The downward slanting of the plane wakes Tanner up. He rolls of the couch, blinking and obviously still a little drunk. “Wha…?”
“For Christ’s sake,” mutters Sebastian.
The plane gets lower and lower until the jolt of wheels touching ground sends a shudder through the walls. We’re in another parking lot, except it’s empty, and snow is piled around the edges. A drastic change from sunny Florida.
My ears popped with the altitude a while ago, and I circle my jaw to loosen them.
The exit hatch slides open, and Renée steps inside. She’s wearing a fur coat with a matching hat, and her hair curls prettily. She takes off her gloves and smiles. “I’m so glad you could make it!”
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, glad we could make it? You forced us to come.”
Renée
dodges this, her smile growing even wider. “It’s your present for coming in first place at nationals!”
“You came in first place?” My eyes bug out. Tanner sniffs, but he’s obviously impressed too.
Sebastian gives a small smirk, a touch of arrogance behind it. “Are you surprised?”
“No, actually.” I’ve seen him swim. He could go Olympic if he wanted.
Renée hustles us off the plane and outside, where the cold and the beauty sucks the air out of my lungs. I can see the world stretching out below the mountain, the horizon jagged with other mountains in the distance. The sun has mostly set, and the dimming pink light spills across the whiteness. The snow’s been combed into neat trails that zigzag down the slanted snowy incline. A large wooden building, the roof dusted with snow, sits nearby, the windows warm and glowing yellow.
“This is my favorite ski resort!” says Renée as she leads us toward the lodge. “It’s only September, so they don’t have enough snow yet to open the entire area, but I know the owner and I convinced him to let us use the lodge and a couple of the lower trails for the next two nights. Isn’t that fun?”
I glance at Sebastian, expecting him to protest that he’d have swim practice, but he remains surprisingly silent. I guess it must be the promise I made. He notices me looking, frowns, and takes off his sweatshirt, wrapping it around my shoulders. It’s only then that I notice I’m goose-pimpled, still in my Florida tank top and shorts.
“You could have let us know where you were taking us,” Sebastian says shortly, folding his arms over his thin shirt. “She’s freezing.”
“I’m not the warmest person in the universe either, thanks,” says Tanner, his teeth chattering as he makes a beeline for the lodge.
“I can’t take this,” I protest, trying to peel the sweatshirt off so I can give it back to Sebastian. “You’ll be cold.”
His hand stills mine, sending a shiver down my back that has nothing to do with the temperature. “Keep it.”
“Don’t worry, I made sure to bring enough warm clothes in everyone’s size.” Renée beckons us on as she climbs the stairs to the lodge. Inside, the gust of warmth is welcome. It’s large but incredibly cozy-looking, wooden logs making up the walls. A real fireplace is in the living room, and the chairs look even more comfortable than the ones on the jet. I want to sink into them and sleep forever. I hadn’t realized how tired I was—thoughts of Sebastian have been keeping me up at night.
“It’s a bit late for skiing now, so I figured we could just have dinner and go to bed early!” says Renée brightly. “I’ve got a business meeting tomorrow, so I’ll be heading out most likely before you wake up. You’ll have the place to yourselves! I did, however, set up a treat for after dinner.”
I can’t imagine a treat that isn’t the dinner itself, because it’
s amazing. Fat salmon fillets in wine sauce, wild rice with herbs, a delicate mushroom soup, and crème brulee for dessert. It’s all set up on the mahogany dining room table. Predictably, Tanner falls on it like a starving wolf. I’m afraid Sebastian will act the same way he did when we had lunch with Renée before, but his behavior startles me. He compliments the food and answers Renée’s questions about nationals. It seems a little forced, but he answers everything I say with carefully controlled courtesy, and whenever Tanner makes a dumb remark he’s always ready with something biting but witty enough that Tanner doesn’t really notice he’s been insulted.
It’s a nice dinner.
