33
tabby
With the new haircut, I almost didn’trecognize Sebastian when I woke up the next morning. I had grown accustomed tothe wash of blonde hair, sprayed across the pillow to blend into mine. Athought crossed my mind, as I laid there under the outstretched fingers ofsunshine—had he cut it for me? To trap himself into the societal box I hadstuffed myself in?
Irolled over onto my stomach and laid a hand over his back. Knowledge unraveledin my gut, telling me this would be our last time together. My last time wakingup with him by my side. My last time enjoying the type of sleep he helped me tohave. I wanted to close my eyes and go back there, back to my world of sweetdreams, to enjoy just a few more minutes of this free life I had only with him.
Butwe weren’t some late-night fairytale, and he could never be mine. Not with theseparate lives we kept.
Leaningover to press my lips between his tattooed shoulder blades, I climbed out ofbed and went to use the bathroom. When I returned, I found him sitting up andwaiting for me, arms reaching out and beckoning for me to come back, but Ishook my head. He immediately appeared wounded.
“Ihave to get back,” I insisted regrettably. “I told Mrs. Worthington I’d helpher pack some of her things. She’s moving into her niece’s house in a coupleweeks and doesn’t trust the movers to handle everything, and—”
“Doyou need help? Grey and I can come and give you a hand.” he cut me off,swinging his legs out of bed.
“No,I …” I swallowed my remorse and shook my head. “I can handle it.”
“Okay,”he relented, and in unabashed naked glory, he walked to me, wrapping his armsaround my shoulders and pulling me against him. His erection pressed urgentlyagainst my stomach, and I could’ve cried, knowing I’d never enjoy him again.“But maybe first, we can handle this, uh, hard and pressing issue I’m dealingwith right now.”
Ilet myself laugh. “I’d love to, but I really can’t.”
Hedidn’t speak again as his chin touched the top of my head, breathing deeply andtightening his arms around me. I wondered if he knew, if he could sense wherethis was headed, and I imagined I could hear the tiniest sound of his heartsplintering.
***
Westopped for coffee before the limo picked us up. I thought it couldn’t hurt toindulge in one last moment together, alone, with the emotional effects of thenight before still clinging to our skin and hearts.
Ientered the coffee shop first and inhaled the rich, bitter scent of themorning’s brew. The shop was cheery, a stark and welcomed contrast to themelancholy sting in my chest.
Wewalked hand-in-hand to stand in line, and Sebastian began to order for us both,when a familiar voice interrupted him.
Anotherfated meeting, destined to destroy.
“Tabitha?”Roman greeted me with a question, cocking his head and taking in the dress andsneakers I had worn the night before. “What a surprise.” Then, with what couldonly be described as a sneer, his eyes drifted from my face to take in Sebastian.“Fancy meeting you here, Sebastian. Nice haircut.”
Sebastian’shand lifted to touch his hair. Every mention of the cut seemed to remind him ofwhat was missing. “Oh, thanks, man. Thought it was time for a change.”
RealizingSebastian and I were still linked together, I yanked my hand away from his andheld it to my chest. “Roman, it’s so nice to see you.”
“Mm,”he uttered through lips pinched tightly. His scrutinizing gaze was pinned toSebastian. “What are the two of you up to today? Going to a party?”
“Nah,just heading home,” Sebastian answered, before I had the chance to reply.
“Sebastian,”I warned him, tightening my hands to my chest.
“Wehave nothing to hide from him, right?” Sebastian said in protest before turningback to Roman. “We went out to dinner with a couple friends of mine and stayedin the city overnight.”
Icould’ve killed him, if Roman’s steely glare didn’t threaten to do it for me.
“Isee.” The two little words had enough impact, enough disgust, to set my faceablaze with my shame. “Well, I hope you two are very happy—”
“I’mnot with him,” I interjected with an urgent desire to shove Sebastian away.
“That’snone of my business, apparently,” Roman dismissed me, accepting a cup thebarista handed to him with a thankful nod.
Aknot of dread festered in my gut. “Roman, just let me—”
“Iwillnottalk about this here,” Roman cut me off in a voice that made mefeel our eight-year difference had grown by twenty. “You can call my office onMonday. Leave a message with my secretary.”
