Chapter 99: Tickets for Two

Dominic found out that his mother had gone considerably beyond researching Italy when a garment bag appeared outside his bedroom.

He stared at it.

Then at Victoria, who was standing farther down the hallway while speaking to someone on the phone.

"Yes, two checked bags each. No, we won’t need airport assistance unless the connection changes. And please confirm the car from Florence Airport directly to the hotel."

Dominic waited.

Victoria ended the call.

He pointed at the garment bag.

"What is that?"

"Clothes."

"I can see that."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Why are they outside my room?"

"Because you’re packing."

Dominic stared at her.

"For the vacation you haven’t convinced me to take?"

Victoria gave him a patient smile.

"Oh, you’re going."

"That’s not convincing."

"I already bought the tickets."

He went still.

"You what?"

"Business class."

"That doesn’t improve the part where you made the decision without me."

"It improved the flight considerably."

"Mother."

"And the villa is nonrefundable."

Dominic closed his eyes.

There it was.

The illusion of choice.

Classic Victoria Sebastian.

She’d apparently heard every conversation they’d had about controlling other people’s lives and concluded that the only real problem had been making the manipulation too obvious.

"You said you were looking at options."

"I was."

"You booked one."

"After looking."

"That’s not the same thing."

"It’s the logical conclusion."

Dominic rubbed one hand over his face.

"How soon?"

"Next week."

His head snapped up.

"Next week?"

"Yes."

"What about my appointments?"

"Handled."

"My dermatologist?"

"Follow-up moved."

"My therapist?"

"Also handled."

"My prescriptions?"

"Already requested enough for the trip."

Dominic stared.

Victoria folded her arms.

"Anything else?"

"My consent?"

"I was hoping you’d pack that."

He almost laughed despite himself.

Almost.

"You are unbelievable."

"I’ve been told."

Victoria had, in fact, taken the medical side of the trip more seriously than Dominic expected.

The dermatologist had no objection to travel. Dominic’s hair loss still required follow-up, but nothing about the preliminary assessment suggested he needed to remain home under constant supervision.

The important things were boringly practical.

Follow the treatment plan.

Get enough sleep.

Eat properly.

Stop inspecting his scalp every twenty minutes.

Dominic considered that last instruction unnecessarily judgmental.

His therapist was equally supportive of the trip, as long as Dominic didn’t treat it as an escape from therapy itself.

"Changing countries doesn’t change your head," the therapist told him during their last in-person session before departure.

Dominic sat back.

"That sounded unnecessarily philosophical."

"It wasn’t meant to be."

"What if I like my head better in Italy?"

"Then bring the improved version home."

Dominic smiled faintly.

The therapist continued.

"The trip can give you distance. That’s useful. But the objective isn’t to pretend nothing happened."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Apparently everyone enjoys asking me that."

"Maybe because your history suggests it’s worth checking."

Fair.

Dominic looked toward the window.

"What exactly am I supposed to do there?"

"Nothing, for a while."

He frowned.

"That’s not treatment."

"It’s also not a performance review."

"I’m serious."

"So am I. Sleep. Eat. Walk. Paint if you want. Don’t paint if you don’t. Find out what interests you when there isn’t an audience waiting to grade the result."

That last sentence stayed with him longer than he wanted.

Packing became its own conflict.

Victoria appeared with a written list.

Dominic stared.

"You made me a packing checklist?"

"You’ll forget something."

"I have traveled before."

"For business."

"So?"

"So half your luggage usually contains documents."

"Not half."

"Fine. A third."

Dominic took the page.

Light jackets.

Comfortable walking shoes.

Several smart-casual outfits.

A proper jacket for restaurants.

Sunglasses.

Hat.

Skin and hair treatments.

Prescription medications in their original containers.

Painting clothes.

Dominic stopped.

"Painting clothes?"

Victoria looked over.

"Things you don’t mind ruining."

"I’m not painting."

"Then they can remain unruined."

"You packed supplies too, didn’t you?"

"No."

Dominic narrowed his eyes.

"They’re waiting at the villa."

He threw the list at her.

Victoria caught it.

"Very mature."

"You’re enjoying this."

"Immensely."

The clothes themselves required less drama than expected.

Florence would involve walking, museums, restaurants, and enough time outside that Dominic couldn’t spend every day dressed like he was attending a board meeting.

For once, Victoria encouraged him to bring linen shirts, knit polos, comfortable trousers, light sweaters, and actual walking shoes instead of footwear chosen primarily because it looked good in a photograph.

Dominic held up a pair.

"These are ugly."

"They’re comfortable."

"That’s not a defense."

"It is after ten thousand steps."

"You sound elderly."

"I am your mother."

"That’s not the same thing."

Victoria packed them anyway.

Her own wardrobe was only marginally more practical.

Dominic caught her placing three scarves into a suitcase.

"Why do you need three?"

"Different outfits."

"You told me to pack minimally."

"I am."

"You have four pairs of sunglasses."

"Those aren’t clothes."

He stared.

Sometimes heredity was humiliating.

The only question Victoria hadn’t resolved was how much of the itinerary Dominic should know.

She’d reserved the first few nights in Florence because she wanted him surrounded by art before she deposited him somewhere quiet enough to hear his own thoughts.

The hotel sat within walking distance of the historic center, close enough for museums and galleries without requiring them to spend every day inside a car.

Afterward, they would leave the city for the Tuscan countryside.

The villa was outside a smaller town among rolling hills and agricultural properties, isolated enough to feel private without being absurdly remote.

Dominic studied the itinerary.

"So we’re in Tuscany the entire time."

Victoria looked over.

"Technically, yes. Florence is in Tuscany."

"I thought Tuscany was somewhere else."

"It’s the region."

"And Florence is..."

"The capital."

Dominic looked at her.

"How do you know that?"

"I researched."

"You booked a vacation before learning where it was?"

"I knew it was in Italy."

He stared.

Victoria lifted one shoulder.

"We both learned something."

The plan was roughly two weeks.

Several nights in Florence.

Then the countryside.

No rigid schedule beyond a few museum reservations, transportation, and the villa.

Dominic frowned at the open days.

"There’s nothing here."

"Exactly."

"What am I supposed to do Tuesday?"

"Wake up."

"Then?"

"Decide."

"That’s deeply unsettling."

Victoria smiled.

"Good."

Departure morning came faster than Dominic expected.

He wore a cap.

Not because he needed one.

Because he wanted one.

That distinction mattered enough that Victoria wisely didn’t comment.

At the airport, nobody appeared particularly interested in his hair.

A few people recognized him.

One whispered.

Another looked twice.

But nobody ran after him with a phone.

Business class helped.

So did the private lounge.

By the time they boarded, Dominic felt more tired than anxious.

Victoria settled into the seat beside him.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He looked over.

"You really paid for this yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Victoria’s expression changed.

"Because you’re my son."

Dominic looked away.

Plenty was wrong with Victoria Sebastian.

He knew that now.

She had manipulated people.

Controlled outcomes.

Treated his future like a problem she could solve if she arranged enough pieces correctly.

But somewhere inside all of that had always been real.

Love.

Possessive sometimes.

Self-serving occasionally.

Poorly expressed often.

Still real.

Dominic fastened his seat belt.

"What happens if I hate Italy?"

Victoria adjusted her blanket.

"Then we’ll hate it comfortably."

He laughed.

The plane began moving.

For the first time in months, Dominic Sebastian was leaving without a publicity strategy, a corporate objective, or a plan involving Alexander Vance.

He wasn’t entirely sure what would remain once those things were gone.

Perhaps that was what the trip was actually for.