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“I’m in love with him. Like seriously,” I confide in Gabi, feeling my heart race with excitement and nervousness all at once. “Sebastian is leaving for Hungary tomorrow, but we plan to take our relationship to the next level once he gets back.”
“By next level you mean…engagement?” Gabi asks, her eyebrows raised even further up her forehead.
I chuckle, shrugging. “Maybe, maybe not. But I think so.” Gabi sucks in a shocked breath, her eyes going wide, and I hold my hands up to stop any loud exclamations she might be about to utter. “You cannot tell anyone about this, Gabi. We shouldn’t even be talking about it publicly, honestly.”
She wrinkles her nose, sitting back in her chair. “I think you might be overreacting about all the secretiveness. No one is concerned around here about who you’re dating, unless you mean–” A look of comprehension comes over her face. “Oohhh…you’re worried about word getting back to your mom, aren’t you?”
My thoughts immediately shift to my mother, and I feel a wave of anxiety wash over me. “I have to talk to Mom,” I say, my voice tinged with worry. “I’ve got no idea how to change her mind and persuade her that Sebastian is the perfect man for me. She is so ridiculously against the idea of it that I don't think anyone on the planet could convince her otherwise. Mother doesn’t like to be proved wrong, that’s for sure.”
“Hmm…” Gabi pulls the tabloid back over to the other side of the table and stares down at the picture of Sebastian and I thoughtfully. “I mean, she can’t do much, can she? You are an adult living in Amsterdam and studying law, like what can your mom do?” Gabi questions, her voice reassuring.
I pause, considering her words. “That's true, but you don't understand my mother, Gabi.” My mind starts racing with memories of past arguments with my mother over all kinds of topics and almost shiver. Lately, the biggest point of contention has been my reluctance to make appearances in society. Now, though, nothing can eclipse how angry she is about Sebastian. “God knows… She’s crazy, I’m telling you.”
As much as I try to push away my concerns about my mother, I know that I'll need to find a way to convince her that Sebastian is the right choice for me. I can’t bear the thought of losing him because of my mother’s disapproval. But with Gabi by my side, I feel a glimmer of hope from her lightheartedness that maybe I can turn the tides of my mother’s ire. It’s unlikely, and it’s not often that I win an argument with her, but Sebastian is reason enough for me to try.
13
Julia
We’re supposedto be having lunch, but I’ve never been less hungry in my entire life. I had called one of the family drivers to bring me to the restaurant this afternoon, not wanting to risk the possibility of arriving late and annoying my mother from the start, but the black sedan with the dark tinted windows just feels so stifling right now, almost like a cage. A cage I can’t wait to escape.
The car pulls up to the curb, so I take a deep breath and force myself to step out. The sun is shining, and the air is crisp, but my stomach is in knots. Today is the day I’ve invited my mother to lunch in Amsterdam proper, and I’m terrified of how it’s going to go. I suggested the restaurant De Plantage since it has a beautiful ambiance with high ceilings, along with natural light pouring in from the windows, and greenery all around, hoping that the lovely setting will be enough to have Mom in a good mood for this conversation that I know she doesn’t want to have. To be fair, I don’t want to either, but she’s given me little choice with her stubbornness. I've been trying to get her to accept my relationship with Sebastian for some time now, but she’s so unmovable and set in her ways.
I smooth down my dress and check my reflection in the car window before making my way toward the restaurant’s entrance. The day is so beautiful, and the restaurant looks bright and inviting, but I can’t focus on any of it. All I can think about is how desperate I am for my mother’s approval, and how much I fear she won’t give it.
Inhaling slowly and holding my head high, I push open the door and step inside, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart in my chest.
As I walk into the restaurant, all I can think is how most women would be feeling excited having this chat with their mothers, but for me, it’s only dread. Of course, I’m looking forward to spending time with my mom, but the entire point of the lunch is to discuss Sebastian, and I just can’t anticipate how exactly she’s going to take it. A tiny piece of me still hopes that she will be open to the possibility once she sees how serious I am about him, but it’s admittedly a long shot. Mom doesn’t offer me very many pleasant surprises when it comes to my personal life and decisions, especially when I go off script from what she thinks is appropriate for me. And Sebastian van den Bosch isn’t anyone that Mom ever had in mind for me.
It’s bizarre. He’s from a wealthy, old money family, and even Alex approves of him. Certainly it can’t just be our age difference freaking Mom out so much.
Speak of the devil, I notice Mom waiting for me at the bar, her honey-colored hair pulled up in an elegant bun, she’s at least drinking a glass of champagne, and I hope the alcohol will make her a bit more agreeable.
I walk over to where she is and put on my most welcoming tone, “Hey Mom, thanks for coming.”
“Julia, dear, finally.” She greets me with a lukewarm smile, standing and kissing each of my cheeks without much enthusiasm, and I can already tell she’s not thrilled about being here. I take a calming breath and remind myself that I need to stay calm and composed, no matter what she says.
We are escorted to our reserved table, and I can’t help but notice the beautiful interior of the restaurant as we take our seats. The walls are adorned with paintings, and the ceiling is painted with intricate designs. The tables are set with white linens, and it’s just busy enough to have a warm and inviting feel. “It’s nice here, isn’t it, Mom?”
“Fine,” she sighs, unimpressed. “But I have a feeling that you aren’t wanting to talk about interior design, correct?”
I wince. God, I was hoping that she would at least give me a few minutes to just talk and enjoy each other’s company before we had to get into the more difficult subjects! Mom is giving me zero time to prepare, and it leaves me reeling.
The server approaches us, and we both order our drinks. I opt for a refreshing iced tea while Mom asks for another glass of champagne. I can even feel her eyes on me as I take a sip of my drink, ice clinking cheerily in the glass, and I try to ignore the tension that's building between us.
“So you were right,” I confess, putting the glass back down on the table. “I did want to talk to you, but we don’t have to get right into it. I’m pretty hungry anyway, so–-”
“Let me guess,” Mom begins, looking both entertained and Machiavellian at the same time. “Sebastian again?” Her voice is laced with disapproval. “I thought the subject was closed.”
I shut my eyes and take a second, trying to steady myself while her words ring in my ears. “This is going to be hard to hear, and I understand that, but I love him, Mom. I truly do, and I wish you could see how happy I've been since I met him.”
Her expression remains unchanged, and I can see the skepticism in her eyes, followed by something much more dark and sinister. It scares me, and as much as my mom drives me crazy sometimes, I’ve never had reason to fear her, and it makes me shiver.
I know I need to tread carefully if I want to convince her. As we wait for our food to arrive, I try to think of ways to persuade her, but my mind draws a blank. All I can do is hope that she will eventually come around and see how much Sebastian means to me. Or if all else fails, just that she trusts me enough to let me make my own decisions without trying to interfere.
“Why are you telling me all this?” My mother demands after a beat, her eyes narrowing.
I take another sip of my iced tea, wishing now that it were wine, trying to steady my nerves. Other patrons of the restaurant go on with their meals all around us, and their laughter and happiness start to grate on my nerves. Why can’t it be like that for us? Why can’t I be happy? Giving in to my uncomfortableness, I wave the server down and order a glass of white sangria, wanting to settle myself without getting too foggy to continue the conversation. I need my wits about me when Margaret Van Dieren is involved, just like anyone else. She doesn’t have a reputation of being an easy woman to deal with, after all.
