Page 116 of Hate To Be Mine

I nodded. “I’m efficient when I’m motivated.”

“He’s never been efficient a day in his life,” Dash said. “You must be a miracle worker.”

“Or a good influence,” Mimi added, beaming at Bernadette.

“The campaign numbers came in this morning,” Adrian said, steering the conversation back to business because he was Adrian and couldn’t help himself. “The runway show has been viewed over ten million times across all platforms. And Elizabeth’s EL line is trending number two in fashion worldwide.”

“Number two?” Elizabeth asked. “What’s number one?”

“Some TikTok thing about crocheting crop tops,” Briggs said. “But we’re beating out Paris, Milan, and New York Fashion Week, so I’d call it a win.”

“It’s all thanks to Sebastian,” Elizabeth said, raising her glass toward me. “He made my dresses look like art.”

“I just pointed cameras at them,” I said, uncomfortable with the praise even though I’d been craving it for weeks. “You designed something special. I just made sure people noticed.”

“You did more than that,” Adrian said, and there was pride in his voice. Maybe even respect. “You took on a massive project, handled a crisis, kept the team together, and delivered results that exceeded everyone’s expectations. Including mine.”

My throat felt tight. “Thanks, Adrian.”

“Dad would be proud,” Mom said softly. The whole table went quiet for a moment, remembering our patriarch.

His presence still lingered in moments like these. The empty chair at the head of the table. The company he’d built. The legacy he’d left us to carry forward.

“He would be,” Adrian agreed. “Of all of us.”

Dash raised his glass. “To Dad. And to Sebastian, for finally proving he’s not just a pretty face.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Briggs said.

“Hear, hear,” Elizabeth added.

“Okay, enough sentimental crap,” I said, because I was about two seconds from getting emotional and that wasn’t happening at Sunday dinner. “Let’s talk about how Bernadette’s pictures broke the internet. My Venus rising from the waves.”

“Those photos were stunning,” Mom said. “Bernadette, have you ever considered modeling professionally?”

“Absolutely not,” Bernadette said firmly. “Once was enough, thank you.”

“But you were so natural,” Elizabeth said. “The camera loved you.”

“The camera can love someone else. I’m much happier behind the scenes, making sure no one dies from falling coconuts.”

“Falling coconuts?” Briggs asked.

“Don’t ask,” I said. “It’s a whole thing. She has statistics.”

“One hundred and fifty deaths per year worldwide,” Bernadette recited automatically. I grinned because that was my girl, ready with facts and figures at all times.

Dinner continued through multiple courses, the conversation flowing from business to family gossip to Dash’s latest disaster of a dating life. He was the youngest and still the wildest, partying harder than any of us. His lifestyle wasn’t conducive to stable relationships.

By the time dessert arrived I was stuffed and happy and feeling more settled than I had in months. This was what I’d wanted, I realized. Not just success with the campaign, though that was great. Not just my brothers’ approval, but I would definitely take it. I wanted the full table. I wanted a woman I loved sitting beside me with my family.

“Sebastian,” Mom said as we were finishing dessert. “Walk me to the kitchen? I need to discuss something with you.”

Shit. What did I do? Clearly, I was in trouble, but I couldn’t think of why.

I followed her out of the dining room, heart beating faster. In the kitchen, she looked at me like she could see right through me and all my bullshit. “You really love her.”

It wasn’t a question.