Chapter 82: My Dark Prince: Chapter 81

“When am I getting my fucking candy?”

Sebastian punctuated his complaint by shoving his ball cap lower down his forehead. He hadn’t stopped grumbling behind his mask since we’d begun our stroll on a random D.C. street.

I continued to whistle, pretending to ignore his question, still feeling on top of the whole damn world. I’d finally managed to get him out of the house to see a plastic surgeon.

Of course, coaxing him into leaving the south wing required a hard bargain. Namely, some very discontinued Butterfinger BBs. Had I managed to snag a pack? Nope. Would I inform him? Absolutely not.

Someone zipped by on a motorcycle.

Seb lowered his chin until the guy rounded the corner, his fingers holding his sunglasses to his cheeks in case they slipped. “The candy, Oliver.”

“It’s not candy. It’s a brand-new shell.” I didn’t bother hiding the pep in my step, still stupidly excited to have him out and about, breathing fresh air, though he did resemble an overly private celebrity desperate to avoid a new scandal. “A top-of-the-line skiff that’s going to cost more than a car.”

Yes, he’d managed to bargain for one of those, too.

Seb shrugged. “Same shit.”

With his inheritance and stock fund, he could afford one on his own. He just couldn’t accept the delivery. That would require bringing it to the lake, and that would require leaving his wing. I’d agreed to handle everything if he joined me on this day trip.

I shoved my hands into my front pockets. “You know, we can make this interesting.”

“Oh?” Sebastian followed me into a swanky skyscraper. “Is my jacked-up face and ruined life not entertaining enough for you now?”

I groaned. “I mean, we can up the ante.”

“What do you have in mind?”

We stopped in front of the elevator. Other people milled around us, and though I couldn’t see Sebastian’s face, I knew very fucking well that he was on edge. He didn’t even want to be seen by my parents, so the prospect of complete strangers was out of the question.

“A million dollars if you have coffee with me at a nearby café,” I offered.

Seb snorted. “No offense, but I need more money like the Duggars need more kids.”

“There must be something you want.”

Sebastian pretended to perk up. “My old face back?”

The man woke up every day determined to be a twelve-inch dick to me.

We crammed inside the elevator, Seb with his chin glued to his chest. The receptionist, whose face was clearly well-acquainted with the surgeon’s hands, tried to flirt with us. I let her down nicely, while Seb didn’t even grace her advances with an answer.

We’d arrived ten minutes early, so we leafed through old magazines in the otherwise empty waiting room. Finally, a nurse invited us into Dr. Perry’s office. The man couldn’t be more than 40, with a jaw squarer than a fucking UPS box and fresh hair implants.

He laced his fingers, eyes swinging between us. “How can I help you?”

Seb gestured toward me. “You can get him to stop riding my ass about fixing my face.”

I ignored Seb’s quip, forcing a tight chuckle. “My brother was injured in a boating accident fifteen years ago. We were wondering if there’s a way to rebuild the structure of his original face.”

“He was wondering.” Seb slumped in his seat, a knee swung outward. “Not me. I know damn well there is no way back from what’s happening here.” He circled his face.

Dr. Perry unclipped his glasses from the pocket of his white coat, sliding them up his cheeks. “Can you take off your hat, glasses, and mask?”

I held in a breath, certain Sebastian would refuse him. A moment of intense silence passed before Seb offered the slightest nod. He crept the hat off first, followed by his glasses, keeping a snail’s pace.

He paused a few more seconds. I watched, tense as he sucked in a breath, gathering the courage to remove his mask.

Holy shit.

He did it.

He showed his face to someone new. The second person in less than two months. I didn’t care what Seb thought. This was progress.

Dr. Perry studied Seb’s face without recoiling or wincing, no doubt used to seeing plenty of trauma patients. I’d specifically selected him for his trauma expertise.

Sebastian fidgeted in his seat, peering around, doing his best to ignore the pair of eyes digging holes into his face. Finally, he stared the doctor head on. “Do you want a picture or something?”

“Yes.” Dr. Perry gestured out the door, in the general direction of the studio room we’d passed on our way in. “From every angle. And I would also like to see you making facial expressions, so I can assess your range of motion.”

Sebastian huffed but didn’t refuse his request. It struck me that, deep down, he wanted this. Wanted something as close to normal as he could get.

“May I ask, Mr. von Bismarck, why you chose to wait for the facial reconstruction and skin graft?” Dr. Perry jotted some notes down, pausing to face Seb. “Usually, the earlier you tackle these procedures, the better.”

I knew the answer to his question. Sebastian kept his face exactly as I’d tarnished it because he wanted me to have a constant reminder of the damage I had done.

But that would be too uncomfortable to share, so Sebastian shrugged. “I had bigger fish to fry. I focused on physiotherapy and didn’t want to lay in bed weeks on end just so I could look 0.01% less hideous.”

Dr. Perry ignored my brother’s shitty attitude. “Well, if you want me to help you, you are going to have to go through weeks of rest while your face heals. We’re probably looking at four, maybe five, surgeries that will need to be spaced out.”

Sebastian said nothing. Just stared down his nose at him.

Dr. Perry paused his typing. “Most likely, we’ll borrow skin from your buttocks or inner thigh to reconstruct your cheek.”

