“Yeah, because she’s insufferable.”
“Whatever you say.” Xavier reached for another scallop. “These are fucking delicious, by the way.”
I was so nonplussed by his (completely wrong) observation that I barely processed his compliment.
Maya did not have meall twisted up. That was ridiculous.
Did her hyper-competitiveness drive me up the wall? Yes.
Did I take perverse pleasure in getting a rise out of her and making that perfect, type-A mask crack? Also yes.
Did the thought of working closely with her for almost a year bring me dangerously close to the brink of losing it? Yes. I mean, no.
Fuck.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth. An image of her floated through my mind again.
Last week. She was sitting in her family’s conservatory, brow scrunched with concentration as she pointedly ignored me. The sun was setting, and the light made everything about her glow. Her hair. Her skin. Her eyes.
She hadn’t wanted me there, and I shouldn’t have sought her out. We always ended up bickering. But we hadn’t been alone together, just the two of us, in… years. Not since boarding school, in fact. Not since—
I slammed the door on that thought before it fully formed.
A prickle crawled over my skin. Embarrassment, maybe, or resentment. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.
That night had happened forever ago. It had no bearing on my relationship with Maya now.
Instead of entertaining Xavier’s delusions, I tried the scallops myself. A burst of flavors exploded on my tongue. Rich garlic, tangy lemon, and a refreshing hint of parsley mixed with the naturally sweet, briny taste of the seafood.
Xavier was right. It was delicious.
But it wasn’t perfect, which meant it wasn’t up to my standards. It certainly wasn’t up to my father’s standards.
“Dammit.” I tried another one. Same result. “This isn’t it. It’s still missing something.”
“Yeah, it’s missing another batch,” he said through a mouthful of food. “Seriously, man. You’ve been trying to nail this recipe formonths, and this is the best it’s ever been. I think you got it.”
“No.” My teeth ground together. Frustration flared in my gut, hot and sharp. “The best it’s ever been isn’t the best it can be. I’m overlooking something.”
I paced the length of the kitchen. The air was stifling.
I forced myself to take a deep breath and not unravel in front of Xavier. He’d seen glimpses of what it was like when I hit a wall, but he didn’t know the extent of it.
No one did.
“Seb.” Xavier’s smile faded as I walked back and forth, my mind spinning. “Seriously. Your food is incredible, and I’m not saying that because we’re friends. Who cares if it’s not perfect in your eyes?” He jabbed a finger at the half-empty plate. “I guarantee you that nine out of ten people who eat that would say it’s perfect. Hell, everything you do is perfect. That’s why so many people secretly resented you when we were in school.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
I stopped in front of the stove and stared at the remaining scallops. A jumble of words clogged my throat, but they refused to form a coherent explanation.
How could I explain the gaping, gnawing restlessness inside of me? Every day, I woke up on top of the world, but instead of enjoying the view, all I could think about was how much I hated it. And then I hated myself because Ishouldbe grateful.
I had everything, yet everything wasn’t enough. It didn’t fill the emptiness inside me.
It’d been easier to slap a Band-Aid over it when I was younger. I’d papered over that missing part of myself with sex, parties, and alcohol. I’d lived it up around the world and pretended that was all I needed in life. And yeah, some people had resented me for that. They’d looked at my life and thought it was perfect.
