Savas' Defiant Mistress. Anne McAllister
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That was fine with Seb. They had their lives and he had his.
But as the date for the wedding approached, things had changed. Wedding plans made months ago now required constant comment and consultation.
Vangie had begun calling him daily. Then twice a day. Recently it had increased to four and five times a day.
Sebastian wanted to say, “Get a grip. You’re a big girl. You can make decisions on your own.”
But he didn’t. He knew Vangie. Loved her. And he understood all too well that her wedding plans were symbolic of her biggest fantasy.
She’d always dreamed of being part of a “real” family, of having that built-in support. It was what “normal” families did, she told him.
And Vangie, more than any of them, had always desperately wanted them to be “normal.”
Seb was frankly surprised she even knew what “normal” was.
“Of course I know what a normal family is,” she’d told him sharply when he’d said so. “And so do you.”
He’d snorted at that. But she’d just come back with, “You have to try, Seb. And trust that it can happen.”
There was no reply to that. If Vangie wanted to live in a Disney movie, he couldn’t stop her. But whenever she called, he let her talk. At least, he did when he didn’t have to get to a meeting sooner rather than later.
But Max had left a message on his mobile phone last night while Seb had been flying back from Reno to say they needed to talk this afternoon.
Which meant, Seb thought with a quickening excitement that owed nothing to jelly beans or mints or the color rose, that they’d won the Blake-Carmody bid.
He and Max had spent both many long hours working up a design for the forty-eight-story downtown building that would be a “complete village” with shops, office and living space. And even though Max had been the one who’d taken the main portfolio to meet with Steve Carmody and Roger Blake, Seb knew it was unspoken that he was being groomed for the head architect’s position. So he had kept on improving, revising, detailing the general plans.
“I just don’t know,” Vangie said now. “There are so many things to think about. The napkins, for instance—”
“Yeah, well, we can talk about it later,” Seb said with all the diplomacy he could muster. “I really have to go, Vange. If I hear from Dad, I’ll let you know,” he added. “But he’s more likely to ring you than me.”
They both knew he wasn’t likely to ring either of them. When last heard from, Philip was about to marry his latest personal assistant. She’d be the fourth who’d had her eye on his wealth. At least his old man knew how to do a decent pre-nup at this point.
“I hope so,” Vangie said fervently. “Or maybe he’s been in touch with one of the girls.”
“What girls?” Philip was taking them on in pairs now? Would it be harems next? Seb wondered, as he shut his portfolio and stood up.
“The girls,” Vangie repeated impatiently, as if he should know which ones. “Our sisters,” she clarified when he still didn’t respond. “Our family. They’ll be here this afternoon,” she added, and all at once her voice sounded bright.
“Here? Why? The wedding’s not till next month, isn’t it?” God knew he was busy, but Seb didn’t think he’d lost the whole month of May.
“They’re coming to help.” Seb could hear the smile of satisfaction in Vangie’s voice. “It’s what families do.”
“For a month? All of them?” He could even remember how the hell many there were. But it didn’t sound like anything to rejoice about.
“Just the triplets. And Jenna.”
All the ones over eighteen, then. Dear God. How was Vangie going to put up with them all for a month? That ought to make her think twice about how much she wanted all of them to be a “normal” family.
“Well, good luck to you. So you want me to arrange for them to be picked up at the airport?”
“No. Don’t worry. They’re coming from all over and at different times, so I told them they should just take taxis.”
“Did you? Good for you.” Seb smiled and flexed his shoulders, glad Vangie was showing a bit of spunk, and grateful that she hadn’t stuck him with all the logistics of shifting their sisters around as well as having to listen to the jelly bean monologues. He picked up his portfolio. “Where are they staying?”
He supposed he ought to know that. He might even drop by and take them to dinner on Sunday—in the interests of “normal” family relations.
“With you, of course.”
The portfolio slammed down on his desk. “What!”
“Well, where else would they stay?” Vangie said reasonably. “All those rooms just sitting there! You must have four bedrooms at least in that penthouse of yours! I have a studio. No bedroom at all. Three hundred square feet. Besides, where else would they stay but with their big brother? We’re a family, aren’t we?”
Seb was sputtering.
“It won’t be a problem,” Vangie went on blithely. “Don’t worry about it, Seb. You’ll hardly know they’re there.”
The hell he wouldn’t! Visions of panty hose drying, fingernail polish spilling, clutter everywhere hit him between the eyes. “Vangie! They can’t—”
“Of course they can take care of themselves,” she said, completely misunderstanding. “Don’t fret. Go to your meeting. I’ll talk to you later. And be sure to let me know if you hear from Dad.”
And, bang, she was gone before he could say a word.
Seb glared at the phone, then slammed it down furiously. Blast Evangeline and her “normal” family fantasy anyway!
There was no way on earth he was going to share his penthouse with four of his sisters for an entire month! They’d drive him insane. Three twenty-year-olds and an eighteen-year-old—giggly, silly girl who, he knew from experience, would take over every square inch. He’d never get any work done. He’d never have a moment’s peace.
He didn’t mind footing the bills, but he was not having his space invaded! It didn’t bear thinking about.
He gave a quick shuddering shake of his head, then snatched up his portfolio and stalked off to Max’s office, where he would at least find an oasis of calm, of focus, of sanity, of engaging discussion with Max.
Gladys, Max’s secretary, looked up from her computer and gave him a bright smile. “He’s not here.”
“Not here?” Seb frowned. “Why not? We’ve got a meeting.”
Besides, it didn’t make sense. Max was always here, except when he was on a site. And he never double scheduled. He was far too organized.
“I’m sure he’ll be along. He’s probably stuck in traffic.” Gladys gave Seb a bright smile. “I’ll ring you when he gets here if you’d like.”
“Is he…on-site?”
“No. He’s on his way back from the harbor.”
“The harbor?” Seb frowned. He didn’t remember Max having a project down there, and he knew Max’s projects.
Max was—had been ever since Seb had come to work for him—his role model. Max Grosvenor was utterly reliable. A paragon, in fact. Hardworking, focused, brilliant. Max was the man he wanted to become, the father figure he’d never had.
Philip couldn’t be bothered to turn up when he said he would, but if Max wasn’t here at—Seb glanced at his watch again—five past