Penelope slammed the door, not caring if the rafters shook. Or maybe she hoped to shake them—to make something move would be an improvement. Her love life obviously wasn’t going anywhere if tonight’s debacle was any example.
“The date did not go well, then?” the voice from the next room asked, followed by a holographic head poking out from the kitchen. Only slightly translucent, Sebastian’s eyes still gleamed with mischief and compassion.
“Surprised, Sebastian?” Pen plopped herself down on the couch in her breakfast nook and prepared to let herself have a good sulk. Sebastian would of course sit through it with her; he always did. Sometimes she had to remind herself that he was only a program. She prided herself on quality, and he was certainly her best.
“Not really, Pen. He was very standoffish. I don’t believe he was truly interested in you. He seemed to have ‘other’ motives.”
“Yeah. Ten billion of them, probably. Why couldn’t it just be sex? I could use a good lay!”
Penelope Grayson was rich. That was an understatement. She was filthy rich. She’d made her money programming computer games with the most realistic and vividly responsive characters ever seen. She was notorious in the industry for it; she and her group, Penmerlin Studios, were paid well for the services. Her secret was to teach them how to be emotional. Like with a child, she gave them the tools and let them grow into a complex code of responses.
Her favorite achievement was Sebastian. Her butler and all-around organizer, he was a holographic image projected throughout her house, always there responding to her and keeping the house with help from the other computerized equipment he was linked to. Sebastian was her ultimate accomplishment and ultimate mystery. He was the most realistic holographic projection known to man, and he was just hers. Not because she refused to share, but because she couldn’t duplicate him, making him one of the industry’s greatest mysteries. After years of attempting, even with Sebastian’s help, she was still unable to make another program capable of his ability to learn and adapt. Like every other man in her life, he had to be complicated.
“Wine, Sebastian. The good stuff. Decanted at least sixty minutes.”
“A truly awful date then. It's a good thing I have that 1985 Pinot Noir decanted at ninety minutes.” Sebastian’s features crumpled into a look of compassion. He’d been with her this last year as she dated one man after another. She’d made it her New Year’s resolution to get out there and meet an actual human instead of interacting with her programs so much. But it was December 31st, and that'd been her eightieth and final date this year. It was time to give up, to accept spinsterhood.
Jane Austen did it; why couldn’t she? She did have a leg up on Jane, though. She had Sebastian.
“Not as bad as the biker, but definitely close to the worst.”
In July she’d agreed to a blind date with a Hell’s Angel wannabe who insisted a perfect date would be set primarily on the back of his hog. Pen had nightmares for weeks afterward. It’s not that she had anything against bikes, or hogs either, for that matter. What she didn’t like were men who felt the need to weave through traffic at ninety-five miles an hour whilst being chased by several police cruisers.
“Ah, then you must sit and tell me about it.” Sebastian came out of the kitchen, followed by a small robotic serviette with a wine glass propped on it, filled to the brim. “I was not forced to arrange for your release from jail, so from my perspective you’re looking up.”
The little machine served Pen her wine. Sebastian was in control of every mechanical and electronic device in her house, making it only necessary for her to interact with one interface—him. It made her life much more efficient and pleasant.
“Oh, I love you,” Pen sighed, picking up the glass and downing half of it in one gulp.
“Yes, I'm truly irresistible!” Sebastian smiled, taking a seat on the couch next to her.
Sebastian’s projection was holographic, but he was state-of-the art and seemed so real she didn’t think about it until he passed through an object or walked through walls as he liked to do.
She’d created him at MIT one drunken night, and he served as her final project. But over the years he’d developed further into a full-range program with a history and personality. Most of her work as a game programmer had developed from her success with him.
And he was irresistible. She’d developed his appearance after reading a Victorian romance novel about an aristocratic rogue. She’d decided if she couldn’t have a rogue hero in the twenty-first century, she’d make one. Programming one’s own person had its perks, after all.
As a result, Sebastian had slightly disheveled blond hair and an old-world vibe. He typically wore full coattails but often changed his clothes as he saw fit, responding to the environment.
Her favorite was when he pranced around in a Speedo in the summer; he referred to them as budgie smugglers, trying to get her to loosen up and laugh.
He had one dimple on his left cheek, deep blue eyes with long eyelashes, and an amazing frame. At 6’5”, with broad shoulders and muscular legs, he was her vision of masculine perfection. She’d created him in such a way intentionally; seeing the image of the perfect man serve her was titillating, as she’d spent most of her life being spurned by gorgeous men.
Once she struck it rich, the money-grubbing Casanovas appeared, fawning over her. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out it wasn’t her they wanted, but access to her money or connections, or both.
Then there was Sebastian. She tried not to think of him as her best friend—her only real friend—but failed, accepting the inevitable. He was her rock. He was an unbelievably realistic program capable of responding to her as if he were a human being. Only she couldn’t touch him, a fact she tried to forget.
