Page 1 of Hate To Be Mine

1

SEBASTIAN

Mom’s Sunday dinners were sacred and I would never skip out on one. However, as a professional model, it was also my right to show up fashionably late to any and all social engagements. It was almost mandatory.

I rolled into Mom’s townhouse at twenty past seven, which technically was almost on time, but my brothers’ heads snapped up from their drinks with such synchronized judgment, it felt like I was about to get jumped.

“I thought we were going to have to send out a search party,” Dash said from his perch on the leather armchair, swirling his scotch.

“Finally crawled out from beneath a pile of models in your bed?” Adrian added, not even bothering to hide his smirk behind his glass of wine.

“Please tell me you didn’t just get out of bed,” Briggs said, checking his watch. “Even for you, Sebastian, that’s ridiculous.”

My brothers had clearly been here for a while. The sitting room looked like a photoshoot, my brothers in their tailored suits and sipping drinks from the Baccarat crystal. Lucky for them, the real showstopper had finally arrived. Yours truly.

“I hit traffic,” I said, which was partially true. The other part involved me losing track of time at the gym, but they didn’t need to know that. Let them think I was at the bottom of some model cuddle puddle.

Elizabeth, Adrian’s wife, glanced up from where she sat beside him on the sofa, a knowing smile on her lips. She at least had the decency not to pile on. It spoke highly of her character.

I tipped my head at her before making my way to the bar cart to get myself a drink. Growing up as heirs to the Blackwell Couture legacy, all of my brothers had done some modeling, but I was the only one that still did it, which meant I had to choose my drink carefully. Empty calories were no joke after thirty, and stripping down to my underwear for the cameras meant I had to stay chiseled.

Mom swept in from the direction of the kitchen, elegant as always in a dove-gray dress that probably came from one of Blackwell’s older lines. She kissed my cheek. I caught the scent of her perfume, the same one she’d worn since I was a kid. Any time I smelled orchids, I thought of her.

“Sebastian, darling,” Mom said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

The emphasis on “could” wasn’t lost on me.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it, Mom.” I took my drink and dropped into an open chair, letting the plush cushions embrace me.

“You could still show up on time, though,” Briggs said, his voice a low rumble. As the attorney for the family, Briggs wasn’t shy about sharing his opinions. It was great when legal issues came up but it was less great when his judgmental gaze focused on me.

My other brothers weren’t much better in that regard. Adrian was the oldest and he was CEO of Blackwell Couture, even though all four of us brothers had a say in running things now, after our father passed away over a year ago. Adrian was quick to offer guidance whether I asked for it or not.

Age-wise, I was the second oldest, followed by Briggs, and Dash was the baby of the family. He handled logistics for whatever shows or events we had coming up. Basically, he figured out how to turn our big ideas into reality.

I could practically feel my brothers’ eyes tracking my every movement, waiting for me to do something that would confirm their suspicions that I was still the irresponsible playboy they all thought I was. Tonight was starting to give me intervention vibes.

I tried to think of what I had done to deserve another one of the fun little speeches from my brothers about my life choices. Nothing immediately came to mind.

Yeah, there’d been the usual drunken debauchery, but that wasn’t anything new. They knew who I was and what to expect from me. It was their fault they were continuously disappointed, not mine.

“So,” Adrian said, setting his wine glass down and leaning forward. Elizabeth put a loving hand on his back, a simple touch that said so much. She was the Adrian whisperer. The guy could be a little uptight—like his underwear was a few sizes too small and squeezing his junk to the point of cutting off blood flow. “Miratoa.”

And there it was. The source of the tension I’d been sensing.

“What about it?” I asked.

“You’re leaving in a week,” Briggs said, his elbows on his knees and his lawyer face firmly in place.

I nodded. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“This is your first time being in charge of a location shoot,” Adrian said. “We just want to make sure you’re ready. This is for Elizabeth’s new line, so obviously I want to make sure everything goes well.”

“I’ve been prepping for weeks,” I said. “We’re good to go.”

“Have you been actually prepping?” Dash asked, his tone just shy of openly mocking. “Or have you been ‘prepping’ in the same way you usually do? Which is to say, not at all?”

My jaw tightened. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been in front of the camera since I was twelve.”