Chapter 9 THE ADRIATIC TOUR
Three days after the phone call incident, Sebastian knocked on Harper's bedroom door at 9 AM on a Saturday morning.
"What?" Harper called out, still half asleep.
"I want to see it," Sebastian said through the door.
"See what?"
"The hotel. The Adriatic. You keep talking about it like it's some irreplaceable piece of history. Show me."
Harper sat up in bed, confused. Sebastian had been avoiding her since their argument about the phone call. They had exchanged maybe ten words total in three days, passing each other like polite strangers in the penthouse. Now he wanted a tour of the hotel?
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
"Because I'm funding the renovation and I've never actually been inside. That seems like poor business practice."
Harper got out of bed and opened the door. Sebastian was already dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, looking more casual than she'd ever seen him. It made him seem younger somehow, less intimidating.
"You want to tour the hotel," she repeated.
"Yes."
"Right now?"
"Unless you have other plans."
Harper did not have other plans. She had been planning to spend the day working on renovation budgets and maybe feeling sorry for herself. A tour of the Adriatic with Sebastian sounded either like a terrible idea or an opportunity to make him understand why the building mattered so much.
"Give me twenty minutes," she said.
"I'll make coffee."
Thirty minutes later, they were standing outside the Adriatic. The morning was overcast but not raining, and the building looked almost magical in the soft gray light. Harper pulled out her keys and unlocked the front door.
"Welcome to the Adriatic Hotel," she said, pushing the door open. "Built in 1923 by Thomas Garrett, designed by Margaret Whitman, one of the few female architects working in Seattle at that time."
Sebastian stepped inside and stopped. Harper watched his face carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. The lobby was not impressive by modern standards. The furniture was old, the carpet was worn, and there was visible water damage in one corner. But there was also the original mahogany front desk, the terrazzo floors with their intricate geometric pattern, and the art deco light fixtures that had somehow survived almost a century.
"The terrazzo alone would cost a fortune to replicate today," Harper said, walking further into the lobby. "It is a pattern called Dancing Diamonds. The installer was an Italian immigrant named Carlo Benedetti. It took him and his crew four months to complete."
Sebastian crouched down to look at the floor more closely. He ran his hand over the surface, tracing the pattern with his fingers.
"My aunt used to tell me stories about this lobby," Harper continued. "During the Depression, the hotel almost went under. The owner at the time wanted to cover the terrazzo with cheap linoleum to save money. Carlo Benedetti heard about it and came back with his sons. They worked for free for three days, restoring and sealing the floor so it would last another hundred years. He said some things were too beautiful to cover up, even when times were hard."
"That is a nice story," Sebastian said, standing up.
"It is true. My aunt showed me the newspaper article about it. Carlo said, "We build things to last, not to be forgotten."
Sebastian looked around the lobby again, and Harper thought she saw something shift in his expression. Not quite appreciation, but maybe less dismissal than before.
"Show me the rest," he said.
They walked through the first floor slowly. Harper pointed out original crown molding, hand carved wooden panels, brass fixtures that only needed cleaning to shine again. She explained which walls were load bearing, which systems needed complete replacement, where the water damage was worst.
"The east wing took the most damage," she said, leading him down a hallway. "The roof has been leaking for at least two years. My aunt tried to patch it, but she did not have money for a full replacement. That is going to be one of the biggest expenses."
Sebastian examined the water stained ceiling, the warped floorboards, the smell of mold that lingered despite Harper's best efforts at ventilation.
"This is bad," he said.
"I know. But it is fixable. The structure underneath is still solid. We just need to replace the damaged materials and fix the roof."
"That is not a small job."
"I never said it was small. I said it was fixable. There is a difference."
They climbed the stairs to the second floor. The elevator was still broken, and Sebastian raised an eyebrow at the Out of Order sign that looked like it had been there for months.
"Also fixable," Harper said before he could comment.
