Sebastian
Thesaltyscentof the ocean breeze rides the air as I drive down the long, tree shaded driveway to my grandmother's South Hampton oceanfront estate. Despite being surrounded by the opulence and glamor of the famous Hamptons, I can't stop thinking about Alexandra. A deep ache settles in my chest whenever she pops into my mind. For the past week, her messy bed hair tumbling down her shoulders, her infectious laughter, and her super low, breathy moans when she is close to an orgasm replay in my mind like an old movie montage. Jesus, this persistent guilt is eating me alive. When I saw the torn, scattered papers in my study, my heart sank to my feet. I had ample opportunities to come clean and explain the reasons for doing the background check. She had every right to know, but I kept it a secret because I was scared it would drive her away. I was the one preaching about honesty and integrity, yet it was me who was dishonest and broke her trust. I'm so stupid. I can't believe I blew the best thing that had happened in my life. She is what I've been looking for all these years. I wouldn't blame her if she never wants to see or talk to me again. How could she trust me now? Damn it, Sebastian, you are an idiot.
After she refused to speak to me, I thought it might be best if I left her alone and waited until things cooled off. Christopher told me she went back to San Diego with Heidi to visit her dying father. In times like these, I should be there to support, protect, and comfort her. I've been tempted to call her, but I'm probably the last person she wants to hear from right now. Fuck, I don't know what I'll do if I lose her. I can't lose her. What if she wants to release herself from me? What if she runs into the arms of another Dom? Would you blame her? My heart goes into high gear as fury storms through my blood. I'll unalive anyone who lays a finger on her. She is mine. My heart and soul belong to her. The realization of how deeply in love with her I am crashes through me. The spectacular, French-inspired mansion sits like a crown jewel in the middle of the beautifully groomed grounds, with manicured hedges, shrubs and lush leafy trees. It's time to meet my long-lost grandmother. Killing the engine, I grab the bouquet and draw a lungful of air before stepping outside. A flock of snow-white seagulls circle above the calm turquoise ocean, their unbearable, high-pitched yelps drowning the sound of my thundering heart. Straightening my tie, I press on the bell, ready to get the answers I so desperately need.
A round-faced, mature housekeeper, dressed in a neat, well fitted uniform, opens the door. She appeases me with her deep-seated, kind brown eyes and gives me a warm, approving smile. My face breaks into a big grin. I like her. I only hope my grandmother is as welcoming as her.
"Mr. Laurian, welcome. Please follow me. Mrs. Ecclestone is expecting you." I step into the sumptuous, high-ceiling foyer.
The place reeks of old money, from the Doric columns and shiny white marble floors, and sparkling crystal chandeliers, to the curved staircase that wraps around the entrance hall, offering a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean. The rich, floral fragrance of freshly cut roses perfumes the air as we walk through a spacious living room with high-end decor to a smaller, formal sitting room. My gaze darts around the room, taking in floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a plush oriental rug, large picture windows, and an antique writing desk, finally stopping on the finely wrinkled face of the woman sitting on the ornate antique sofa, with a cane next to her. Her mouth parts in an inaudible gasp as her steel-blue eyes lock with mine. I clutch the bouquet in my hand, staring at the familiar face I loved and lost years ago, and feeling as if I'm suspended in time and space. Their resemblance cuts me from ribs to spine.
"Good afternoon. I apologize, I can't stand to greet you today." She smooths her hand on the blanket laying across her legs. Forcing my feet to cross the distance, I hand her the flowers.
"Good afternoon. These are for you, Mrs. Ecclestone." A quick wince passes over her features. Fuck, did I upset her? Technically, she is my grandmother, but she is also a stranger to me.
"Thank you, Sebastian. They are beautiful. Please sit down," she instructs me in upper class English, displaying her teeth in a genuinely warm smile. She waits for me to lower myself into the armchair opposite her before speaking again. "Coffee?"
"I'd love some, thank you." She lifts the small brass bell sitting on the side table next to her and rings it. The housekeeper walks in and stands with her hands clasped in front of her.
"Rosaline, please take these flowers and bring some coffee?"
"Yes, Mrs. Ecclestone." Taking the flowers, she leaves the room with slow, confident strides. Putting the bell back on the table, my grandmother shifts her gaze back to me.
"I'm so happy that you came to see me. You must have many questions, as do I," her clear, melodic voice comes out with a faint tremor. I dip my chin in agreement.
Rosaline trails in with a silver tray in her hands, stopping me from replying. Picking invisible lint off my trousers, I wait patiently for Rosaline to pour our coffee. I need to know why my father told me his parents were dead. Why did he change his name and move to the other side of the country? Leaning forward, I pick up the antique china cup and take a long sip.
"My father was gentle, kind, and fiercely protective of his family. He was my idol and role model. While it shocked me to discover that he'd changed his identity and lied to me about my grandparents being dead, I know he must have had a good reason." My grandmother's shoulders collapse, her face blanching with shock when I refer to my father in the past tense.
The visible shock on her face makes the bitter coffee churn in my stomach. There's no way to soften the blow. I'll need to tell her what happened. I place the delicate cup back on the coffee table before it shatters in my hands from gripping it too hard.
