Chapter 78

Sebastian.

The violent thought was oddly satisfying, and I found myself grinding my teeth angrily as I considered how easy it would be to make Jack disappear. I have connections now, power and influence I didn't possess before.

"One call," I mutter darkly. "That's all it would take."

"What was that?" Liam asked sharply.

"Nothing," I replied too quickly.

"Hold on! Brother, absolutely no blood, please!" Liam cried out, alarmed by my obvious rage. "Violence is not the answer here! Think about this rationally for a second – even if you somehow managed to eliminate Jack from the picture, have you considered that maybe Alfred genuinely loves him?"

"He can't love him," I protest. "He can't."

"But what if he does?" Liam pressed on relentlessly. "That means you would be breaking Alfred's heart twice! First when you rejected him, and now by taking away someone he cares about. You have to think of a better idea than violence, Sebastian. Use that strategic mind of yours for something constructive."

Liam continued to explain his reasoning to me in great detail, but his sensible words were like liquid waste, entering my right ear and leaving the left ear at the same f*cking second without making any impact whatsoever on my thinking. All I could focus on was the image of Jack touching Alfred, making him laugh, being close to him in all the ways I longed to be.

"Are you even listening to me?" Liam demanded.

"Sort of," I admitted reluctantly.

"So...!" I heaved a dramatic sigh, interrupting Liam's lecture on proper adult behavior. "What's your brilliant suggestion then, since you seem to have all the answers?"

"What do you think you should do?" Liam countered, clearly trying to make me arrive at the answer myself.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you!" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

"Yes, you do know," Liam insisted. "It's the simplest solution, but also the hardest for someone with your pride."

"Just tell me," I demanded.

"So ask him for forgiveness!" Liam finally exclaimed, giggling slightly at my obvious discomfort with the idea. "It's not complicated, Sebastian. You apologize sincerely for hurting him, explain why you did what you did, and ask for a second chance."

"Apologize?" I repeated the word as if it were foreign to me. "Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that," Liam confirmed. "It's what normal people do when they've hurt someone they care about."

"But I'm the mayor," I protested weakly. "I don't apologize to people."

"No wonder you're alone then," Liam shot back.

"Stop teasing me, Liam! This isn't a joke!" I frowned deeply, suddenly feeling vulnerable and exposed. "What if he doesn't forgive me after everything I did? What if he laughs in my face or, worse, looks at me with pity? I couldn't bear that!"

"Then at least you tried," Liam said simply. "At least you won't spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you'd had the courage to admit you were wrong."

"It's not that simple," I insisted.

"Actually, it is that simple," Liam countered. "You're the one making it complicated because you're scared."

"I'm not scared!" I protested immediately. "I'm Sebastian Evans! I don't get scared!"

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Liam replied, and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Everyone gets scared, Sebastian, especially when their heart is on the line."

"Fine," I conceded reluctantly. "Maybe I am a little... concerned about his response."

"See? That wasn't so hard to admit," Liam said encouragingly. "Now we can actually make a plan."

"I have a good idea that might make this easier for you," Liam suggested after a moment of thoughtful silence. "Why don't you reserve a table at a nice restaurant – somewhere elegant but not too formal?"

"And then what?" I asked skeptically.

"And then I'll try to create a distraction for Jack for a little while – maybe show him something in another part of the restaurant or ask for his help with something. That will give you a few precious minutes alone with Alfred where you can talk to him privately, away from everyone else."

I considered Liam's suggestion carefully. It wasn't a bad plan, actually. A public setting meant Alfred couldn't make a scene if he was still angry with me, but the distraction would provide enough privacy for a real conversation.

"That could work," I admitted reluctantly. "A neutral location might be better than confronting him at the mansion."

"Exactly!" Liam exclaimed, pleased that I was seeing the wisdom of his plan. "No pressure, just a calm conversation between two adults."

"You really think he'll listen to me?" I asked, hating the note of uncertainty in my voice.

"I can't promise that," Liam said honestly. "But I think he deserves to hear the truth, and you deserve the chance to explain. The rest will be up to him."

"Okay, that sounds reasonable," I agreed after a moment's consideration. "Hang up now, and I'll make the necessary arrangements. I'll reserve a table at the best restaurant in town and send my driver to pick all of you up in about an hour."

"Perfect," Liam replied. "I'll make sure everyone is ready and looking presentable."

"And Liam?" I added before ending the call.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," I said sincerely, the words feeling strange on my tongue. "For helping me with this, despite everything."