The second floor held the ballroom, and Harper paused outside the double doors. She had not been in here since the argument with Sebastian three days ago. Had not wanted to face the memories while feeling so unsettled about everything.
"This is the ballroom," she said quietly. "This is where my aunt died."
Sebastian looked at her, and his expression softened slightly. "We do not have to go in."
"No, you should see it. It is the best room in the building."
Harper pushed open the doors, and they stepped inside. The ballroom was large and empty, with high ceilings and beautiful floor to ceiling windows along the east wall. Dust motes floated in the gray light, and the hardwood floor creaked under their feet. The water stain on the ceiling had grown since Harper's last visit, spreading like a bruise across the ornate plaster molding.
Sebastian walked to the center of the room and turned slowly, taking it all in. Harper stayed by the door, watching him.
"She was hanging curtains," Harper said. "Gold velvet ones she found at an estate sale. She was up on a ladder, probably standing on the top step even though you are not supposed to. Her heart just stopped. The doctor said she would not have felt any pain. She was seventy two years old and she died doing something she loved in a place she loved."
"I am sorry," Sebastian said, and he sounded like he meant it.
"Everyone keeps saying that. I am sorry. It is terrible. What a tragedy. But the thing is, my aunt lived exactly the life she wanted. She was not married, did not have kids, spent forty years running this hotel and loving every minute of it. Even the hard parts. Especially the hard parts." Harper moved further into the room. "She used to say that nothing worth having comes easy. That if you want something beautiful, you have to fight for it."
Sebastian was quiet, still looking around the ballroom.
"This room hosted Seattle's first integrated wedding in 1951," Harper continued. "The bride's family was Black, the groom's family was white, and no other venue in the city would take them. The owner at the time was a woman named Ruth Chen. She told them love was love and opened the ballroom for free. There is a photo in the Seattle Public Library archives. The couple is dancing right here, right where you are standing, and they look so happy."
"You know a lot of history about this place," Sebastian observed.
"My aunt made sure I knew. She said buildings are like people. They have stories. They matter. You cannot just erase them because it is convenient."
Sebastian flinched slightly at that last part. Harper had not meant it as a dig, but she was not sorry he heard it.
They spent another hour going through the rest of the hotel. Harper showed him guest rooms that needed updating, bathrooms with original tilework that was cracked but salvageable, a kitchen that would require complete gutting and modernization. She pointed out architectural details that most people would miss. The way the windows were positioned to maximize natural light, the thoughtful flow from public to private spaces, the small touches that showed someone had designed this building with care.
Sebastian asked questions. Good questions. About load capacity and electrical systems and whether certain walls could be removed to create more open space. He took photos on his phone, made notes, occasionally stopped to examine something more closely. He was seeing the building as a developer would, calculating costs and feasibility, but Harper thought maybe he was also starting to see what she saw.
They ended up back in the lobby. Harper locked the front door behind them and turned to find Sebastian staring up at the building's facade.
"So?" she asked. "What do you think?"
Sebastian was quiet for a long moment. "I think it needs a lot of work."
"That is it? That is all you have to say?"
"I think," Sebastian continued slowly, "that I understand why you could not let it go. Why were you willing to marry a stranger to save it."
Harper felt something tight in her chest loosen slightly. "Really?"
"It has good bones," Sebastian said, and Harper nearly laughed because those were her aunt's exact words. "The structure is sound. The architecture is significant. The history is..." He paused. "History matters."
"I did not think you cared about history."
"I usually do not. History does not show up on balance sheets. It does not increase property values or generate revenue." Sebastian looked at her. "But that story is about Carlo Benedetti and the terrazzo floor. That couple dancing in the ballroom. Your aunt hung curtains at seventy two because she loved this place too much to stop caring for it. That is not just history. That is the meaning."
Harper did not know what to say. This was the most human Sebastian had seemed since she met him. The most real.
"You were right," Sebastian said. "About the phone call. About me being cold. I have spent so long trying not to be my father that I forgot there is a difference between being strong and being cruel."
"Sebastian..."
