“After the wedding,” Harper agreed, her voice soft but certain.
She started toward the doors, then paused, her hand on the frame. “Sebastian?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth… you look like you belong here too. All of this—” she gestured toward the estate, the laughter, the golden light spilling from the library—“it suits you. The real you, not the one your father tried to create.”
Before he could respond, she slipped back inside, leaving Sebastianstanding alone on the balcony with the weight of her words and the ghost of what they couldn’t yet have, the jasmine-scented air cool against his skin and the sound of his friends’ laughter calling him back to the warmth of the library.
41
Royal Roast
“Ijust want to go on record,” Sebastian announced, sprawling across the leather armchair in the estate’s billiards room, “that planning a stag party for the future King of Caledonia is the most creatively limiting exercise known to man.”
Alexander, who was lining up a shot at the pool table, paused. “I’m sorry my potential for international incidents cramped your style.”
“Oh, it absolutely did.” Sebastian took a long drink of his whiskey. “Do you want to know what we had to reject? Paintball—security nightmare. Enzo isn’t allowed back in Macau. PR didn’t like the optics of going to Vegas. Even bloody go-karting was deemed ‘too risky for insurance purposes.’”
“Go-karting?” Ethan asked, incredulous.
“Apparently future monarchs aren’t supposed to get into high-speed collisions for entertainment,” Sebastian replied dryly.
Lukas, who was methodically destroying everyone at cards, looked up. “Wait, so what did you settle on instead?”
“This.” Sebastian gestured around the room. “Scotch, cigars, and the most wholesome, scandal-free evening known to aristocracy.”
“Sounds positively dull,” Enzo observed.
“It is dull. Apparently, that’s what the palace wants.” Sebastian’s grin then turned wicked. “Which is why I took the liberty of adding one modern touch.”
He pulled out his phone with the air of a man about to commit a beautiful crime.
“Oh God, Sebastian,” Alexander said slowly, recognizing that particular expression. “What did you do?”
“I may have spent the afternoon curating the finest selection of mean tweets about you from the past year.” Sebastian’s smile was pure mischief. “Think of it as a royal roast. Very democratic.”
The room went quiet.
“You want me to read mean tweets about myself,” Alexander said flatly.
“I want you to read mean tweets about yourself out loud, for our entertainment, as your loyal friends mock you accordingly.” Sebastian’s grin widened. “It’s tradition.”
“What tradition?” Alexander demanded.
“New tradition. I’m starting it. Right now.”
Ethan clapped slowly. “This is either brilliant or the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“Both,” Sebastian confirmed cheerfully. “Lukas, you’re keeping score on comedic value. Enzo, you’re judging delivery. Ethan, you’re providing colour commentary.”
“And what are you doing?” Alexander asked.
“Enjoying myself immensely, along with acting as master of ceremonies,” Sebastian replied.
Alexander stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “Okay, let’s get started. Give me the bloody phone.”
“Excellent.” Sebastian handed it over with ceremonial gravity. “Remember, commit to the performance. Really sell the devastation.”