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“You don’t aspire to marry a hedge fund manager and move to the Upper East Side? Raise a pack of kids and go to fashion shows and vacation in Switzerland?”

“Is that what you do?” I counter.

I can’t see Sebastian as a “vacation” type of guy. I imagine him sitting alone in a dark apartment, drinking whiskey, with only the fireplace for light. He shrugs, and I realize I must have hit close to the truth.

“And the rest of it?” I ask. “Kids, a house in Connecticut, the whole thing? You don’t want any of that?”

“No.” He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m never having a family, Isabella. I won’t do to a child what my father did to me. Whatever the Kings are, it can end with me, and the world will be better for it.”

There’s nothing performative in it. It sounds like a vow he made a long time ago and has never once reconsidered.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he prompts, a clear attempt to change the subject.

“This isn’t an interview,” I reply. “We’re practicing being human, remember?”

He smirks. “Then what do we talk about in order to practice?”

“What do you talk about on dates?”

Sebastian didn’t expect that question, and he frowns. “I don’t really go on dates, and if I do, the woman usually does all the talking.”

“What about the woman you ended things with the week we met?”

“I told Amanda from the beginning that I wasn't interested in anything serious. Why don't women believe men when they say that?”

“Maybe because men act like they’re in a relationship until they don’t feel like being in it anymore,” I shoot back. “The dinners, the hand-holding, the attention. Then they pull the plug and pretend the woman’s the problem for reading too much into things. You want all the attention and none of the responsibility.”

Sebastian doesn’t answer. He stares at me for so long, I feel like he’s looking into my soul. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened to you,” he says finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Clearly, there’s a story behind that rant.”

I shift in my seat, nibbling on my bottom lip. “It’s not a rant. It’s just the truth of my experiences, starting with my father.” I cringe because I hadn't meant to let that out.

Sebastian tilts his head. “Your father?”

“He up and left when I was nine. My sisters were six and two. We haven’t heard from him since.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Sebastian sounds honestly moved.

“Yeah, well, what’s worse, a dad who isn't there, or a father who's riding you the entire time and holding you to impossible standards?” He dips his head in acknowledgment.

“You have sisters?”

“Yes, Mom had to work so much to keep us fed that I, well, if you ever meet my mom, don't tell her I said this, it’ll break her heart, but I basically had to raise them.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow.

“You do what you have to do to survive,” I say.

“Indeed.”

Our conversation is interrupted by the approach of our server, who takes our orders, then leaves us alone again in our quiet corner.

“Okay, so,” I say, trying to shift back to the mission, “you left for five years. What made you come back?”