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They’re all surprisingly… nice.
And Sebastian is acting so friendly, too, I’m getting whiplash again. Does he turn into a different person, the moment we arrive in Italian airspace?
“Now, tell us about you, Avery,” Bianca fixes me with a curious look. “What is your story?’
“No story,” I say with a bland smile.
At least, not one that I’m about to broadcast to this table.
“But how did you meet Seb?” Violetta pitches in. “Have you been seeing each other long?”
“Easy with the inquisition,” Sebastian speaks up.
“But we’re just dying to know all the juicy details,” Violetta pouts.
He chuckles. “No juice. Avery and I met in Cannes,” he adds, giving me a private smile. “A couple of months ago. And if you want to know more than that… Well, I’ll need some of your famous tiramisu to loosen my tongue.”
“You’re no fun!” Bianca protests, laughing, but Sebastian’s evasion works, and the conversation moves on.
When the main course is finished, and Bianca clears some plates, making room for dessert, I bob up and volunteer to help. I want to find out more about this alter-ego Sebastian has been hiding. The one who cracks jokes, and smiles, so relaxed, as the dusk turns to nightfall.
I follow her inside, to the kitchen.
“I hope we’re not overwhelming you with questions,” Bianca says, friendly as she bustles around. “I’m just so happy to see Sebastian this way.”
“So, you know he’s not like this all the time?” I venture.
She laughs. “I do. You know, he likes to keep up appearances as the Master of the Universe, but there’s so much more to him than that. I keep telling him it’s not a crime to be engaged with the world, to care about these causes, and do good work, but he insists on keeping his cutthroat reputation.” She rolls her eyes affectionately. “As if his empire would crumble, if his foundation became public knowledge.”
Foundation? It’s news to me, and I’m about to ask more, when Sebastian strolls in, carrying some empty dishes.
“Tell him, Avery,” Bianca adds, giving Sebastian a teasing grin. “Doing good is not a crime.”
“But then people wouldn’t quake from the big bad Wolfe,” Sebastian says, teasing.
Bianca rolls her eyes.
“What foundation?” I venture.
“Seb’s, of course,” Bianca says. “Don’t tell me you’ve been keeping it from her, too? Honestly,” she says, shaking her head at me. “If I’d spent hundreds of millions on charity projects, the way he has, I’d be singing it from the rooftops.”
“I’m not the story here,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “And technically, you’re the one doing the spending. I count on you to do good in my name.”
Bianca laughs. “And I enjoy every dollar of it!”
She takes dessert out, but I pause in the kitchen with Sebastian. “I didn’t know you were involved with charity,” I say, frowning. How does this fit in with Sebastian’s heartless attitude?
“I told you, it was my father’s thing. I just… expanded it, that’s all,” he replies. “Bianca is the director, she’s the one who’s really the engine behind the giving program. I just write the checks.”
“The checks that make it all possible.” I recall a conversation from dinner just moments before, when Bianca detailed a program she was running to provide education to girls in third-world countries.
That was possible because of Sebastian?
But he seems uncomfortable claiming any credit, and directs us back to the dinner table, where dessert is served. Several people have switched seats, to talk to new people, and I watch Sebastian talk and laugh with new eyes, noting the clear closeness he has with Bianca.
I wonder what the story is there…
“You are not hungry?” Violetta perches in the chair beside me, eyeing my untouched flan.