"Let me finish." He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable but determined. "I called Richard back. Apologized properly. Told him his job was not in danger. I do not know if that fixes anything, but it felt like the right thing to do."
"That was good," Harper said softly. "I am sure it meant a lot to him."
"He cried. A fifty year old VP of Development cried because I told him his job was safe. That is how badly I have been managing people." Sebastian laughed, but it sounded bitter. "My father would have been disappointed in me."
"I think your father would be proud that you recognized a mistake and fixed it."
"You never met my father."
"No, but I know what my aunt would say. She would say making mistakes does not make you a failure. Not learning from them does."
They stood there on the sidewalk, the Adriatic looming behind them, and Harper felt something shift between them. Not quite trusting, but maybe the beginning of understanding.
"I want to do this right," Sebastian said. "The renovation. I do not want to just throw money at contractors and hope for the best. I want to restore this building the way your aunt would have wanted. With respect for what it was and vision for what it can be."
Harper felt her eyes getting wet and blinked hard against it. "That means a lot to me."
"I know. That is why I am saying it." Sebastian checked his phone. "I have a meeting at two. We should head back."
They walked to Sebastian's car, a sleek black sedan that probably cost more than the entire Adriatic renovation budget. The drive back to the penthouse was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet than the past three days. Less strained. More comfortable.
When they got home, Harper started to head to her room, but Sebastian stopped her.
"Thank you," he said. "For showing me the hotel. For explaining why it matters. I needed to see it."
"Why did you ask?" Harper was genuinely curious. "After three days of barely speaking to me, why did you suddenly want a tour?"
Sebastian looked uncomfortable. "Because Claire called. She asked how things were going with you, and I realized I did not actually know. I had been so busy being defensive about that phone call that I forgot we are supposed to be partners in this. And partners should understand each other's priorities."
"Claire called," Harper repeated, smiling slightly. "Your sister is scary and perceptive."
"She has been managing me since we were kids. She can read me better than anyone." Sebastian loosened his tie. "She said I was being an idiot and that I should actually try to understand why you married me instead of assuming I already knew. So I did."
"And?"
"And she was right. As usual." Sebastian moved toward his room. "I really do have a meeting at two. But maybe tomorrow we could start planning the renovation? Go through your ideas, look at contractors, start making actual decisions?"
"I would like that," Harper said.
"Good. It is a date." Sebastian paused. "Not a date. A business meeting. But less formal. More collaborative."
Harper laughed, the first genuine laugh she had in days. "I know what you meant."
After Sebastian left for his meeting, Harper sat on the couch and pulled out her phone. She texted Jessie: "I think maybe I did not make a mistake after all."
The response came quickly. "What happened?"
"He took me to the Adriatic. Asked questions. Actually I listened. Said history matters."
"Sebastian Colton said history matters? Did he get hit on the head?"
"I think maybe I am seeing the person underneath the corporate armor. And he is not as cold as I thought."
"Be careful, Harper. Do not fall for him just because he is being decent."
Harper stared at that message for a long time. Was she falling for Sebastian? No. Definitely not. They barely knew each other. This was still a business arrangement. Still a contract marriage with an expiration date.
But maybe, possibly, they could become friends. Maybe they could make this twelve months less about survival and more about partnership.
Maybe that was enough.
Harper spent the rest of the afternoon working on renovation plans, but her mind kept drifting back to the tour. To the way Sebastian had crouched down to examine the terrazzo floor. The way he listened to every story she told about the building. The way he admitted making mistakes with Richard and actually apologized.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Sebastian. "Forgot to mention earlier. That story about Carlo Benedetti saying we build things to last, not to be forgotten is going on a plaque in the lobby when the renovation is done. Your aunt would have liked that."
Harper read the message three times, feeling something warm spread through her chest.
"She would have loved that," she typed back. "Thank you."
"Partners, remember? We are doing this together."
Harper smiled at her phone and thought maybe, just maybe, this arrangement was going to work out after all.