"That's what brothers are for," he replied simply. "Even annoying ones like me."

I informed Liam of my plans and finally hung up the call, my mind already racing ahead to the evening, thinking through every possible scenario and how I would handle each one. I needed to be prepared for anything, from Alfred's forgiveness to his complete rejection.

"This has to work," I whispered to myself. "It's my last chance."

I turned around to find my assistant still standing awkwardly in my office, quietly reorganizing the papers he had dropped earlier. I had completely forgotten he was there and had likely overheard my entire personal conversation.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" I hollered at him, embarrassed at having been caught in such a vulnerable moment. "How long have you been standing there?"

My assistant jumped slightly at my outburst but stood his ground, which was unusual for him. "Long enough, sir," he admitted. "And if I may be so bold, I think I might be able to help."

"Help with what, exactly?" I asked suspiciously.

"With your... romantic situation," he replied cautiously. "Sir! I know a particularly good restaurant that would be perfect for what you're planning! And I could make some special arrangements for the evening – perhaps an abundance of flowers to set the mood, a talented singer with romantic songs, perhaps some special lighting?"

My assistant's unexpected enthusiasm caught me off guard. I had no idea he had been paying such close attention to my personal affairs.

"You've been working for me for how long now?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Seven years, sir," he replied promptly.

"And in that time, have you always been this invested in my love life?"

"Only when it affects your work performance, sir," he answered honestly. "And lately, it has been... noticeable."

"I appreciate your input," I said stiffly, uncomfortable with the idea that my feelings for Alfred had been so transparent to my staff. "Your suggestions for the restaurant arrangements are acceptable. But absolutely not French cuisine under any circumstances! I hate everything French now!"

I spoke the words with such vehemence that my assistant physically took a step back, looking confused by my sudden culinary prejudice.

"Sir, but you've always expressed a particular fondness for French restaurants in the past!" My assistant's jaw practically dropped in astonishment at my abrupt change in preferences. "Last month you specifically requested that French caterer for the city hall function, and just last week you were praising that new French bistro downtown!"

He was totally right, of course. French cuisine had always been my favorite, something Alfred and I had shared during our time together. We had spent countless evenings in French restaurants, sampling exquisite dishes and fine wines, laughing and talking for hours.

"That was before," I muttered darkly.

"Before what, sir?" my assistant dared to ask.

"Before I met Jack, that insufferable French guy who somehow managed to take my Alfred away from me!" I exclaimed, my voice rising again with renewed anger. "So no, thank you very much – I will now hate all of France, its people, its language, its culture, and especially its food! Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir," my assistant replied, wisely deciding not to argue further. "Italian cuisine it is, then."

"Perfect," I nodded sharply. "Make it happen."

"No! Have you got that message through your thick skull yet?" I commanded my assistant with a stern voice, my patience completely exhausted. Then I pointed imperiously toward the door, making it absolutely clear that our conversation was over and it was time for him to leave my office immediately and close the door behind him.

"Yes, sir, absolutely clear," he replied, backing toward the exit. "I'll arrange everything exactly as you've specified. No French elements whatsoever."

"And make sure the restaurant is completely reserved for our party only," I added as he was leaving. "I don't want any interruptions or spectators for this conversation."

"Of course, sir," he nodded. "Privacy will be guaranteed."

After he had gone, I collapsed into my chair, suddenly exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster of the day. In just a few hours, I would be face to face with Alfred again, this time with a chance to speak honestly. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Don't mess this up," I told myself firmly. "This might be your only chance to make things right."

After half an hour of nervous pacing and rehearsing what I would say to Alfred, my assistant returned to inform me that everything was ready for the evening. The restaurant had been secured, the decorations arranged, and a suitable musical accompaniment organized – all exactly as I had specified, with an Italian theme instead of French.

"Your driver is on his way to the mansion now, sir," my assistant reported efficiently. "And I've taken the liberty of calling Mr. Liam to ensure that everyone will be ready when the car arrives."

"Excellent," I nodded, trying to appear calm and collected despite the anxiety churning in my stomach. "And my other car is prepared?"

"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "Your personal vehicle is waiting downstairs whenever you're ready to leave."

I took a deep breath and straightened my tie, checking my reflection quickly in the small mirror on my office wall. I looked tired, the strain of the day evident in the lines around my eyes, but there was no time to do anything about that now.

"Wish me luck," I said, surprising both myself and my assistant with the uncharacteristic request.