Sebastian

"Did you have your interview with Sweet Treble?" Mom asked the moment she saw me enter the grand living room of our mansion.

It was Wednesday evening, which marked another classic family dinner with my grandparents, Kristov and Pia Stavrakos, and Gareth and Celine Danes.

All eyes turned to me, waiting for my answer.

Damn, I had to beat around the bush.

The supposed interview with the spinster happened a week ago. I thought it was long forgotten, but now it haunted me.

I couldn't tell her the truth yet—that I didn't succumb to that boring interview. Something told me she would be upset if I did, and that could ruin the family dinner. I had to test the water first.

"Was that really a big deal?" I questioned to save myself from lying. I went to the bar and poured myself a glass of sparkling red wine that everyone was drinking.

"Of course. It's a good way to divert the media's attention away from the princess issue." She took a sip of her wine, leaning closer to Dad, then added, "Anyways, I'm glad you did the interview, Sebastian. Sweet Treble's blog is making an enormous wave in social media right now."

"Oh really? Lucky for her." I sat next to my Grandpa Gareth, who was the most chill of anyone in the room.

"That's not luck, son. She works hard to get on the top." Dad raised his hand briefly. "She's quite impressive. Hardworking and good-natured. Ah—you should know better. You met her in person, right?"

I did not answer, saving myself from lying again. Instead, I sipped my wine slowly and waited for someone to rescue me.

Grandma Pia did.

"Is she the one who interviewed Zion Petrakis recently?" Her eyes gleamed with interest.

Well, she rescued me from answering about the spinster librarian, but she kept the topic burning, drawing interest from everyone.

"Yeah, the same girl," Mom responded. "You know her?"

"Uh-huh. I followed her blog. A very sweet girl, just like her name. She's a farmer's daughter from Dansville," Grandpa Pia answered, drawing attention from everyone.

"Oh, wow. She's really interesting, coming from a humble beginning," Mom agreed.

"She is," Grandma Pia continued. "I read her interview with Zion last night. I learned a lot about him as a man beyond just the young, handsome billionaire."

"I heard she also interviewed with Alessandro Russo."

"That was a week ago. It caught the attention of the press. You know how controversial Alessandro's life is, being connected with the Mafia. Sweet Treble presented her article very well, and she has this kind of magic that keeps me reading her blogs."

"That's passion. It shows in her writing that she's loving what she's doing," Grandpa Kristov butted in. Then he turned to me. "I'm glad she did an interview with you, Seb. She'll definitely make a good article."

"I can't wait to read it. Do you know when it will come out?" Grandma Celine asked me, making everyone's eyes focus on me again.

"I-I don't have an idea." I shrugged and diverted the topic. "Aren't we going to eat yet? I'm starving."

"We're waiting for Luna," Mom answered. "She's still taking a shower. Have some of those first." She pointed at the charcuterie board on a tray cart. "It's still early for dinner."

"Never mind. I'll wait." I swirled my glass of wine, then took a sip.

Everyone looked up at the staircase.

Finally, Luna entered. No matter how solemn she wanted it to be, she failed. Everyone always turned to her.

Luna. My seventeen-year-old sister. Born during the lunar eclipse. She was very introverted and thought of herself as weird. She loved anything with the color black. She used to imagine herself as a witch or a vampire when she was younger. Thank God she got over it.

Dinner started, and I felt more relaxed with my family. To my delight, their attention shifted to Luna. They were all so concerned about why she had her room painted all black.

I thought the topic of the spinster librarian had died, but after dinner, they brought it up again.

Everyone was back in the living room drinking coffee when Grandma Celine started it.

"Oh wow, she's really pretty." Grandma Celine looked at her iPad.

"Who?" everyone asked.

She turned her iPad to us and showed an image of a beautiful brunette, smiling on camera.

Curious, I asked, "Who is she?"

"You don't know her?" Her eyebrows snapped together. "I thought she interviewed you."

All eyes turned to me instantly, giving me an accusing stare.

"Wait. Is that... Miss Treble?" I asked them, shifting my eyes from one to another until I met Mom's.

"Right. That's Sweet Treble." Her eyes glared at me. "How come you don't know her?"

"Son"—Dad shifted his position—"you have a lot of explaining to do."

Busted.

***

"For God's sake, James. Why didn't you tell me she's not a spinster? She's 23 years old, single, and beautiful."

"You-you did not ask me, sir," he stammered.

"The fuck," I groaned, very irritated, as I stared at Sweet Treble's photo on my phone in my office the next day. "You did not tell me she's a brunette either. She's the type of girl I go for."

"I remember. You hate it every time I mention her name. You didn't want that interview. Your parents only forced you to accept it. But still, it never happened."

"Dammit, James. Do you have to remind me again? My parents are mad as hell that I did not sit with Miss Treble for an interview. They threatened to cut me off from the family business, as well as my trust money. I believe they're very serious this time." I put down my phone and stood up. "Call her. Tell her I'll do the interview. Anytime, anywhere. It's her call this time. I want to meet her."