Afterwards, Renée gives us warmer clothes and brings us out onto the back veranda, where she says the surprise is waiting. It’s completely dark now, and I wonder if the surprise is the sky, because it’s crystal clear and brilliant with stars. Renée hands us each a glass of wine and turns a way for a few minutes, talking on the phone. While Tanner sips, I take the opportunity to glance at Sebastian. He always looks so far away. I wonder where his mind goes when he stares into the distance like that.
Renée gets off the phone and is grinning when the first boom echoes. A glittering firework erupts in the sky, showering vivid red sparkles over the stars. I’m so startled that I gasp and stumble, knocking into Sebastian. He catches my arm and when I look at him, I swear I catch a glimpse of something approaching warmth.
Tanner whoops, downing the rest of his wine. There’s another explosion, this one silver, the light throwing a dancing reflection across Sebastian’s face. And then it happens. The smallest smile takes over his lips. For a second, he looks like a person instead of a sculpture. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“He loved fireworks when he was little,” Renée whispers, jostling my shoulder lightly
Something gentle melts across my chest when I look at him.
The fireworks last for a few more minutes, thrilling me.
When they’re over, wisps of dark smoke drift across the stars, almost as lovely as the fireworks, I wrap my sweater more tightly around me, wanting to stay out longer, but Sebastian disappears inside as soon as they’re over, remarking that he’s going to bed. I can’t blame him—acting so differently must have been exhausting for him—but I feel a twinge of disappointment as he leaves.
Tanner’s also tired, mostly from drinking so much, so Renée shows us to our bedrooms. Mine has a window with a great view. I can see the stars from my bed. Tanner hugs me goodnight, Renée kisses my cheeks, and then both of them are gone. I’m already snuggled in bed when I realize I have to pee. It takes me a while to find the bathroom, and on my way back, I notice a door ajar.
It’s Sebastian’s room. Moonlight spills across his bed from the window. He’s asleep, and the blanket has slipped off his bare chest. He looks different like this. Like the weight he carries has been lifted from his face, and only now that’s gone do I notice the effect it usually has on his expression. I tiptoe into his room and adjust his blanket so it covers him better. My fingers brush his skin, but he doesn’t stir. I almost want him to wake up. To kiss me again.
But that’s a selfish desire. He said it was a mistake, after all.
I take my fingers away, and then—he opens his eyes. I give a strangled yelp and leap back, clutching my hand as if I’d burned it. “Agh, sorry! I was just—it’s pretty cold here, and your blanket fell off—so I—”
He lifts the corner of his blanket and inspects it. “Did you know you’re always freaking out for no reason?”
“Well, I didn’t want you to think I was being creepy,” I say defensively. “I mean, it was creepy. But I promise I’d never be that creepy to you when you were awake. Wait, that sounded ten times worse…”
He hides a smirk. “Go to bed, May.”
“Wait.” I sit on the corner of his blanket. I don’t know when I’m going to get another chance this weekend to be alone with him without Tanner, and there’s something I want to say. “Sebastian, I wanted to tell you that I know what happened to you. The kidnapping.”
His smirk fades. I can’t make head nor tail of his expression. It’s dark enough in here
that his eyes are almost black. “Renée told you,” he says flatly.
“Kind of.” I twist my fingers together in my lap. “I looked most of it up, actually. I know that sounds really nosy. I just thought it might be lonely for you to go to school where nobody knows about that, where you don’t have anyone to talk to. Basically I wanted to tell you that if you ever need to talk to anyone about it, I’m here.” I try a smile, hoping I don’t sound completely idiotic.
I can barely see his face. The poor light casts it into a shadow. “If you only read articles about it, you don’t know the truth.”
“What truth?” What could he possibly be talking about?
He’s silent for a long time. He seems to be struggling with something. Finally he says, “It was my fault.”
“Sebastian, that’s ridiculous,” I say as soon as I can find my voice. “You were a kid. There’s no way it was—”
He makes a pained noise, almost like an animal, and lurches forward. Suddenly his hands are on my shoulders and I find myself on my back, my hair thrown across the mattress. I’m looking up into his face, now illuminated by moonlight. His expression is twisted with something I can’t name, but there’s dark fury in his voice when he says, “Don’t say that to me.”
