Page 50 of Bid For Me
We sit in silence for a long moment, watching the sunrise, wrapped in blankets, the world waking up around us. I don’t know what comes next, don’t know what he wants from me, what I want from him.
I don’t know what to say, and by the time I’ve gathered my thoughts enough to reply, I feel like the moment has passed.
The sun continues to rise slowly, painting the sky with soft hues of pink and gold as the world around us begins to wake up. We sit in the silence of the moment, the blankets wrapped around us, the steady rhythm of the river beside us. It’s peaceful, but there’s something in the air, something that feels like the calm before a storm. I can’t ignore the tension between us, the unspoken weight of everything we’ve been skirting around.
“Seb,” I say softly, breaking the quiet. “Tell me more about your family. You mentioned your father before, but you didn’t really go into it.”
He shifts beside me, the faintest sigh escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “My family...my father is a constant weight,” he begins, his voice low, the words heavy as if they carry years of frustration. “He’s...relentless. I could never live up to his expectations. It’s like he needs me to be someone I’m not, someone I’ve never wanted to be.”
I can feel the edge in his voice, and I sit up a little straighter, turning toward him more fully. “That sounds...tough.”
“It is,” he admits, his jaw tightening. “He doesn’t care about what I want. He cares about what Ishouldwant. He wants me to be a clone of him – cold, ruthless, calculating.” Seb lets out a sharp breath. “I don’t know if I can keep doing it. I don’t know if I even want to. But when you’ve spent your whole life trying to meet someone’s impossible standards...it’s hard to see another way.”
His words hang in the air between us, raw and unfiltered. The Seb I’ve known – the man who always had a calculated response, a guarded smile, a sharp remark – has cracked open in a way I wasn’t expecting.
I nod slowly, my own thoughts drifting back to my family. It’s not the same, not at all, but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re being molded into something you don’t want to be.
“I get it,” I say quietly. “My mom…she was always so disappointed in me. I mean, nothing was ever good enough. If I ever didn’t follow the rules, if I ever didn’t take the right path, she let me know it. Every day. You know, the whole...‘when will you grow up, Elle?’ thing.” I laugh, though it’s more of a bitter sound than anything else. “She was always pushing me, telling me what I should do. What I should want. And when I didn’t do any of it, when I made my own choices – well, it just didn’t fit her idea of who I was supposed to be. It was always clear that Aiden was the golden child. The one who never disappointed. And itmade everything I did feel...less. Like I was always fighting for scraps of approval, even though I never asked for it.”
Seb turns to me then, his eyes softer, his expression a mix of understanding and something else. “Sounds like she never saw you for who you really are. Just...the version she wanted.”
“Exactly.” My voice cracks a little, and I quickly clear my throat, trying to steady myself. “And you know she was never like that with Aiden. I hate that she, well, both our parents really, held us both to different standards. But that’s not even the worst of it. When I finally started making my own choices, it was like she couldn’t handle it. She wanted to hold onto this version of me, the one that fit into her world. She thought I was a disappointment. Sometimes, I still feel like I am.”
“You’re not a disappointment,” Seb says, his voice steady, but with an intensity that surprises me. He shifts closer, his hand reaching out to rest on my arm, the touch warm and grounding. “Not to me. You’re not. You never could be. They’re the disappointment, Elle, for holding you to different ideals than your brother. For their bullshit expectations and total inability to see your worth.”
I blink, taken aback by the sincerity in his words. I never expected him to say that, especially not in this moment. “I don’t know if I can believe that,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to believe me. But I mean it,” he replies, his voice soft, yet certain. “I get it now. About pushing people away. About trying to meet expectations that aren’t yours to carry. But you don’t have to do that with me. Not anymore.”
My chest tightens at his words, and I look away, staring out at the river. The morning air is cool, but it feels warm here – between us. Like we’re both slowly shedding the layers we’ve built around ourselves.
“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if things had been different?” I ask, my voice quiet as I turn back to him. “If we’d grown up with families who actually saw us, who actually understood us, instead of just making us fit their image?”
Seb looks at me, his eyes darkening with something I can’t quite place. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “Sometimes, I think I would’ve been different. Maybe I wouldn’t be so damn guarded, so afraid to show what I really feel.” His gaze drifts off to the side, but I can tell he’s lost in the thought, a rare vulnerability in his expression.
I nod, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I think we’re both still trying to figure out who we really are. Without the masks. Without the walls.”
He looks at me then, his gaze searching mine, like he’s trying to read something deeper. After a long pause, he speaks again, quieter this time. “Maybe we could figure that out together.”
For a moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath, and I hold mine too, not sure what to say next. His words hang in the air between us, fragile, but they mean something.
“I’ve never really had someone to rely on,” I say softly, the truth slipping out before I can stop it. “Not in the way you’re talking about. But I want to. I want to know what it’s like to trust someone. To have someone trust me, too.”
Seb’s hand moves, and before I can stop him, he’s cupping my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek, the touch so gentle it makes my breath hitch. “You can trust me,” he says, his voice thick with meaning. “I’ve got you, Elle.”
And for the first time, I believe it.
After a long stretch of silence, we both rise to our feet, the blankets falling away as Seb extends his hand to me, his fingers brushing mine. “Come on,” he says with that same gentle but insistent tone. “Let’s go for a walk. I know a place.”
I glance at him, curious, but there’s something in his eyes – a spark of something mischievous, maybe even excitement – that makes me want to follow. So I take his hand, letting him guide me away from our little riverbank retreat. We walk side by side, the early morning chill crisp against my skin, but Seb’s presence is like a steady warmth beside me.
After a few blocks of walking through the almost-quiet streets of London, Seb leads me to a large, ornate building with huge glass windows, the kind that usually looks closed off. I’m about to ask where we’re going, when he pulls open a door, revealing an ice skating rink, completely empty except for a few workers setting up for the day. A smile spreads across his face as he looks down at me.
“I thought we could try this. You game?”
I stare up at him, my mouth slightly open. “You’re taking me ice skating?” I can’t help the surprise in my voice. Seb’s always been so polished, so precise – it’s hard to picture him in something as carefree as this.
He shrugs, looking way too smug. “I like to mix things up now and then.”