Page 29 of Trust Fund Baby

This weekend wasn’t about him.

It was about Hallie, oysters, wine, and proving that I wasn’t the same girl he tossed to the curb.

Even if some part of me was scared that it was becoming obvious that she hadn’t gone anywhere at all.

11

Seb

Dinner was halfway over, and Roxie still hadn’t looked at me. Not even once.

She mostly discussed food with Hallie and proposed a review, which reminded me of her childhood habit of photographing meals at restaurants. Even James’s lobster joke managed to make her laugh. But she acted as if I wasn’t there, as if ignoring me was a contest.

My knee grazed hers under the table, and she recoiled as if even the slightest touch from me was dangerous. The only time she’d bothered to look at me was shortly after we’d sat down when it was painfully obvious that Hallie and James were playing footsie under the table with each other.

But since then, nothing.

Fine. That was fine.

Let her ignore me.

I tried to keep my focus on the food, the wine, the burrata, and the shrimp scampi.

But the more Roxie ignored me, the harder it was for me to think of anything but her. It didn’t help that she was wearing a black dress with a neckline that dipped low enough I had to stop myself from choking on my second glass of scotch.

My brain felt like it was about to explode—too full of every thought of Roxie.

“My favorite place to pick up on conversations I can write about is in coffee shops around the West Village. I always overhear some juicy tidbits from a group of women on their way to a workout class,” Hallie was telling James. Ah yes, she usually wrote the Overheard column. That is, before she was tasked with her article series on looking for a man in finance. I was still trying to get my head around how James was okay with that, showing up as a character in her work, albeit a mystery one. But the way he hung on to her every word, written and spoken, told me he was more than happy to play his part.

“I’ve read a few of your pieces,” I told Hallie as the waiter came by to replenish our bread basket. “They’re whip-smart and quite funny.”

Hallie ducked her head slightly at the compliment. “Thanks, that means a lot. I’m assuming James probably sent you a few?”

“A man can’t enjoy a Sunday morning reading about which heels are the most comfortable on dates or what the best haircuts are for spring weather?” I asked her, feigning offense.

Roxie’s mouth curved upward a little, a barely there smile, as she reached for her wine, watching James and Hallie opposite us. Her deep burgundy lips were mesmerizing. In all our years apart, I’d never seen a smile that even came close to hers.

Her slender, graceful fingers held the glass stem. A smudge of lipstick stained the rim. I found my eyes drawn to the red stain, wishing it could be on my skin instead. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the thought.

Then it happened. Finally. Her beautiful eyes flickered upward, locking onto mine.

It lasted all of two seconds.

But it was long enough for me to know I was a goner.

I’d take any bit of attention she’d give me. And I’d do whatever it took to keep her eyes on mine. This weekend, and if I could manage it, beyond.

I saw a bit of the old Roxie when she smiled back at Hallie. The person who fell asleep on my shoulder at a Fourth of July movie night. Or the girl who, after being teased by other girls for constantly carrying a camera, intertwined her fingers with mine under the bleachers at our school, despite pretending she wasn’t affected by their sharp barbs.

My foot moved beneath the table before I could stop it. The side of my shoe brushed hers. She didn’t move. She didn’t acknowledge it, but she didn’t kick me away either.

Progress.

I leaned in slightly so she could hear me without cutting into Hallie and James’s conversation.

“If you really wanted me to believe you were ignoring me, you should probably move your foot off of mine.”

Her fork paused mid-air. Slowly, she placed it down. Lifted her wineglass again. Sipped. Then, she turned her head toward me, her eyes filled with a withering contempt that could make anyone crumble. But I’d always loved the passion in her eyes.