Roxie #2
Even now, the image was so vivid. I could see the way Seb had looked at me that day. His eyes not quite meeting mine, his jaw tight, as if he hated being there almost as much as I did. But he hadn’t left. He hadn’t spoken up. He’d just let it happen.
I blinked the memory away before it could sink its claws in further.
“I’m doing just fine,” I said, my voice flatter now, cutting. “Better than fine. I’m happy. Which, last time I checked, isn’t something you could buy with a trust fund.”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” Franklin agreed smoothly. “But it buys freedom. And you gave that up.”
“Actually, I feel freer than ever.”
Silence clamped down over the table like a steel trap.
My mother stared fixedly at the hydrangeas.
Winn’s fingers drummed softly against the tablecloth.
My father, as per usual, had no idea this conversation was taking place as he scrolled through his phone.
Only my grandmother showed any signs of disappointment in my grandfather as she stared daggers down the table at him.
Then, to my surprise, Franklin gave a low laugh and picked up his fork again. “No, Roxanne. I gave you options. You just didn’t like any of them.”
I knew that meant the conversation was over. For now.
I caught my grandmother’s eye. She gave me a gentle, knowing smile.
And as I reached for my wineglass again, I couldn’t help but think of Seb.
Of the most recent email sitting unanswered in my inbox from this morning that I hadn’t had time to respond to yet.
Of how it still burned to think of him in that room, silent.
Of how, even now, I still didn’t know why he did it.
The two of us had continued exchanging emails over the course of the last week and I’d nearly forgotten why we’d ever stopped talking in the first place. Almost. Today’s family dinner was a stark reminder.
I took another sip of wine, hoping it would calm me down a little. Winn tossed me a glance—one we’d shared since childhood. A subtle you okay? paired with don’t let him win. I gave him the smallest nod, and he went back to picking at his salmon.
“Have you thought anymore about branching out and starting your own business, Roxie?” Kirsten asked lightly, saving me from the thick silence that had settled like fog.
“Not yet,” I said, straightening slightly.
I’d always dreamed of leaving the gallery once I’d made enough connections and figured out how to start my own photography company to capture the most beautiful food in the city.
But I was no closer to that dream than when I’d first started at the gallery.
My only hope was riding on Hallie’s coattails with her opportunity with Sophisticate. “But I’m planning to.”
“Good. You should.” She offered a sharp smile down the table. “Some of us recognize genuine talent when we see it.”
Franklin didn’t respond. I’m not sure he was even paying attention to his wife. He just continued cutting his food as if the conversation hadn’t continued at all.
Eventually, the talk turned to Winn’s caseload, then to a new paralegal at the firm that my father thought was “too ambitious,” and whatever new board my mother had volunteered to sit on for the photo op rather than the cause.
The spotlight shifted away from me, but I still felt the lingering sting of my grandfather’s words, and the even sharper sting of my memory of Seb’s silence and his presence at that meeting.
The way he hadn’t fought for me.
The way he hadn’t even looked at me afterward.
And how after all these years, I still didn’t know why he betrayed me.
As the meal continued on, part of me wished I’d never responded to that first email. That I’d never opened the door to let Sebastian Whittaker back into my life.
But I had.
Because no matter how far I ran or how much I tried to convince myself I was over it—over him—some part of me still wanted answers. Still wanted to believe there’d been a reason behind the silence. Behind his decisions. Some explanation that would make it all make sense.
And maybe a part of me still wanted the version of him that used to make me feel like I belonged. The boy who saw through the performance. Who knew the real me.
Even if that boy didn’t exist anymore.
I stayed quiet through the rest of dinner, letting the conversation swirl around me.
My grandfather’s voice rumbled around the room with that same smug cadence.
My mother laughed in her polished, practiced way.
My father gave an occasional grunt, never looking up from his phone.
Winn made dry observations just sharp enough to keep everyone from getting too comfortable.
And my grandmother watched me like she always did.
By the time dessert arrived, I’d managed to retreat far enough into myself that the ache in my chest had quieted to something dull. Manageable.
Later, I stood in the driveway, the spring breeze kissing my skin as Winn walked me to my car, always the buffer and loyal co-survivor.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“I always am,” I said with a small smile.
“Right,” he replied, unconvinced. “Just don’t let him get in your head.”
“Too late.”
Winn didn’t push. He never did. Just nodded and leaned in to kiss the side of my head.
Before he could turn back toward the house, I grabbed his arm. “Are you okay?”
Despite his uncanny ability to brush off anything serious with a witty joke and a charming smile, I sometimes wondered if he was more confused about our family than I was.
Because even though I was broke and my grandfather could barely stand to be in the same room as me, at least I was free.
Winn was still being forced to walk a path that he hadn’t chosen under the guise of legacy.
He gave me a wry smile, but there was a weariness beneath it.
“I’m fine,” he said. “It became easier when I stopped pretending I get to make my own choices.”
I winced. “That’s bleak.”
“Yeah, well. Bleak is the house specialty around here.” He gave my arm a squeeze. “Text me when you’re home.”
“I will.”
He turned and walked back toward the house.
Franklin’s voice echoed in my ears the entire car ride home. Sebastian’s betrayal from all those years ago still felt heavy in my chest. And somewhere in the space between those two things, I could still feel the girl I’d once been who had been desperate to be understood, to be seen, to be chosen.
I wasn’t her anymore.
Or at least, not completely.