Sebastien

Uncle Sebastien walked in wearing a plain dark T-shirt that hugged his muscles. I found myself staring more than necessary, and I also noticed Mom staring even more.

The flushed look on her face disappeared, and what was left was a smile filled with embarrassment and adoration. The thought and sight of it made me want to puke. I had never and could never imagine my mom looking at someone that way, and neither had she ever looked at my father that way either.

He waved his hand dismissively at Chef Klein, who instantly obeyed, wheeling the trolley away from the dining hall. Now, it was just the three of us in the dining hall, with Sebastien glancing at me before softly pulling out a seat.

“Well… Sebastien,” she slurred slightly. “You would have told me what you wanted for breakfast.”

“Hmm…”

He responded nonverbally, holding the warm cup of coffee Klein had brought for him earlier.

She continued, “You know, my Dorothy is a ballerina, and what she puts in her mouth matters a lot.” She kept babbling while I took small glances at Uncle Sebastien, whose gaze remained on the black coffee in the white mug.

I doubt he was listening to a word she was saying.

“Sebastien,” she called, tapping his arm with a gentleness I wasn’t used to seeing from her. “Are you even listening?”

“You know, Dorothy is one of my biggest priorities. I don’t want her to struggle with weight issues. She needs to remain graceful out there.”

Uncle Sebastien took another slow sip of his coffee, his eyes calculating as they caught mine. My stomach twisted strangely, and I quickly looked away, eating the syrupy pancakes whose sweet, rich taste had suddenly lost its flavor.

“She’s an adult, isn’t she?” he finally spoke, his cutlery making a screeching sound against the porcelain.

I noticed Mom’s eyelids twitching, the type that spoke of anger she was desperately trying to suppress. She hated screeching sounds. It was the fastest way to make her snap.

She and my father used to fight over that every morning, and afterward she would warn me never to do it. Doing that would result in a punishment I never wanted to experience.

But instead, she wore a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and continued eating, softly stabbing into her pancakes.

I took another piece of sliced pancake into my mouth but paused the moment he cleared his throat. His hand cupped my chin without warning, not firmly, not painfully.

But with such gentleness that it contrasted sharply with him. He tilted my chin slightly to the left, his thumb trailing over the spot Mom had slapped yesterday, the scratch still lingering from her stiletto nails.

His thumb traced over it softly, the lingering sting mixing with something that made the hairs on my skin rise. He didn’t mutter anything. He didn’t ask what happened. Instead, with a slight frown, he murmured,

“Try not to get handy next time.”

Neither Mom nor I could understand who he was referring to, which made my mother shoot me a glare. Instinctively, I pulled back softly. His large hand paused in the air before he retracted it and acted like nothing had happened.

Mom cleared her throat in that particular warning manner.

“Hmm, Dorothy, about your punishment.”

“I told you yesterday it would be discussed here along with your stepfather regarding your actions yesterday.”

Oh great. Just as I thought yesterday had ended, her reminder slowly brought it all back. The earlier tension faded away, giving panic room to settle inside me.

“What were you thinking, Dorothy? Do you know how much time your stepfather spent sending security guards out to search for you?”

My face dropped. Looking her in the eyes became nearly impossible, and Sebastien wasn’t helping matters either. Instead, he silently watched my every move.

“The bastard was dragging your unconscious body toward a van.”

Damn, it was that bad.

More guilt sank into me. I hadn’t meant any of what I did yesterday, and I admit it — I regretted it.

She softly tapped Uncle Sebastien’s hand and smiled.

“If not for him, I can’t imagine what would have happened to you. Or what the public would have said about us.”

I parted my quivering lips, looking at Uncle Sebastien and then at Mom.

“Mom, I’m sorry… I didn’t—”

“No, don’t apologize to me,” she shunned, cutting me off with a wave of her hand. “You will apologize to your stepfather, who left our own wedding stressed the entire time while sending a search party for you.”

Apologize? To him? To the very man Mom once pointed at as the homewrecker? The one she claimed pulled Dad away from her and caused their divorce?

I may be calm. I may be a people pleaser. But to him, I wasn’t doing that.

Instead, I remained silent, staring at my food and playing with the omelet using my fork.

“See what I’m talking about? Ever since you started mingling with those girls at the studio, you’ve been acting arrogant all of a sudden.”

Sebastien remained silent, unwilling to indulge in the conversation, but his eyes did the talking. Without him even speaking, Mom, who had been burning with rage, slowly forced herself to calm down.

Then she blurted out unwillingly,

“Since you’re unwilling to apologize, then Sebastien will be the one punishing you.”

What?