Page 4 of The Rich One

“You’re always starving.” Kai’s right, my brother is a bottomless pit when it comes to food. Yet he’s never put on a single pound that isn’t hard-earned muscle.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening goes by in a bit of an intoxicated blur, but the light sizzle between Kai and I never completely dissipates.

* * *

Early the next morning, Kai drives me back to the ferry. He’s his usual carefree self and apart from kissing my temple and lingering a second too long, our time together is uneventful. As I wait to board, thoughts of two kids lying under the infinity of the star-filled sky run through my mind. Nine-year-old Kai holding my hand as he recounted the stories of Greek Gods.

“For centuries, Aphrodite was the center of attention among the mortals. She was beautiful and strong and everyone loved her. Then one day, all of that attention was focused on Psyche, because she was suddenly the most beautiful creature on Earth.” Squeezing my hand, he turns to me and whispers. “Like you, River.”

The memory nearly destroys me yet again. How did we get to this place? In the last few years, Kai is the only man I’ve fucked as River. As myself. He’s the only one who knows me, knows who I am beneath the stilettos and wigs.

Still, not even he knows everything. No one does. Not a single person knows the mirrored sides of my persona. They either know me as the relaxed kid of a hippie family or the sultry temptress in six-inch heels.

I’m River. But I’m also Rose. Two sides of the same coin, coexisting but unable to show the entirety of our truth all at once.

My phone rings just as I reach the footpath at St. George terminal to board the ferry, the caller’s name splashed across the screen in bold letters. “The Rich One”.

Taking a deep breath, I swipe away my childhood memories and make sure Rose is on the line, ready to work.

“Tyler, it’s been a while.” Tyler Walker is his real name. There is no denying this fact since he’s been the constant obsession ofPage Sixin Manhattan. For the last few months, I’ve been his go-to date when he needs someone on his arm. Our contract states that I use my deep red wig with long ringlets that fall to the middle of my back. It’s not that he can’t get a date, quite the opposite, really. The onslaught of available women makes him gun shy. I’m his armor, the protection he needs at galas or long weekends in the Hamptons. Although, truth be told, some of those women don’t give a damn that he’s there with me. If I weren’t in the middle of that shit storm, I’d have a blast watching the social experiment from afar.

“Rose, how are you?” He doesn’t actually give me the time to answer his question, I figured out it was rhetorical the second time I tried to say I was doing well. “I need you this weekend. A last-minute trip to Martha’s Vineyard has been scheduled. Are you available? If not, I’ll pay double your fee for you to cancel.” I don’t have anything scheduled; I try to keep my weekends to myself for a multitude of reasons—Tyler’s last-minute bookings being one of them.

“No, I’m free. What do you need?”

“You’re a lifesaver. It’s one of those hotel garden parties on Saturday evening, but there will be plenty of time for you to relax while I’m in meetings. Bring a swimsuit of your choice and be sure to have at least one casual outfit and one for the outdoor evening party. Bring a shawl, it’ll get a little chilly at night.” Tyler Walker, business as usual.

“Will do.” I smile at the attendant as I make my way to the only row of empty seats. The ferry is jam packed on a Thursday morning as people rush to get to work somewhere in Manhattan. Men and women in suits, children dressed in their private school uniforms… then there’s me, playing dress up and making more money in a weekend than most of the people sitting around me make in six months.

“I’ll pick you up at your apartment tomorrow around five p.m. Does that work for you?” Looking out at the calm waters of the Hudson Bay, I nod even though he can’t see me. It’s unusual for a client to know where my real apartment is in Kips Bay, but Tyler’s background checks came back clear, and I’ve been working with him long enough that a modicum of trust has been allowed to blossom between us. It’s just convenient for me to have him pick me up there, where all my things are, rather than at my ‘work’ apartment in Rose Hill.

“Yes.” My voice is ever so professional. “That’s perfect.”

There are no tender words, no pet names or sweet goodbyes. As Rose, I’m all business, and that mentality allows me the freedom to plan for the future as River. It’s the reason Everest and Petal could put a down payment on their new house. The reason my living in Manhattan is a possibility.

This weekend, Rose will bring in thirty grand. Five for Friday evening. Fifteen for all of Saturday, and ten for Sunday. Tyler is a very sexual man—his dominance unmistakable—but his end goal isn’t about getting his dick wet, although it’s rare if hedoesn’tuse me to fuck out his frustrations. His reason behind hiring me is to keep his mind on business, always.

An hour later, I walk up the steps of the subway entrance, and land across the street from the little grocery store two blocks away from my studio. It’s a mom-and-pop little hole in the wall but it has everything I need; cheese and wine included.

I take the three steps down to the front door where the little bell announces my arrival.

“River,bella, how are you?” Running a hand through my short hair to pull it away from my face, I give Francesca a beaming smile and practice my Italian on her. She’s been trying to teach me the basics for the last year, but apparently, I do not have the language gene.

“Buona serata, Francesca.Come va?” I know the words were right but from the expression on Francesca’s face, I don’t need to be a mind reader to know my accent was shit.

“Ah, now you’ve done it.” The rich timbre of a familiar voice graces my ears and I feel my cheeks burn with heat. Turning, I see one of the store’s regular clients who must, apparently, have the same habits I do. At least three times a week, we run into each other at the store. I may choose my drop-in times accordingly but I’ll deny it with my last breath.

“Nah, they know I’m a lost cause, but I will keep trying to learn until the end of time.”

“Si, a lost cause but a good girl.” My blush returns with Francesca’s most unsubtle attempt at matchmaking.

“Right,” Candy Aisle Guy—named conveniently after the place where I first laid eyes on him, between the Skittles and the Nerds—clears his throat and gives me a smile that makes my inner Disney princess melt in a puddle. His rich brown hair mussed from what was evidently a long day, he lowers his gaze and nods politely. He’s dressed in jeans and a vee-neck sweater and if it weren’t for the Rolex at his wrist and the seven-hundred-dollar Hermès shoes on his feet, I’d say he’s just another New Yorker getting his morning orange juice. “I’m sure she’s lovely.”

Our gazes catch for the briefest of moments before the connection is broken as I force my feet to take me to the back of the store. The ring on his finger tells me everything I need to know. He’s flattered, but he’s married.

A bottle of wine, a bag of pasta, and some kind of French cheese later, I’m back at the front of the store and trying to remember how the fuck I say the next Italian phrase.

“A little early for wine, isn’t it?” The amusement in his voice doesn’t escape me but still, the blush heats my cheeks.

---