Still, I’ve learned how to handle her over the years. I also know she has a soft spot for me, one I’ve occasionally, very cautiously, learned to use to my advantage.
With a bit of charm and a promise that I’ll explain everything in person, I manage to calm her down. Then I grab my coat and head outside.
She’s waiting in a sleek black Mercedes, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the steering wheel. As I slide into the passenger seat, she leans in and kisses me on the cheek, then pulls back to give me a slow, appraising once-over.
“Good God, Seb. If I weren’t your agent, I’d jump you right now. You just keep getting hotter.”
I flush, and she laughs at my embarrassment.
“May, darling, you look incredible too.”
And she does, golden skin, black hair, eyes like fire, wrapped in Prada.
“But as you know,” I add with a smile, “my tastes lie elsewhere.”
She sighs dramatically. “Yes, yes. All the good ones seem to.”
I laugh, but say nothing. My mind is already spinning.
Maddie’s call has left me shaken.
But I still trust Remi. I just need to understand what the hell is going on.
“Seb! Earth to Sebastian?”
May snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, sorry. So… how’s the concert planning going? What do you think of the programme?”
She switches gears instantly. “Debussy, Chopin, Dvorák, solid choices. But I’m not sold on Piazzolla.”
I brush off the concern. “Actually, I was thinking of closing with Scriabin.”
She stares at me. “Scriabin? Are you insane?”
“Maybe. But I’ve thought about it a lot. I want to challenge myself. I want the audience to see who I really am.”
“Sebastian, there’s a lot riding on this concert.”
“I know, May. I do. But it’s time. I want to push the boundaries a bit. Play pieces that actually speak to me, not just the ones that play it safe.”
She eyes me carefully. “And what do your parents think?”
There it is.
I tense. “I don’t know. And frankly, it’s not their decision. I’m an adult. I’ve been living and working on my own for years. I don’t need their permission. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped going behind my back to consult them.”
Her expression hardens. “I’ve never done anything behind your back. You asked us to handle things when you were younger, and we did. We’ve looked out for you, Seb. We’ve built this together.”
She’s hurt. But she’s also right.
“And if their opinion doesn’t matter anymore, why haven’t you come out to them?”
There it is, her pressure point. Her voice is gentler now, almost coaxing, trying to steer me back onto the safe, familiar path.
But not this time.
“I’m going to Stratford soon,” I say quietly. “And I will tell them. It’s time. I’m tired of hiding.”