Seb twirled his ball cap on the tip of his index finger. “Will I look like I’m made out of playdough like other before-and-afters?”

I tried hard not to choke on my saliva. What a shitty thing to say. Especially as the so-called afters at least had the fucking courage to pick themselves up and move on.

Dr. Perry, however, was a seasoned pro when it came to assholes. “You are not going to look exactly like your old self, if this is what you are asking.”

I appreciated that he didn’t coddle Sebastian. Some doctors did, and he stomped all over them.

“Will I or will I not look like playdough, doc?”

“Not sure.” Dr. Perry didn’t flinch beneath Sebastian’s rudeness. “I haven’t played with Playdough since I was a kid, and thankfully, I don’t have any children. That said, I’ve pioneered a technique that uses diced cartilage fascia from donor sources to reconstruct facial structure. In addition to the donor skin from your own body, I’m confident I can create a consistent texture on your face. You’ll be back on the water in no time.”

Sebastian jerked forward. On instinct, I fisted the back of his shirt, just in case he flung himself at the doctor. He didn’t. We held our collective breaths, silent as we waited to see what Seb would do.

Dr. Perry spoke again, quieter this time, “I know who you are, Sebastian von Bismarck. Know who you were. You won’t be perfect again, but I can get you close. You can be your own version of imperfect, which is beautiful as well.”

Sebastian’s fists balled. His knuckles turned an angry white, his fingers pink with the blood loss. “Fuck you.” He shot up, sending his chair flying back into a bookshelf. “You know nothing about who I was.”

Dr. Perry bowed his head. “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not your fucking son,” Seb spat out, grabbing the back of the chair he’d flung and launching it at the wall. It smashed into a framed picture. Glass shattered everywhere.

“Jesus.” Dr. Perry pushed a button on his switchboard. “Aliana, I’m going to need some—”

“Your fake wig is pathetic.” Sebastian stubbed the air in the doctor’s direction. “Just F-Y-fucking-I.”

“Alright. Time to say goodbye.” I grabbed my brother’s shoulder, just as the nurse threw open the door behind us. “I apologize, Dr. Perry.”

With that, I dragged Sebastian out of the room by force. He planted his heels into the hardwood, refusing to budge. And because the bastard worked out like a fucking Olympian, he succeeded.

“No. Fuck that.” Sebastian jerked a shoulder forward, dislodging himself from my grip. “I’m not sorry at all.”

I shoved him out the doorway with all my might before this turned uglier than it already was. The nurse gaped at us, waiting for security to come. I realized she had a direct view of Sebastian’s face. Bare. Unmasked. Shit.

Her palm shot up to her mouth. “Oh, goodness.”

She didn’t bother to hide her wide-eyed stare, visibly shaking. At the sight of us, she stumbled backwards. Her spine hit the water cooler in the hall. The vicious urge to wrap my fingers around her throat and shake her until she closed her damn eyes seized my fists.

All of Sebastian’s progress – done. Erased. Gone in mere seconds. Just because someone had said something he didn’t fucking like. It could’ve meant anything, too.

Oh, goodness, your face.

Or oh, goodness, the fucking glass everywhere.

Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. He froze for a second before something dark and cruel washed over his face. His busted lips pulled into a smirk. He stalked toward her, slow and deliberate, his posture tall and daunting.

He wanted to scare her.

And that scared me.

“That’s right, sweetheart.” Seb got in her face, stopping a mere inch apart. “Take a good look. Have your fill. This is what a monster looks like. A demon. A freak of nature. Take it all in.”

He refused to move.

Sebastian forced her to soak it all up. The raised scar, the busted lips, the cratered cheek. The woman shook, trying to melt into the wall. I fisted the collar of his shirt, yanking him back.

This time, he let me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I kept my hands clamped around his bicep, though I knew he could outpower me if he wanted to. “Christ, you’re going to end up in jail at this rate.” I spun to the shocked nurse, my hands pressed together, though I hated her guts for making Seb feel less than. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

With that, I shoved Sebastian outside the hall and into the reception area. Sometime in the past fifteen minutes, the room had filled up. Every single person stared at him.

He’d forgotten his disguise back in Dr. Perry’s office.

The receptionist who had hit on us gasped.

Sebastian swung back, stopping in front of her. “What’s wrong with your fucking manners?”

She yelped, scurrying under her desk. Obviously, she hadn’t expected us to hear her. Before this got worse, I nudged him out of the clinic and toward the elevators. By the time its doors slid open and I thrust Sebastian inside, we were both panting.

He clutched onto the bar against the mirror, glaring at his reflection. Sweat snaked down my neck, disappearing into my Henley, my mind going a mile a minute. This couldn’t get worse. Except it could. We could get sued. Blacklisted from every local plastic surgeon’s office. Outed on the evening news.

Sebastian’s jaw was clenched so tight, I thought his teeth would snap out of his mouth. “Happy now?”

“Seb …”

I didn’t know what to say. All I wanted was to make shit better for him. And I’d failed spectacularly. Again.

He wasn’t ready.

And, deep down, I wondered if he never would be.

The elevator pinged open.

“Just shut up and get me that fucking shell.” Sebastian stormed out, flipping the bird to everyone in the lobby who gaped at him on his way out. “And don’t talk to me ever again.”