chapter 132
Sebastian's POV:
Elena had been up for an hour already, curled into the corner of the living room sofa like a cat, scrolling through Instagram with the listless dedication of the terminally bored.
I watched her from my wheelchair near the window, pretending to review quarterly reports while actually memorizing the way the morning light caught in her hair.
"Oh my goodness, look at this," she said, holding her phone up with an expression of genuine bewilderment. "Someone's offering a hundred thousand dollars for last-minute birthday venue decoration. Is this... is this normal in your world?"
I kept my expression carefully neutral, though my fingers tightened. "Perhaps for some."
"A hundred thousand? For party decorations?" She shook her head in amazement. "That's like... that's a house down payment. Or several cars. Or—I don't even know what else."
"Mmm."
"And look at the requirements!" She scrolled down, reading with increasing wonder. "'Imported flowers from three continents, custom lighting installation, full orchestra'—a full orchestra!—'to be concealed within architectural features.'"
She lowered the phone, looking at me with those wide blue eyes. "Do they have to specially build spaces just for the musicians? That seems so... wasteful. All that construction for one party?" She shook her head, genuinely perplexed. "It's extravagant but also kind of pointless, isn't it? I'll never understand how rich people think."
"Perhaps someone wants to create an unforgettable experience for someone special," I suggested mildly.
"It would definitely be unforgettable." She gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "The world of the ultra-rich is so beyond my comprehension sometimes. "
She stopped mid-sentence, something in my expression catching her attention.
"Sebastian?" Her voice had lost its mocking edge. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
I set down the quarterly reports with deliberate care. "The fool with more money than sense sends his regards."
Elena froze completely, the phone sliding from her suddenly nerveless fingers to land on the sofa cushions.
"The idiot planning to hide an orchestra in the walls? That would be me." I kept my tone light, though her words had stung more than I cared to admit. "Happy birthday, darling."
"Oh no," she whispered, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
I waited, watching the full magnitude of her faux pas crash over her in waves. Her face flushed crimson, the color spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt.
"I—you—that was—" She couldn't seem to form a complete sentence, her eyes darting everywhere except my face. "Sebastian, I mean—"
"Elena."
"—it was creative! So creative. Hidden orchestras are actually brilliant. Who wouldn't want musicians in their walls? It's like... like a live surround sound system!"
"Elena."
"And a hundred thousand dollars is really quite reasonable when you think about it. For three continents' worth of flowers? That's practically a bargain. You probably got a discount—"
"Stop." I was fighting not to laugh now. "You're making it worse."
She made a strangled sound, burying her face in both hands. "Kill me. Just kill me now. The floor needs to open up and swallow me whole."
"The floor cost fifty thousand to refinish. I'd rather not damage it."
She peeked at me through her fingers, taking in my expression—that particular blend of amusement and expectation.
The slight quirk of my eyebrow said clearer than words.
"I..." She lowered her hands slowly, her face still burning. "I need to make some calls."
"Do you now?"
"Yes! If you've arranged all this—this wonderful, not at all wasteful celebration—then people should be there." She was already reaching for her phone, movements just a bit too quick. "Rose should come. With Lily. And Luna mentioned wanting to celebrate my birthday..."
"Wait—"
"No, no, this is urgent!" She was backing toward the door now, phone clutched like a lifeline. "Can't have a hidden orchestra playing to an empty room. That would be... that would actually be wasteful."
"So I'll just go make these calls. Right now. Immediately." She was practically fleeing, her voice getting higher with each word.
She disappeared around the corner before I could respond.
I shook my head, finally allowing the laughter I'd been suppressing. My wife, caught between mortification and escape, choosing flight over fight.
The money was worth it just to see her like this—flustered and adorable.
---
The morning of Elena's birthday arrived with a crystalline clarity.
I stood in the kitchen, watching the head chef pipe delicate sugar peonies onto the third tier of Elena's birthday cake.
"The color needs to be more subtle," I instructed, studying the fondant work critically. "Elena prefers understated elegance. That pink is too garish."
"Yes, Mr. Vane." The chef adjusted his palette immediately. "Perhaps this shade?"
"Better." I shifted my weight carefully, one hand resting on the marble counter for balance. "And the sugar work on the bottom tier—"
"Sebastian?"
I turned at the shocked voice to find my grandma frozen in the kitchen doorway, her morning tea cup rattling against its saucer. Her eyes traveled from my face down to my legs—my standing, functional legs—and back up again.
"Grandmother." I kept my voice deliberately casual. "You're up early."
"You're... you're standing." The words came out faint, disbelieving. "Standing and walking and—how long?"
"Physical therapy has been progressing well." I turned back to the chef, who had gone very still. "The middle tier needs another layer of those sugar peonies. Make sure they cascade naturally."
"Does Elena know?" Margaret's voice was surprised.
"She will. Today." I met her gaze briefly. "I want to surprise her."
Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed by something softer. "She's going to be shocked out of her mind."