Roxie
I knew I was playing with fire and could already smell the smoke of my impending doom.
But sometimes, the overwhelming sense of what used to be outweighed the risk.
So when Sebastian replied, there was no chance I’d be able to resist. Not when time had dulled the sting.
Not when it had blurred what had happened all those years ago that made me swear off Sebastian Whittaker for life. At least, that’s what I thought.
And so here I was, I reading his latest message.
Figured as much. Some things never change. See you soon, King.
See me soon?
“Fucking Seb,” I muttered. His confidence always erred on the side of ego. Who did he think he was to assume he’d see me again?
His green eyes, cocky grin, and tattoos? Nope, saw it once, and that was all I needed.
I definitely hadn’t been wondering if he had more tattoos than the ones on his hands I had caught myself staring at that night in McGuire’s.
Or how those green eyes, staring at me so intensely, made my stomach flip.
And I definitely hadn’t replayed the moment he’d leaned in, his breath tickling my ear as he whispered about the perfume I still wore every day.
But since the first time I’d ever met Sebastian Whittaker—an eight-year-old that insisted on wearing a full blazer and dress pants outfit every day—I’d never been able to resist him.
Re: Long time, King
From: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
To: princewhittaker98@
You are right. Some things never change. You’re just as cocky as you were back then.
Mondays were my day off from the gallery, and I normally spent them either working on a freelance photography piece of my own or rotting on the couch until the sun rose on Tuesday.
I’d already popped a bowl of popcorn and poured myself a glass of wine, ready to settle in and watch an episode of my new favorite reality dating guilty pleasure when my phone buzzed.
Hallie:Want to go to Whiskey Locker tonight? Operation “Get Hallie a Date” is a certified failure right now and we need to change that.
I stared at the message. The popcorn and wine felt like they were judging me.
Hallie knew I’d go—because I always did. Even though it was my only day off. Even when I only wanted to watch Adam finally win over Elise and pretend my life wasn’t in a holding pattern, waiting to do something greater than selling someone else’s art.
And part of me wanted to go. If Hallie could land that food critic job at Sophisticate by charming her boss, editor-in-chief of the magazine, Anthea Sparks, it would be a win for both of us.
Hallie’s reviews of NYC’s top restaurants could be a stepping stone toward the two of us eventually working together on our own.
Her reviews paired with my photography, showcasing the exquisite dishes, elegant interiors, and vibrant atmospheres of the hottest dining locations with the audience she would build at Sophisticate could be the foundation of our own company. That was the dream.
But tonight, the thought of shouting over terrible music and dodging handsy Ivy League alums who said things like “my dad’s firm” made me want to crawl under my throw blanket and never emerge.
And then there was Sebastian. I saw a new email notification appear at the top of my screen—it felt like he’d been waiting, watching, anticipating my response.
Re: Long time, King
From: princewhittaker98@
To: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
You think I was cocky back then, King? That was child’s play. You’ve got no idea what ten years can do for a man.
I snorted. Really snorted. Of course he would say that. And of course, I thought about how right he probably was.
The tattoos. His voice was deeper and sent a shiver down my spine. His face had lost every ounce of baby weight.
But he was right, some things never changed.
Especially the way he looked at me like I was still that girl who climbed out of her window to sneak off into the night with him, passing a bottle of alcohol and a few kisses between us.
I typed a quick reply to Hallie.
Roxie:
I think I may skip out on tonight. I’m tired of gracing those Wall Street men with my presence when they don’t know the opportunity they have at their fingertips.
Roxie:
But you’ve got this. I have a good feeling about tonight!
I hit send. Then I picked up my laptop and started typing.
Re: Long time, King
From: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
To: princewhittaker98@
And what exactly have ten years done for you, Whittaker? Besides racking up a list of broken hearts across Manhattan. Still waiting for the part where I’m supposed to be impressed.
His reply came faster this time. I pictured him lounging in his luxurious Upper East Side penthouse, the subtle scent of scotch mingling with the leather of the chair I imagined he was sitting in, the sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up to his elbows as he waited by his laptop.
I could practically see the smug look on his face as my reply hit his inbox.
Re: Long time, King
From: princewhittaker98@
To: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
You always were hard to impress, King.
But just so you know, none of them stood a chance. Not after the girl who once told me my trust fund made me soft and then dared me to jump off my parents’ yacht wearing a tux. (Still have the scar, by the way.)
I’d almost forgotten that night. It was the summer going into our junior year of high school, and we were spending it in the Hamptons, just like we had every year.
The red glow of the bonfire on the Whittakers’ private beach flickered in the distance, while the soft rumble of the departing crowd, their laughter echoing faintly, died down.
Every year, Sebastian’s parents invited everyone who was anyone over to celebrate the start of summer in the Hamptons.
