Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC

32: But I Still Haven't Grown Up

On the eleventh anniversary of Venetia's death, I find myself back in England, with Saltburn in the distance.

The wind rips through my hair, but if anything, I'm grateful - it's the only source of relief from the oppressing heat of the August sun beating down on me. The pros and cons of renting a convertible - no roof, no air conditioning. Farleigh sits in the passenger seat, a cigarette perched between his fingers as he rests his elbow on the door. He smiles when he catches my glance.

I refocus on the road ahead of us. The leather of the steering wheel is hot, and burns a bit when I shift my hands. The glint of the wedding band on my ring finger - still shiny and new - catches my eye for a moment, and a rush of giddiness fills me. Since the wedding, every time I've looked at it, I can't help but smile - even though we've been living like we're married for years.

It doesn't feel like it's been eleven years since Farleigh and I met. I can still remember the summer of 2007 like it was yesterday. Endless days by the lake, just lounging about in the grass, talking about everything and nothing all at once. That night we smoked on the roof. All the nights he would slip into my room to complain about Oliver. The first time we kissed - the first time we fucked. How things had taken a turn for the worse the very next day. I don't think I've ever cried as much as I did that summer.

It doesn't feel like it's been eleven years - but at the same time it does. All the dots that connect us from then to now are lined up perfectly in my head. It started out rough - juggling my last year at NYU and teaching Farleigh how to be a normal person was hard, not to mention the part-time job I was working on top of it all. But after he'd gotten used to working, and started fiddling around with social media things had gotten easier. By the time I'd graduated, he was pretty much self-sufficient.

Since then, New York has swept the both of us up into her madness. For Farleigh, his social media presence lifted him back up into a social status he was familiar with, hanging out with nepo-babies and fallen-off child actors in the VIP sections of New York's hottest clubs. For a while, he was something of a club queen until he started leaning more into fashion, posting styling tips, high end hauls and purchasing that first sewing machine. God, that thing was loud. I don't miss it - the one he has now is so much quieter. Fashion blogging turned into being invited to runway events to designing to having his collection featured in Vogue's last issue. Now, he's in high demand to style celebrities for red carpets.

I'm happy for him - really. It's obvious that he loves his work, even if it does mean that our house is covered in fabric scraps. And that I have to go with him to fashion events - not really my scene, but it is fun to see pictures of us on E!News.

For me, it's been objectively less exciting - but I wasn't trying to climb my way back up the social ladder. Once I was done with NYU and had my journalism degree, it was tabloid work for a while - reporting on who Taylor Swift was dating or who Ariana Grande had been spotted with that week - until I had woven myself into the industry enough that I could network my way into a more respectable news source. I wrote for the New Yorker for a while, and then The New York Times, and now Time magazine itself. It's a lot of traveling, but since Farleigh doesn't work a regular 9-5 he can usually come with me (unless there's some event), and he likes to. It 'expands his horizons' and 'inspires him to create' supposedly. I think he just doesn't want to be home alone.

In all my traveling, I never thought I'd end up back here.

Saltburn glitters in the distance, the winding road leading up to the gates, growing ever closer as we cruise along. When we'd gotten the news that James was sick, I'd reached back out to Elspeth, sending well wishes from the both of us. On a whim, we'd sent them a wedding invitation too. I didn't really expect anything to come from it - Farleigh was adamant that they would just ignore it, considering how things ended between them. And for a while, it had seemed like he was right - until a handwritten letter from Elspeth had showed up in our mailbox.

It was long winded - of course, it was from Elspeth - and apologetic, explaining how she couldn't make the wedding because James had died, but insisting that we come back to Saltburn for our honeymoon. Something about it being where we met made her adamant there was no better place to spend the first couple of weeks as a married couple.

After talking it over, we decided to take her up on her offer.

Which is how we're here, now, gliding down the road to Saltburn in a convertible, Iconapop's I Love It blasting through the speakers. It feels like being twenty again - the summer sun beating down on my skin, the smell of cigarette smoke trailing from Farleigh's fingertips, my hair fluttering out behind me as I drive too fast on purpose. I glance over at him - my husband - for a second, catching a glimpse of the way the sun paints him in luxurious gold. He's gorgeous. He's always been gorgeous.

Again he catches me looking. "You're supposed to be driving." He shouts over the wind and the music.

"I am!" I say. "It was two seconds-"

"Eyes on the road!" He ignores my protests, pointing his cigarette at me threateningly.

I roll my eyes. "Maybe if you were less distracting it wouldn't be a problem." I joke. "Stop being so pretty."

"I couldn't even if I tried, Eves." He says, leaning over the center console to smack a kiss to the side of my forehead. Taking one hand off the wheel, I hold out two fingers for his cigarette. He places it between them, and I take a drag before handing it back to him.

God, it feels like being twenty again.

I miss her.