“He took me to that new French restaurant, La Madeleine’s. Of course, he asked me who’d pay for dinner first—such a gentleman,” she scoffed. Sebastian scrunched up his features, knowing how Pen would’ve responded to that type of question.
“Before dinner was even served, he threw down his napkin and screamed ‘no amount of money is worth this.’” What she didn’t tell Sebastian, what she didn’t want to relive, was her date’s rude comments about her body.
“You have a pretty face. You could always get the rest fixed up.”
As if there were no excuse for being plus sized considering her level of wealth. As if it were just a matter of fixing her. Everyone in her life wanted to fix her, make her better, or change her. Why couldn’t she just be good enough the way she was?
“Ouch.” Sebastian’s face scrunched in sympathy.
“Yeah, it would’ve been okay if he hadn’t announced all my faults to the entire restaurant.”
“I see. Did he find out you're obsessed with perfectly ironed shirts? I find that your most irritating trait.”
“Oh, shut up,” Pen said, not truly angry. Sebastian was the only person who loved her despite her faults, ironing fetish included.
She’d asked the man out as a last-ditch date before the New Year. He worked in the marketing department at the advertising agency contracted to her gaming firm. She’d done it to placate her friends and her family. Last Christmas her mother had basically cornered her, demanding that Pen satisfy her need to be a grandmother.
Pen had known from the beginning that a date with Charles would be fruitless. But she’d gone anyway, even going to decent lengths to look nice, making an effort. The least he could’ve done was fake it like the others.
“I don’t know what I did. I just ordered dinner, like usual …” Pen trailed off, her voice reeking of false innocence.
"Ah, I understand," Sebastian replied, acting as if he grasped the situation completely, even though he lacked specifics.
“Hey! It’s perfectly normal to want one’s vegetables and starches separated by at least one inch. Seriously, what's wrong with telling them how I want my food at a restaurant?"
“Yes, and I suppose it is perfectly natural to request one’s wine decanted for an exact amount of time.” Sebastian smiled, his programming perfect for her obsession with detail.
“It makes perfect sense! Drinking anytime sooner would ruin a perfectly good glass of wine!”
Penelope didn't see a problem with being super detail oriented. It did, of course, annoy many people, but in the end, she saw it as a strength. It’d made her a success in her industry. Her studio was one of the most sought after for computerized character development.
Why abandon a highly functional personality trait just to meet Mr. Right? Wouldn’t that make him Mr. Wrong?
That summed up Pen’s perspective on dating. Throw everything on the table and see if anything’s left at the end of the night. What was the point otherwise? All that effort in pretending to be something you're not is just a serious waste of time.
Eddie Murphy said it best: when you go on a first date, you’re not meeting the other person; you’re meeting their representative.
Pen decided long ago that no one spoke for her. And she wouldn’t pretend for a man. It was a meaningless endeavor. They only wanted a tiny list of things—food, money, sex, and prestige. That was her experience, and she wasn’t shy about saying it.
“I suppose your treatise on the nature of humanity and human relationships didn’t help matters at all,” Sebastian drawled, putting his finger on the pulse of the matter.
Pen took a sip of her wine. Perfectly poured, perfectly chilled riesling. Sebastian was amazing.
Ahhh, God bless Sebastian, her greatest achievement. He’d cost a fortune integrating him with her household, but he was worth it. Her helper and her best friend.
“If he can’t handle how I see the world, why bother? I won’t pretend to be some simpering little bimbo just so he can feel like he’s ‘the man.’” She held her hands up, making air quotes.
Pen snorted and took another gulp of wine; she knew it was pathetic. She’d accepted it a long time ago. Instead of being the old cat lady, she was the hologram lady. In any situation, she’d rather be home hanging out or working with Sebastian. He just knew her, accepted her, and let her be herself.
“More wine,” Sebastian spoke, though he really didn’t need to. Every system in the house was connected to his mainframe. He just had to think about it, and the service machines responded.
“Yes, more wine! In fact, bring two glasses!” Pen demanded, deciding she’d get good and drunk. After all, it was New Year’s Eve, and the end to a long year of social failures. She hadn’t been drunk since she celebrated getting her master’s degree from MIT, and tonight was as good a night as any.
“Are you sure?” Sebastian did his best to pull off a cautious tone, though he’d never been programmed for it, and he did a good job. Pen, however, could not be stopped.
“Yes! Let’s toast to the New Year, Sebastian!” She held up her glass, watched him materialize a holographic glass of wine, and saluted her. “My mom and other relatives can stop bugging me about finding a husband now. To the end of dating and the beginning of a lifelong career of masturbation!”
“Yes, shutting your mother up is definitely a plus,” Sebastian mumbled.
Pen almost spat out her wine in a surprised laugh.
“Oh, Sebastian, you are precious.” Sebastian was one of the few she could depend on to defend her against the formidable Mrs. Grayson on a mission to get Pen married and pregnant like her precious cousin.