Sebastian and I, desperate for a break, snuck onto his parents’ yacht—the salty air and gentle rocking motion were a welcome escape from the endless questions about college plans.
For our parents and their “friends,” the status associated with an Ivy League education was everything.
Generations of Whittakers had walked the grounds of Princeton and Sebastian was more than happy to follow in his family’s footsteps.
My admission to Harvard was not merely about its status, but the last requirement for me to receive my trust fund.
A strained smile stretched across my face as I lied about intending to go to Harvard all night long, the words heavy and suffocating each time they left my lips.
Harvard was a future set out for me by my grandfather long before I was even born.
He was the man responsible for the trust fund of every King that came after him and the only stipulation he placed upon us all to achieve it was attending the Ivy League school he’d gone to.
The only problem was, the thought of Harvard filled me with a deep sense of dread, and admitting my actual plans would mean losing the trust fund.
Maybe that was why I’d challenged Sebastian to jump off the bow of the yacht fully clothed. I wanted to blow off some steam, and he knew me better than even my family did.
Re: Long time, King
From: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
To: princewhittaker98@
And those loafers! I told you they were a liability. You insisted they were “vintage Hermes” and “nautical enough.” And I still say you only jumped to prove me wrong. You always were a showoff.
Re: Long time, King
From: princewhittaker98@
To: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
Wrong. I jumped because you dared me. And I’ve never turned down a dare from you.
Even when it involved trespassing, tequila, and the country club goose statue.
(I’m pretty sure Gary appreciated being set free from his captivity of being dressed up in all those different outfits.
Who dresses up a goose statue in different outfits according to the holidays anyways?)
And they were vintage Hermes. May they rest in the Atlantic.
I glanced up at my television just in time to see Adam pull Elise in for a kiss, and I told myself the goofy smile on my face was because my favorite reality television couple was finally getting together and not because of Sebastian Whittaker.
Re: Long time, King
From: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
To: princewhittaker98@
Gary was a public service, not a crime. That goose lived a life of seasonal humiliation, and someone had to intervene. Also, I seem to remember you were the one who declared, “Tonight, we liberate the goose!”
But if I recall correctly, the real dare was skinny-dipping in the pool afterward. You backed out … A Whittaker with limits. Shocking.
Re: Long time, King
From: princewhittaker98@
To: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
I did not back out. I was strategically cautious. There’s a difference. You were the one already halfway into the pool before you remembered the security cameras.
I still think you secretly wanted your grandfather to see what a rebel you were.
Tell me, what kind of trouble does Roxanne King get into these days?
Re: Long time, King
From: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
To: princewhittaker98@
Not nearly enough trouble. Turns out, paying rent and pretending to be a functioning adult takes up most of my chaos budget.
Occasionally I chase pigeons out of the gallery I work at with a broom or make the mistake of letting Hallie drag me to a bar that serves cocktails in lightbulbs.
Very avant-garde. Very sticky.
And on Sunday, I get the honor of having dinner with my parents. Which is bound to include at least two passive-aggressive questions about my “five-year-plan,” concern over my lack of a boyfriend, and at least one comment about how art isn’t a real career.
Re: Long time, King
From: princewhittaker98@
To: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
Lightbulb cocktails. You’ve got to share that bar with me. Sounds like a hell of a time.
As for your family dinner, let me know if you need an emergency escape plan. Greenwich is only a helicopter ride away and I still remember how to hot-wire a golf cart.
I tried to ignore the drop in my stomach at his last question as I stared at my laptop screen. The buzz from the banter lingered, but underneath it, a low, familiar ache tugged at my chest.
He remembered. The yacht. Gary. All the little things I didn’t think he would.
And yet, how could he remember all of that and still forget the part where he’d chosen the wrong side?
Where he’d stood next to my grandfather in his wood-paneled office, his mouth set in a line, while I had been left with nothing. Not even the boy I thought I’d escape it all with.
I shut the laptop briefly, like that could silence the memory. But the drop in my stomach had already made its presence known.
Time dulled pain—but it had a way of sharpening betrayal when you least expected it.
But I knew that after I’d finished the last of my glass of wine and bowl of popcorn and the newest episode of my favorite reality dating show ended, I’d open the laptop again.
Re: Long time, King
From: Roxanne-Kirsten-King@
To: princewhittaker98@
Emergency escape plan noted. Why am I not surprised you have access to a helicopter?
And while we’re on the topic of the golf cart. You never hot-wired it. I’m pretty sure you found the keys in the pool house.
The tap of the send key echoed loudly in my quiet apartment. My eyes lingered on the screen, expecting an immediate reply.
I imagined we were still seventeen and carefree. As if the last ten years were just a brief intermission.
In the quiet, my thoughts spiraled.
One more email wouldn’t kill me.
But letting myself believe any of this meant something again?
That just might.