Chapter 3 The Great Love Of Jonathan Cross
♤SEBASTIAN♤
The room goes quiet for a moment, but not the kind of stunned silence that follows a shock. It is the kind of quiet that comes from people processing information they did not expect but also do not find particularly surprising.
My siblings exchange glances, but no one looks genuinely taken aback. They have seen countless women parade through this house, through Jonathan’s life.
My eyes study each of their reactions, landing first on my dear sister, Beauty, with her mischievous smile already in place. I ignore her and turn to the one sitting right beside her.
Daniel.
Our eyes meet, and the tension that surges between us is hot enough to boil water.
He sneers at me, that same arrogant tilt of his mouth he has worn since we were children competing for scraps of attention from a man who never had enough love to go around.
I simply ignore him, the same way I have learned to ignore most things that do not deserve my energy.
Daniel loves to compete with me, has always loved it, and I could trace that attitude back to his mother if I wanted to. She did everything in her power to compete with my mother, and Daniel inherited that hunger along with her sharp tongue.
My eyes continue moving across the room until they land on a figure tucked away in a corner where he will not be easily seen.
Nolan.
His Asian face is heavily pierced, black curly hair falling over his eyes, with tattoos creeping up his neck, chest, and arms in a way that screams typical playboy. But Nolan is the gayest person I have ever met in my entire life, and he does not pretend otherwise.
Nolan is the fourth child, and he is the only one I have any real rapport with among Jonathan’s never-ending chain of children. As for now, only we five are fully accepted by him into the Cross empire, and Nolan is the only one I do not mind sharing air with.
Maybe that is because he is just like me, not after Jonathan’s inheritance, unlike Beauty and Daniel. Or maybe I get along with Nolan simply because effeminate gay men are much happier and more carefree than the rest of us.
His Thai mother, Yoo, is just as happy and carefree, which is more than I can say for any of Jonathan’s other women. She cared for me after my mother died, and she still cares, checking on me when no one else remembers I exist.
“Nolan, are you still going to keep pretending you don’t exist in this room?” Theophilus calls out from the ottoman where he is sprawled, trying to soften the tension that threatens to devour us alive.
“Uhhh,” Nolan replies absentmindedly, his hands flying over his tablet screen.
He is a gamer, a tech god really, and I know for a fact that he heard every word Theophilus just said. He is just pretending to be engrossed in whatever game has his attention because he hates being around Jonathan just as much as I do.
“Leave him be. Do not ruin my day,” Jonathan says, with that particular stiffness he gets when he is trying to control his temper.
His homophobic self hates the way Nolan’s voice carries a softness that Jonathan associates with weakness.
“He speaks like a woman,” Jonathan once said to me, like it was the worst insult he could offer. His sudden hatred for Nolan developed five years ago when Nolan finally admitted his sexuality to the media, and Jonathan has never looked at him the same way since.
Theophilus pushes himself up on his elbows on the ottoman.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, his golden curls falling away from his face as he squints at Jonathan. “You said you were never getting married again. You said that after Sebastian’s mom died, remember?”
Jonathan’s jaw tightens just slightly. “People change their minds, Theophilus.”
“People do,” Beauty cuts in, her dark bob brushing against her sharp cheekbones. “But you don’t, Dad. You never change your mind. You just do whatever you want and call it destiny later.”
She tilts her head, studying Yasmin like a specimen under a microscope.
“So what is it about this one? What makes her different from the other fifty?”
I notice the way Yasmin shifts slightly at the word fifty, but she does not speak. She just sits there beside Jonathan with that same blank expression she has worn all night.
Jonathan does not answer Beauty directly. Instead, he looks around the room with that imperial gaze he has perfected over decades of being the most powerful man in any room he enters.
“I do not owe any of you an explanation for who I choose to marry. You will show up, you will be civil, and you will treat her with respect. That is not a request.”
Daniel leans back against the wet bar and lets out a low, mocking laugh.
“Oh, we all know the reason,” he says. “We do not need you to spell it out for us, Father.”
Beauty raises an eyebrow. “Enlighten us, Daniel.”
Daniel pushes off from the bar and takes a few slow steps into the center of the room, his eyes moving from Jonathan to Yasmin and then landing on a portrait hanging above the fireplace.
The portrait of my mother when she was in her twenties. I have not looked at that painting in years because every time I do, I remember how she died and who probably killed her.
“Look at her,” Daniel says, gesturing toward Yasmin with his glass.
“Really look at her. The hair, the eyes, the shapeto lol of her face.”
He turns to face the rest of us, his smile widening.
“She looks just like Sebastian’s mother. Like the great love of Jonathan Cross’s life. The one he supposedly never got over.”
The room goes still again, but this time the silence feels heavier. Because Daniel has said out loud what everyone has been thinking since they walked in and saw her sitting there.
The resemblance is not subtle. It is not something you have to squint to see.
Jonathan’s face darkens, and I watch his fingers tighten around Yasmin’s hand.
“Watch your mouth, Daniel.”
“I am just observing,” Daniel replies, holding up his free hand in mock surrender.
“We are all thinking it. I am just brave enough to say it out loud. You spent the last fifteen years telling us that no one could ever replace her, that you would rather die than marry again, and now suddenly you are engaged to a woman who could be her twin sister?”
He tilts his head, his voice dropping to something almost playful. “It makes a person wonder, that is all.”
Beauty smirks into her drink. “Daniel, for once in your life, you speak sense.”
“Do not encourage him,” I snap, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.
Beauty looks at me with those scheming eyes. “Oh, look who finally decided to speak. I was starting to think you had turned into one of Nolan’s robots.”
I ignore her and turn my attention to Jonathan, who is watching me with that careful, calculating expression he always wears when he is trying to figure out what I am thinking. He has been trying to figure me out my entire life, and he has never quite succeeded.
“You cannot be serious about this,” I say. “Marrying her? After everything? After what you did to my mother?”
Jonathan’s eyes flash with something that reminds me exactly why people are afraid of him.
“I did not do anything to your mother, Sebastian. You have been nursing that delusion for fifteen years, and I am tired of hearing it.”
“Delusion?” I take a step closer to him, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“She died in this house. In your bedroom. And you stood there and told the police it was an accident, that she fell, that she hit her head. But I know you. I know what you are capable of.”
Jonathan rises and steps forward, placing himself squarely in my line of sight.
“You have said your piece, Sebastian. Now you will sit down and be quiet, or you will leave. Those are your only options.”
I stare at him for a long moment, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on me.
Beauty is enjoying this, Daniel is waiting for me to do something stupid, Theophilus looks mildly uncomfortable.
Nolan has finally looked up from his tablet, his bright eyes watching the scene unfold with interest.
“I will leave,” I say finally, my voice cold. “This house makes me sick.”
I turn on my heel and walk toward the door, but I stop when I reach the threshold and look back at Yasmin one more time. She is watching me, and I wonder if she truly doesn't know me me or she's just pretending not to.
Either way, i find out. And trust me, I know exactly how to.