“Sebastian,” I murmur.
“You don’t know anything about what actually happened.” The agony in his voice is almost unbearable. His hands press my shoulders into the bed.
I reach up and cup his face
, as gently as I can. At my touch, he seems to realize what he’s doing. He falls back, briefly covering his eyes. I sit up. “Why do you think it’s your fault?”
“I ran away,” he says, his shoulders bowed like something enormous is pressing down on them. “I got in a childish fight with my mother and I ran away like the coward I am. I wandered the streets at night. I was utterly careless. And she paid the price for that carelessness.”
I’m so stunned that I can’t even speak for a few moments. He nods once at my silence, his jaw rigid. “I understand you must hate me now. I was selfish and wanted to avoid that, but it’s for the best. I’ve always hurt the people I cared about, May. My whole life. It’s safer for me not to care. And for people not to care about me.”
He has to be kidding. Right? He can’t honestly believe his mother’s death is his fault because of something like that.
But the ache in his expression in unmistakable. I can’t stand it. Before I even know what I’m doing, I lean forward and wrap my arms around him. His powerful swimmer’s body is so tense, his shoulders shake. I hold him tightly, burying my face in the curve of his collarbone.
“I don’t hate you,” I say, fighting back tears. “There’s no way I could hate you for that. It wasn’t your fault. Kids run away all the time.
Those people wanted to abduct you, and they would have found a way to do it whether or not you got in that fight. Please don’t think of yourself that way.”
He’s completely still. I pull back enough to see the utter shock in his face. I f
ind his hand and grip it hard. “People must have told you this before, Sebastian. Your father…”
“My father agrees with me,” he says tightly.
Rage flashes through me. What kind of man tells his son that his mother’s death was his fault? No wonder Sebastian believes it. “You’re both wrong. None of it was your fault, Sebastian, and your dad never should have let you think it was. Look, I…I care about you, and nothing bad’s happened to me. I trust you. And there’s nothing you could do to make me stop caring.”
Gently, he removes his hand from mine. “I don’t deserve to have you care about me, May.”
“Yes, you do! And even if you didn’t, you’re stuck with it. So you might as well learn to accept it.” I touch his beautiful face again, stroking his strong jawline. “You’re not dangerous. To anyone. It wasn’t your fault.”
He tilts his head back, closing his eyes like my words are the first breath of oxygen he’s had in years.
“Thank you for talking to me, Sebastian.” I stand up quietly. “I’m going to let you sleep now, because tomorrow we’re going to have a really fun day and you’re going to get to laugh at my lack of skiing ability. But I want you to remember what I said. And come to me if you start blaming yourself for no reason again.”
He studies me for a moment, the pain not quite gone from his eyes. “You really are different from everyone I’ve met.”
I smile at him.
“Sleep well, okay?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEBASTIAN
In my dream, I am a child again.
Tied to a chair. Heavy chair—doesn’t move even when I rock back and forth, when I try to knock it over. But I only tried once. They struck me and told me they’d do it again if I kept it up.
I’ve been here for three days.
They’ve been arguing about what to do. Four men.
They keep their names away from me, but not their plans. And I understand—they’re holding me for ransom. The first time I hear this, my heart lifts. My father’s rich. He’ll pay them anything. Even if he’s always talking about never showing weakness. Even if he’s warned me never to give people what they want, especially when they threaten for it.
On the second day, I overhear that he’s not going to pay.
Then I realize I’m going to die. They have no use for me. It’s natural. I’m worthless cargo now. The second day, they debate whether or not to just kill me or send my father my fingers, an arm, to show that they’re serious.
I haven’t cried. Haven’t embarrassed my family, which is how my father would see it. Haven’t spoken. Just sat with the fear balled tight in my chest, trying to breathe around it, my stomach aching with hunger and thirst.