That’s when I knew I’d never lose him.
Now, he speaks from that same quiet strength.
“You’ve always deserved to be happy, Remi. I thought you had that with Maddie. But when you talk about Sebastian... mate, your whole face changes. If you walk away from this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. So fight for it. Love him. Be brave. And whatever happens, no regrets. All you owe Maddie is the truth. I’ve got your back. Always.”
In almost twenty years of friendship, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say that much in one go.
“Confirmed,” I say, voice breaking. “You’re officially a sap. You actually made me cry.”
I’m half-laughing, half-sobbing, and it’s a mess, but a good one. A necessary one.
“Love you, too, brother. Always.”
And just like that, I know Francis is right.
If I want any chance of building something real with Sebastian, something lasting, there’s only one way forward now.
The truth.
CHAPTER 20
Stratford upon Avon
SEBASTIAN
I’ve already resigned myself to the inevitable lecture from my mother about slipping away from the reception at Wigmore Hall. I’m halfway through preparing a mental defence strategy when she rises from her armchair and says, all too lightly, “Sebastian, darling, we’ll finish our conversation later…”
Ah. There it is.
“But now, go on upstairs and get changed, we’re expected for lunch at the Dirty Duck, and if we don’t hurry, we’ll be late.”
I blink. I’ve barely set foot in the house, and we’re already heading out again?
Still, the question that escapes my lips is, “Expected by whom, Mum? You didn’t say anything about plans.”
Isabel exchanges a glance with my father, who offers a silent nod, expression unreadable. Her lips press into a tight line before lifting into one of her well-practised smiles.
“Darling, I told you about this lunch. You must’ve forgotten, with everything you’ve got going on. Not a problem though, right?”
Actually, I’m fairly certain she never mentioned it. Not once.
I’d been hoping for a bit of quiet with them, just the three of us, so I could finally tell them. Come out. But clearly, that’s not happening. Not today, anyway. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow.
There’s no point arguing, Mum’s already decided, and once she has, that’s the end of it.
Before I can get a word in, she carries on, undeterred.
“We’re having lunch with Jane and Edward Welland. You remember them, don’t you? Old friends from the bridge club. Jane’s a Whitbread, her family owns one of the most important hotel chains in the UK…”
The name Welland stirs the faintest flicker of recognition. After so many years away, most of my parents’ friends blur together, names without faces, stories I only half remember. Still…
“Wait, Mum, do they have a daughter who went to my school? I think I remember a Welland…” I dig through the fog of memory, chasing a name that flits just out of reach. Then a face surfaces, porcelain skin, brunette hair, like something out of a vintage storybook. “Hmm… Caroline? Or maybe Claire?”
“Cressida!” Mum practically squeals, clapping her hands like she’s won something. “See? You do remember her! She’s your age, but she was away at boarding school in Devon until she was fifteen, and her parents were posted to Singapore. By the time she joined your school, you wouldn’t have met, she was in another class.”
Now that she says it, I do remember a ripple of gossip about a girl transferring from some fancy boarding school. But I wasn’t paying much attention. Back then, my world was Maddie and Ann e and music, everything else barely registered.
Mum’s still talking, oddly enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic. She’s not usually one for this level of detail unless she’s building up to something.