He coughed, then said, "Also remember, sir, what she said to you—that she would not meet you in a million years. She was upset that you stood her up three times."

"Fuck. Give me her number. I'll call her myself."

"Um, I don't have it, sir. But I have Marie's-I mean her personal assistant's number."

"Then call her now," I instructed. "If possible, I want to meet here as soon as possible. So book the earliest appointment and prioritize our meeting. Cancel if you find any conflict with my schedule."

"I will, sir."

***

Three days later.

"I tried my very best, sir, but Miss Treble would not meet you. She meant it when she said that she would not meet you ever again," James said in an apologetic voice.

"Now I'm busted." I sat down in my chair, feeling very exhausted suddenly. "My parents are really upset. They're very disappointed in me. I'm in danger of disinheriting the family business and missing the opportunity to meet Sweet Treble, the prettiest girl that I've ever seen."

"I agree, sir. You-you missed the chance. Miss Treble is quite charming, along with her assistant, Marie." He cleared his throat.

"Let's find a way for me to meet her. She's from Dansville, right? Cancel all my appointments this afternoon. Get me a helicopter, and we'll visit her farm."

"Now, sir?"

"Of course. Now," I said, but before James could move, the door opened.

Mom entered, looking at me with murderous eyes.

"Have you seen Good Morning USA?" She threw the question at me like a bomb.

"Nope? You know I don't watch TV. I don't have the time."

"I don't either," she admitted, "but what the hell. You're over the news, Sebastian! All over the internet! You created another scandal again, and this time, it's bigger than your ego! What the fuck have you done to that girl that made her hate you!"

"What are you talking about? Who is this girl?"

She took the remote control and opened YouTube to a replay of the morning show, Good Morning USA.

Two hosts of the morning show had interviewed Sweet Treble live in Dansville. She talked about her journey as a blogger and how she attained success in a short period.

"Miss Treble, you interviewed two of the world's most sought-after eligible bachelors in this generation, the young billionaires Alessandro Russo and Zion Petrakis. That created an uproar and made your blog the talk of the town. I'm so impressed that they accepted to be interviewed. We all know that they're very elusive men. We can't even have them in the show," the female host chuckled.

"Exactly. How did you do that?" The male host turned to Sweet Treble.

"I emailed them and conveyed my sincere intention, requesting an interview. I'm honored that they put their trust in me." Sweet Treble looked so beautiful—fresh looking, articulate, and intelligent.

Exactly the girl that I was looking for.

"Unlike someone," Sweet Treble continued, "who treated me and my interview as a joke."

My forehead furrowed, and I turned to Mom, who glared at me.

"Oh, that's awful." The female host looked surprised. "So you're saying you had an unpleasant experience with someone lately who treated you and your blog as a joke?"

"Yes, that's right. This man agreed to have an interview, so I went to New York—"

"So, it was a man!" the male host interrupted, and she nodded. "So you drove all the way from Dansville to New York to see him? That's a five-hour drive."

"Exactly. But then he stood me up. Three times, because he had an emergency."

"Three times!" the female host exclaimed. "What kind of emergency?"

"Same emergency. Every time we were scheduled to meet, a female friend of his would arrive for a visit to his penthouse feeling hot and feverish. He could not leave her, so he kept on postponing the interview. I later found out that he was only fooling me."

It was a throwaway accusation, but it hit home.

"That sucks! He shouldn't have agreed to an interview, then. I feel for you, Miss Treble. He's a time waster and a playboy," the female host sympathized.

"Indeed, very unprofessional. To think that he was your first choice to interview," the male host said. "And I assume he's also a young billionaire? Just like Zion Petrakis and Alessandro Russo?"

"Correct. He's one of the most eligible bachelors on the planet, but the truth has blinded women. He's a player. He treats us women like objects because he doesn't see us fully as humans. So he has no loyalty and respect for us."

"You're right, Miss Treble. Just like what you said in your blog, women are first-class human beings. Men must treat us with love, care, loyalty, and respect. Therefore, gender equality is important," the female host continued. "This obnoxious playboy young billionaire should learn from your blog."

"He should." Sweet Treble lifted her chin. "This man is the worst boyfriend or husband that a woman could ever have. All fathers should warn their daughters not to date this man. He changes women with just a snap of his fingers."

"Wait, ladies, sorry for the interruption," the male host interrupted, "but we've just been informed from the key station that our viewers flooded Twitter with thousands of tweets, asking for Miss Treble to name the young billionaire. Oh, my... we're going viral, going to the number one spot!"

"Are they asking me to name the obnoxious playboy billionaire?" Sweet Treble asked.

"Well, that's what they want." The male host shrugged. "But..."

The camera gave a close-up of Sweet Treble. She put on a beautiful angelic smile, then looked directly at the camera.

"It's Sebastian Stavrakos," she said bitingly, emphasizing my name.

My jaw clenched tightly as my eyes locked with hers through the monitor screen.

Damn. She just made a declaration of war between us.