Page 80 of Trust Fund Baby

The first kiss with the man who was good for me. The kiss my friends would tell me to lean into. The kiss my mother would approve of instantly, if only because it looked right.

Nate leaned in, lips brushing mine with a practiced gentleness. It was … fine. Warm, sweet, neat.

I let it linger, just long enough to prove to myself that I could do this. To give it some time for the butterflies to flutter in my stomach or flames to lick at my core. I kissed him as expected, because refusing meant admitting my pain wouldn’t be fixed by him.

When he pulled back, his grin was wide, satisfied. “You taste like whipped cream.”

I laughed softly, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

He chuckled, tucking his hands into his pockets, utterly at ease. He didn’t notice the stiffness in my smile, or the way my gaze kept flickering past his shoulder, into the darkness of the park instead of toward him. I felt like something had sucked all the air out of my chest.

I could see it so vividly—the version of my life that this kiss represented. Dinner parties and holiday galas, polite conversations, nods of approval from people who’d never once truly seen me.

And yet all I could think of was the other life I had always wanted. The one with the color and excitement of the city. Where I chased after my dream career and achieved it. I’d never thought that version would include a man with green eyes. I always thought he was part of the past, of what I had been running away from.

Nate shifted closer, voice smooth. “So … a night cap?”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. I knew what came next if I said yes. The polite unfolding of the script in its entirety. And God, I wanted so badly for it to feel right. To feel enough.

It would be so easy.

But it didn’t.

I stepped back, letting the space open between us. “Actually, I should get home. Early morning tomorrow. Hallie and I have a new restaurant we are due at for breakfast.”

He dipped his head, not a hint of disappointment on his face. “Of course. Rain check.”

We walked back to the city streets, the lamplight stretching long shadows over the pavement. My hot chocolate had gone cold in my hands, almost untouched.

When we reached the corner, Nate hailed a cab, and kissed me again before holding the door open for me. I slid inside, offering him one last smile that felt paper thin.

As the cab pulled away, I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching his figure shrink in the side mirror. The city blurred around me, its noise fading as tears welled in my eyes.

This was what was supposed to be right.

So why did it feel like I was making the biggest mistake of my life?

30

Seb

The car rolled up the long, winding driveway of the King estate in Greenwich, the trees draped in twinkling fairy lights and the front of the mansion glowing like a palace abasing the cold winter night. I tugged at my cuff, feeling a little uneasy being back in a tux.

“I still don’t see why you insisted I come tonight,” I muttered, my fingers nervously pulling on the edges of my bowtie to make sure it was straight. The black tux felt tighter than I remembered, constricting my chest as much as my mood.

“Sebastian, you’re in the business of charity now. And what helps keep charities alive?” my father asked, voice steady. “Money. And talking to the people who have it. There will be plenty of them here tonight. Donors, potential investment partners. People who can make this project long-lasting. You don’t need me to tell you that, and you clearly don’t want to miss it.”

I exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. To be honest, I’d only agreed to attend because I was sure that Roxie wouldn’t be here, regardless of whether we managed to bring on any donors.

Not long after I’d managed to secure the building for the food bank and had written up a business plan for it, I presented it to my father. For once, he didn’t laugh at me. Didn’t call it a hobby. Didn’t roll his eyes and tell me that I was wasting my life. He’d studied the numbers, tapped his finger against the page when he was finished, and nodded. Then he’d said the words I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting my whole damn life to hear.

This could work.

Of course, his version of “work” meant turning something good into something profitable, but I didn’t push. If Whittaker Holdings’ backing could give this thing legs, I wasn’t stupid enough to bite the hand that was finally feeding me.

“I could have set up a dinner,” I said now, watching the mansion grow larger with every turn of the tires on the frost-covered driveway. The King estate looked the same as it always had—like old money carved out of stone and arrogance. “We didn’t need the spectacle of the King Christmas Eve party.”

My father’s mouth twitched, the closest thing he ever came to a smile. “This is the dinner, Sebastian. On a huge scale. Better than any you could have set up in the city. So, if we must suffer a string quartet and a few waltzes, then so be it.”