Staying Grounded [BXB]

High Stakes

SEBASTIAN:

The look on Craig's face almost makes this idiotic idea of mine feel worthwhile when I slide into the passenger seat of his car and buckle myself in. He's staring and speechless, and I savour the moment.

I thought Ashleigh would've given him the heads up on this change to plan, but apparently not. 

Catching her eye in the rearview mirror as she settles on to the backseat, I raise a questioning brow. She pulls the door closed and flashes me a fiendish smile. "Easier to get forgiveness than permission; that's what they say, right?"

"Why," Craig finally finds his voice. "Are you here?"

"I'm coming."

"Like hell you are!"

"It may not be my place to forbid Ash from these acts of extreme stupidity, but she can't stop me from joining in on them."

"You're not invited."

"Well, I'm not getting out. So either we all go, or we all stay here and miss out."

He flits a look over his shoulder into the back, where Ashleigh's making herself comfortable, appearing entirely unconcerned, and his expression darkens.

"Just drive, Craig," she chirps. "We're all good."

I'd expected stubborn resistance from Ashleigh over this. It threw me for six when all she said was, "I don't see the harm in it". I've kind of been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since, some demand made of me in return for her compliance. She's had me promise to play nice and remember my manners, but honestly, after seeing the level of her nerves today, I'm thinking now that my familiar company is maybe something of a relief for her. It also hasn't escaped my notice that she's made a real effort to not stand out tonight, dressed smart but simple, her hair freshly dyed to a tame deep red, tied up in a pony.

I'm in the same clothes I wore for the disastrous meal with Mum — the closest to formal wear I own besides my funeral suit — and yet, next to Craig in his tidy blue sweater, I'm feeling kind of shabby. Dropping my head back against the headrest, I close my eyes. "Chop chop."

It's several long minutes before Craig relents and starts the car. He remains silent and brooding for the whole duration of the trip, his chiselled jaw ticking like it's about to explode. Ashleigh and I discuss the many merits of the humble potato with exaggerated enthusiasm until, fifteen minutes later, he pulls up outside his home. The security gates open for him straight away, and he steers the car smoothly up the long drive. My first experience as a passenger to Craig's driving has been quite the treat; he's fast, but he's surprisingly mindful.

Taking the lead to climb out, he slams his car door and stalks toward the house without a backward glance. Ashleigh hurries to catch him up. I'm left hating myself all over again for the awe that strikes me at the ostentatious grandeur of the place; a two-storey limestone manor house standing prominent and proud in a sweeping expanse of manicured grounds. My door shuts, and the immediate click of the lock snaps me back to myself. This is weird. I shouldn't be here.

But then, Ashleigh motions to me from the open front door, and well, after the stand I've taken, it's really too late for me to back down now.

Just stepping into the foyer, I can tell the inside is no less imposing than the outside. The light wood floor is glossier than a newly polished squash court, the ceiling's vaulted at least six feet above my head, and of course, there's a chandelier.

Craig slouches against the stark white wall to my right, intent on removing his shoes when I shut us in. He's prompt in rousing himself, though, when a female voice carries along the hallway from the room at its far end.