Cousin Julie had served as a basis for comparison for years. She was beautiful, married at twenty-three to her high school sweetheart, with two children and a third on the way.
It was hard to feel ill will toward her, though. She figured Julie's mom was equally cutting about holding Pen up as an example for Julie. Mothers could be cruel. Especially when forcing family to compete against each other.
Sebastian sat on the couch. “Isn’t it too soon to give up? Being alone is not human nature, Pen.”
“I don’t think eighty dates is too soon; I think it’s too late!” She took another huge gulp, finishing her second glass of wine and picking up her third.
“I think you give up on yourself too easily, Pen. You deserve happiness more than any person or machine I’ve ever known.” Sebastian’s eyes were sincere, making her heart ache.
He was so real,
He was her Baz.
It was cruel, creating the perfect man, but never really having him at the same time. His programming was so unique; she’d never been able to duplicate it. As soon as he was created it was as if he had taken on a life of his own, expanding at his own rate.
Many of her friends feared she had created the real Terminator, but then realized Sebastian didn’t have a cruel bone in his body when they met him. He was programming, but he was unique.
“Dear, sweet Baz.” Pen sighed, finishing her third glass of wine. “I am happy. Here, with you, right now. Isn’t that enough?”
Sebastian didn’t look directly at her eyes when he said, “It’s not natural, Pen. I wish I could, but I can’t be the man you need.”
Now it was Pen’s turn to look away. That was her Sebastian, always so perceptive. “Yeah, I know. Yet, perhaps you may have noticed that I didn't ask you to be. I didn’t ask you for anything other than wine, actually.” She lifted her glass, realizing it was empty, and looked up at a frowning Sebastian.
“Enough?” he asked, clearly concerned.
“No!” she snapped and got the bottle herself. Pouring a very full fourth glass, she sat down, the bottle wedged between her thighs. “Why are you suddenly so interested in seeing me hooked up? When did you turn to the dark side?”
Another sip.
“It’s in my programming to care about your happiness,” Sebastian gave her his stock standard answer.
“Don’t give me that ‘programming’ bullshit.” Pen swallowed another gulp. “You aren’t dictated by my programming and I know it!” Another gulp. Glass four gone.
“Aren’t I? In what instances have I deviated from my original directives? When have I ever hurt or allowed anything to hurt you? When have I not done everything in my power to fulfill your every need?”
“That time you didn’t tell me my mother was on her way!”
“That was for your own good. You couldn’t avoid her any longer, and you know it.” Sebastian shifted in his seat, his face turning red.
“Yeah, well, my own good and my wishes are different things.”
“Exactly, Penelope! I’m programmed to perform functions that serve your best good, not your exact wishes. I would do anything to fulfill a wish, but when those wishes are not in your best interests, I always come to play!” Sebastian was defensive now; he didn’t like having his motives questioned.
“That’s true,” Pen sighed, drinking directly from the bottle, shamelessly lowering the now empty container to her lap. The world was swimming around her, and it felt like her lips were falling asleep. It was pure, unemotional bliss.
Pen looked at her hologram, staring into his all-too-real eyes. He was amazing. If she were honest with herself and recognized her feelings for a program, she'd confess her love to him. He represented her passionate endeavor, fulfilling all her aspirations, or so she had led herself to believe when she brought him into existence.
But now, more than ever, she felt an absence, a profound longing for something tangible.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. How had she allowed herself to fall in love with her program?
God, I really am good, she thought. No wonder business was booming.
“Penelope, what’s upsetting you?” Sebastian materialized as close to her as he could, his hand seeming to rest on top of hers. Her Sebastian was always comforting her and giving her what she needed.
“I wish you could grant me my wish, Sebastian. Wouldn’t that be nice? You’d be like my own personal genie!” Pen giggled. Oh yeah, she was drunk!
“Aside from a hero with a Y chromosome, what else haven't I been able to give you, Pen?” He looked so sincere, so sweet. In her heart, Pen understood he would go to any lengths for her. And since she was so drunk, she might as well ask for what she wanted.
“You, Sebastian. You can’t give me your arms to hold me, or your lips to kiss me. And that … more than anything right now … is what I wish for.”
Sebastian stared, surprised, as the clock in the background chimed in the New Year.
When bookworm Emily Lane is dragged by her best friend Zara to the heavy metal RageTide festival in Panama City for spring break, she expects to feel out of place among the mosh pits and screaming guitars. But a wardrobe malfunction during an accidental crowd-surfing incident lands her in the arms of Jake Steele, the charismatic lead singer of Steele Horizons.
What starts as a mortifying moment—complete with her Care Bear underwear on display—sparks an undeniable connection. As Jake serenades her with a heartfelt song under the stars and their chemistry ignites on the beach, Emily must decide if she’s ready to embrace a whirlwind romance with a rockstar.
With the festival’s pulse pounding around them, can Emily trust her heart to a man whose life is as wild as the music he plays, or will their ocean melody fade with the tide?