"That is my Edward. Tell me about yourself, Sebastian. Tell me what happened to my beloved son. I want to know everything," she whispers. Edward Ecclestone. His birth name suits him better than Thomas.
Raking my fingers through my hair to steady my nerves, I tell her everything about my life with my parents before death cruelly took them from me, about losing my sister and growing up in foster care. Iron bands tighten around my chest as I watch her clutch the golden locket on her chest as tears roll down her grief-stricken face. Pushing myself to my feet, I walk over and flop down next to her. Wiping her face, she takes a sip of her coffee and straightens her shoulders.
"Dear boy, I'm so sorry you had to endure so much loss and pain. You must forgive your father. He had a heart of gold, but was never good at planning for the future." She lifts the large photo album lying next to her bell. Placing it across her lap, she opens it and motions me to come closer.
As she flips the pages, I see my father's wide smile, bright eyes and confident posture transform into a frown of resignation, mournful eyes and shoulders hunched forward as if the entire world weighed on him. I discover my father was her first-born son and there was a four-year difference between him and his younger brother. As the oldest son, there was an expectation of him to take over the family business. However, my father was a sensitive, artistic child who liked to draw, read and make things, and was not interested in following in the footsteps of my grandfather. He dug in his heels, declined the offer of one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and instead enrolled into an art college. With all his hopes dashed, my grandfather invested his energy and money in making his younger son the heir of the business.
In the summer after my father's graduation, his brother threw him a huge party at their beach house in the Hamptons. When he got up in the morning, he found his brother floating face down in the pool. My grandmother's face crumples with grief as she recounts how my father got his body out of the pool and worked hard to resuscitate him until the paramedics arrived. Unfortunately, despite all their efforts, they couldn't revive him. The image of my father fighting to save his brother rips strips off my heart. Should I hug her? She doesn't look like the hugging type, Sebastian. I can't leave her to drown in sorrow. Inching my hand close to hers, I give her time to move it away if she doesn't want me to touch her, but she doesn't. Inhaling deeply, I cover her frail hand with mine, gently patting her. Bobbing her head in silent thank you, she gives me a grateful smile.
We sit in silence for a moment, each lost in our thoughts before she continues filling me in on how my father plunged into a deep depression, blaming himself for his brother's death. The relationship with his father kept deteriorating, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. One night, my grandfather came home drunk and stormed into my father's bedroom. He told him he was ashamed of him, calling him useless and his greatest disappointment, and that he wished it was him who had died. A few days later, my father disappeared without a trace. They spent years searching for him, hoping he would come back home one day, sadly he never did. The heavy drinking and regrets took a toll on my grandfather's health, and he died from a heart attack at sixty.
Clearing her throat, she closes the album and fixes her gaze on me. "A few months ago, I was diagnosed with severe rheumatoid arthritis. My doctor advised me it's time for me to retire and I agree with him." Lifting her hand to her silvery white hair, she releases a drawn-out exhale. "As we had exhausted all avenues of finding Edward, my attorney advised me to do a DNA test. I was overjoyed when you found me, but three days ago, I received a call from a young girl claiming we are blood relatives. My attorney suggested for my doctor to perform a genetic test to confirm her claim. In this day and age, you have to be extra vigilant." Putting her hand in her pocket, she takes her phone out and unlocks it. My heart leaps in my chest and my hands tingle as happiness sparks inside me like a long-forgotten memory. Keep calm, I order myself. Don't ask any questions, don't raise your hopes and don't do anything until her identity is confirmed.
"She sounded lovely on the telephone. Here, she sent me her photograph." She passes the phone to me. The air evaporates from my lungs as the girl with gun metal blue eyes stares back at me. This is not possible. No, this can't be.
"Isn't she beautiful? She has your father's eyes. I know my attorney said I should wait until after the test results, but looking at her, I just know. Why don't you make an old woman happy and bring your sister here for a family gathering? We can get to know each other and discuss the future of the family business." The crow's feet around her eyes deepen as her smile widens. I open and close my mouth, but no sound comes out.
I trudge down the short driveway, the soft tree lined gravel crunching under my feet. With each step I take, my heart thunders violently, ready to tear its way out of my chest. I swallow dryly, unable to wet my parched throat. I found my sister, my missing other half. The almost endless, agonizing search is finally over. I can breathe again. Coming to an abrupt stop, I inhale courage and ring the bell. You can do this, I encourage myself. The door swings open and my sister's face splits into a massive grin.
"Sebastian, what a lovely surprise. Did you come to see Allie? She isn't back yet." Her smile fades, a frown creasing the sides of her mouth.
I imagined this moment a million times in my head, what I would do or say when the day came. But now that I'm standing here, all I can do is stare at my sister like some mute creep, unable to string two words together.
"No, I came to see you," my voice sounds distant and foreign in my ears. A flush of red creeps on her cheekbones and neck. Fucking hell, I hope she doesn't think I am hitting on her.
"Oh! Please come in." I follow her into the living room, catching a whiff of the warm, delicious aroma of freshly baked cinnamon and blueberry muffins transporting me back to our mother's kitchen.