were just beginning.”

“Good catch. This is why my girl is so smart. Wearejust beginning.”

He mashes the button for the first floor, then prowls to me to lift my chin and kiss me without hesitation. I’m surprised for a moment, taking a few seconds before reciprocating. It’s sweet and inquisitive. His hand slides inside my coat to cup my waist, the heat from his palms seeping through the exposed skin above the waistband of my leggings.

My arms wrap around his neck, letting him lead since he initiated it. Not that I wouldn’t make out with him. Last night, I got a great sampling I wanted to try, and perhaps I will today. Obviously, he still does too, but making out in the elevator reminds me of Taylor and Paolo, and that’s a hard pass.

The elevator glides to a stop, the bell chiming just long enough for us to separate before the doors open to a waiting family. Yet another reason not to get obscene in the elevator—minors. Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to intertwine our hands and lead the way to a stunning black sports car that’s all curves and sleek lines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a car like this?” I comment as he leads me to the passenger side door.

The black exterior gleams in the bright morning sunshine with little flecks of sparkle in the paint. Its curvaceous design exudes raw power and understated sophistication, leaving me inawe. He beams with pride, wiping an invisible smudge from the hood.

“It’s a custom order. I have a friend who owns the dealership.”

When he opens the door, I’m greeted with quilted caramel-colored seats and more sleek designs. The new car smell overpowers my senses. I’m almost frightened to place the soles of my boots on the spotless caramel carpet of the footwell when I slip onto the buttery seats. The entire interior is wrapped in rich leather, including the steering wheel and console. I’d never have food or drink in this thing. I would be too afraid of accidentally spilling it and staining the fine leather. When he slips in beside me, I notice initials on the center of the steering wheel.

“Are those your initials?”

He casts me another proud smile as his finger traces the outline.

“Yeah, they were supposed to have the Bugatti ones, but I paid extra for mine, even on the seats.”

He points to the headrest behind me, and when I twist around to see it, it matches the steering wheel.

“This is a Bugatti?” I blurt out my astonishment.

The realization that these cars cost millions, combined with his custom order and personalized touches, leaves me utterly flabbergasted. Sebastian arches an eyebrow and turns his gaze toward me.

“Are you a car gal?”

I shake my head, feeling a bit out of place in this luxurious masterpiece of an automobile.

“No, I’ve never been around cars like this. And I hate driving.”

I don’t know why I admitted that to him. Most guys make it a big deal about how I don’t drive and how I waste my money on car services. Honestly, it’s a lot less hassle, and I can do otherthings in the car instead of driving, like work or my makeup. I wait with bated breath for his reaction, hoping it’s not another lecture.

“Well, everyone has their preferences. You don’t need to be a car gal to appreciate a smooth ride in something like this.” He flashes a charming smile that leaves me feeling more at ease. “And you can be my passenger princess anytime.”

As he starts the engine and we glide onto the road, I can’t help but smile at both his reply and the luxuriousness of his vehicle. The engine’s hum and smooth acceleration under my body speak to the price tag. I could learn to be more of a “car gal” if I continue experiencing luxury like this.

“Are you from here? You mentioned a family, so I assume you have siblings, right?”

His questions are innocent. These are the usual follow-up questions to a past that defines me. The past I’d made clear to him I’d prefer to block out. Similar to how he shut me down after I expressed sympathy for the loss of his parents.

“No, I’m not, and yes, I do.”

My answer is curt, the tone slightly harsh to cut off any follow-up questions. I gaze out the window at the Christmas decorations adorning the shopping centers we’re passing on the way to his neighborhood.

“Do you like Christmas music?” he inquires, switching the subject quickly despite the genuine curiosity in his voice.

He fiddles with the radio until he finds a channel playing classic Christmas songs. The melodious voice of Bing Crosby fills the car as Sebastian begins to sing along. His singing is loud and honestly terrible, but it’s so enthusiastic that I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re a terrible singer.”

My laughter mingles with his voice and Bing’s timeless melodies. Sebastian, undeterred, continues to sing with even more vigor.

“Who cares!” he exclaims, replacing the actual lyrics with his own humorous rendition. “Join in!”

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