Page 119 of Hate To Be Mine

“Nothing, when you’re at work making sure no one dies from rogue lighting rigs. But this is a party. You’re allowed to be a little less safety coordinator and a little more sexy girlfriend.”

I rolled my eyes but let him pick out a dress from my newly claimed section of his enormous closet. And said section was stuffed with more couture than one of those fancy shops on Fifth Avenue. I had a ton of Blackwell stuff, but other designers had flooded me with their items. My little Venus thing turned me into some kind of pseudo-influencer. They wanted me to wear their stuff out and about so I’d get photographed in it. Then they bought the pics and used them to promote their designs on social media.

I thought that was like cheating on my man, but Sebastian told me it was fine. Big events with media, I was encouraged to wear Blackwell but it wasn’t mandatory. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore a severe pantsuit. I felt like a butterfly that had finally climbed out of its cocoon. I loved pink and purple, it turned out.

“Perfect,” Sebastian declared, looking me up and down in a way that made me blush when I stepped into the living room. “Dammit, I want to stay home and⁠—”

“Nope. We’re leaving. You are not messing up my hair. We’re late for everything because you do that and then I have to fix my hair.”

He winked. “You like when I do that.”

“Let’s go.”

Working at Blackwell Couture had been everything my father’s insurance company hadn’t been. Creative, collaborative, full of people who actually seemed to enjoy their jobs. I spent my days reviewing safety protocols for photo shoots and fashion shows. It was still rules and regulations—I’d never escape my nature entirely—but now those rules were protecting people I cared about while they created something beautiful.

And the Blackwells had welcomed me with open arms. Adrian still terrified me a little, but in a respectful way.

And Elizabeth had become my best friend. Mimi was the mother I never had.

“Ready?” Sebastian asked, grabbing the elaborately wrapped gift we’d bought. It was a designer diaper bag that cost more than my first car.

“Ready. Though I still think you’re going to be the only man there.”

“Good. More cake for me.”

The baby shower was at a gorgeous event space in SoHo, decorated in soft yellows and greens since Elizabeth and Adrian were keeping the sex a surprise. Women milled around with champagne glasses, cooing over tiny clothes and making predictions about whether it would be a boy or girl.

Sebastian was completely unfazed by being the only person there with a Y chromosome.

“Snack buddy!” Elizabeth called from across the room, her hand resting on her very prominent baby bump.

They fist-bumped.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, hugging Elizabeth carefully.

“Huge. Exhausted. Constantly hungry. The usual.” She glowed despite her complaints. “I’m so glad you’re here. Sebastian, there’s a dessert table calling your name.”

“You know me so well.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll go investigate the sugar situation. You two gossip.”

He wandered off, and Elizabeth linked her arm through mine. “So? How’s the move going?”

“Surreal. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

“Why would something go wrong?”

“Because things don’t just… work out. Not for me.” I shook my head. “Sorry, that’s my trauma talking.”

“You deserve happiness, Bernadette. You and Sebastian both.”

Someone called for everyone to gather for games. Teams were assigned and I, of course, ended up with Sebastian. I wasn’t a jealous person, but none of these bitches were going to be teaming up with my man. The first game was absolutely nasty. Licking what looked like actual shit out of a diaper and guessing what kind of melted candy bar it was.

I gagged. Sebastian laughed until it was his turn. Then he gagged just like the rest of us.

Then it was Pictionary time.

“Bernadette and Sebastian, you’re up,” the hostess said. “Sebastian, you’re drawing.”

He bounded up to the easel, grabbing the black marker and flashing his money maker. His smile.