Rich Little Poor Girl: An Interracial Second Chance Romance

by C. L. Donley

  His phone vibrates in his pocket at that precise moment.

  Ben looks at it, expecting it to be from his assistant. But it isn’t. It’s a notification from Esmee’s Instagram. She’s taken a picture of herself in what looked to be a bridal veil with the caption, “window shopping at Kleinfeld’s.”

  The emotional nausea he feels is suddenly overwhelming.

  Fuck. FUUUCK.

  Ben can no longer outrun the inevitable. He isn’t going to marry this girl.

  Eliminating choices is progress too, he supposes. But he knows exactly what he has to do. Because when he thinks of having to break Esmee’s heart, it feels like a walk in the park compared to what he’s considering: picking the one that speaks to him.

  Cynthia. It’s the most obvious answer. She isn’t with him, but she hasn’t moved on. And so, neither could he.

  Perhaps he isn’t indecisive at all. Perhaps he’s just a moron. His gut instinct pulled him back from every fool marriage he tried to force. Every woman that succeeded in taking his mind off the woman he loves. The thought of proposing to Cynthia causes his guts to churn and it puts a smile on his face. Jitters. His gut was going off like a metal detector over treasure.

  He suddenly can’t believe he has a chance to have what every man should. A woman to slay dragons for, the dragon being himself.

  The only question is, could he survive her answer? He’s spent the last ten years sheltering himself with ignorance. About what happened, why and what to do about it. It is his personal jail of oblivion, where Cynthia could do no right or wrong, and as long as there were questions there was hope. He isn’t sure if he knows how to be free of it.

  Ben heads straight to Esmee’s hotel, then to his penthouse apartment where Esmee is nowhere to be found. “We need to talk. Tonight,” Ben sends her a private message.

  Maybe he’s being rash, but the fact that Esmee is leaving for an untold number of weeks means that he has to do this now. This couldn’t wait another long trip. It could barely wait another day. He has to let go of Esmee. First. Or else he can never look Cynthia in the eye again. He has to go for broke.

  After nearly an hour, Ben finds himself getting antsy, feeling the charlatan the longer he has to go without doing what he knows he has to.

  “Where are you?” Ben sends her another message.

  “Out.” is her reply after a ten-minute delay.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Say what you have to say, Ben,” is her unusually direct reply.

  Ben sighs, feeling annoyed. Now’s not the time to test his texting pet peeve.

  “I will not do this in a text,” he sends back. Esmee responds with a flurry of texts that follow thusly:

  “Honestly, you millennials are snobs.”

  “Technology is not inherently less legitimate.”

  “For example, I know you probably think sending me a private message after my Kleinfeld’s post was the proper thing to do, but you may as well have put it in the comments.

  “It would’ve been better than not even LIKING my comment. After I fucking TAGGED YOU IN IT. It was FUCKING humiliating!”

  Ben tries to call her. Twice. But her phone instantly goes to voice mail, which means she’s ignoring his calls. Instead, she sends another text.

  “Break up with me, Ben. Go on.”

  Since his apologetic tone can’t be heard in a text, Ben crafts a message that he would never ever say if she was there in front of him. Angrily he presses send.

  “Honestly, Esmee, if I promised to help your brand, after your modeling career is over, would you even mind?”

  It takes a few minutes before she responds and he’s left to wonder her emotional state. But he struggles to feel sympathy. Maybe next time she’ll pick up the phone when he calls.

  “You bastard,” she finally answers.

  “I said break up with me. Like a man. Own it.”

  “Yes, I mind. I mind that two years of my life have just gone to SHIT.”

  She’s definitely crying right now. He can picture her shrill posh accent in his head. But it’s nothing like the real thing. He still doesn’t like texting, but he can see the allure.

  “You’re right,” he concedes. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was going to marry you. I really was. I promise. I waited too late. Something in me kept tell me to wait.”

  “*telling.”

  Silence.

  “It’s Cynthia Gordon, isn’t it?”

  He can’t tell if it’s an angry question or not. In his head, her question is knowing and sympathetic.

  “I don’t even know if she will take me back. I don’t think she will. She’s already turned me down in a roundabout way. But I need to get down on both knees this time, hear the rejection from her and no one else. No presumptions.”

  “And if she says ‘no’?”

  “Then I’m fucked, I guess,” Ben answers. He cringes, knowing she’s thinking of taking sloppy seconds. He feels overwhelming guilt as he sends her a confirmation of his resolve.

  “I can’t marry you, Esmee. It would be so much less than you deserve, and you know it.”

  Still more silence.

  “I begged you to be honest with me.”

  Ben sighs, answering.

  “I know, I tried. I thought I was. But I wasn’t being honest with myself, either.

  “I’m not a liar, I’m just a moron.”

  “Fair enough,” she answers. He doesn’t know what to say back, if anything else even needs to be said. He starts a few messages but only ends up erasing them. In the interim, Esmee sends more texts.

  “Were it anyone else I would’ve personally had you poisoned.”

  “You’ve never tried to hurt me, Ben. And I will always love you for that.”

  “Right then. I leave for Prague in two days. I will come for my things tomorrow. I would appreciate it if you weren’t there.”

  Ben figures the best thing he could do is not patronize her, or send her off with false platitudes of affection. He sends her a curt response that is both a sword and a kindness.

  “I won’t be.”

  10

  Ten Years Ago

  It was right before Thanksgiving that Cynthia met his girlfriend Melanie, when Ben brought her to work for a lunch date.

  “So great to finally put a face to a name,” Melanie smiled.

  “Cynthia’s going to house sit while we’re in Aspen,” Ben filled her in, casually.

  “You’re not going anywhere for the holidays?” Melanie frowned.

  “Can’t beat double time,” Cynthia smiled sleepily.

  “Double time, wow! Does Sol know his kitchen staff is getting that kind of money?”

  “You know he does, Mel,” Ben replied through gritted teeth.

  Cynthia would’ve shaken her hand, but she was serving food to the two of them at the time. Her humiliation was so acute she was resolved to end it then and there, even though she had nowhere to go until next year, when her mother’s new apartment would finally be ready.

  Ben obviously suspected as much. He slipped out when he knew Cynthia’s shift was over and raced to his apartment, only to find she was in his room, instantly packing her things in a large duffle bag. She didn’t acknowledge him when he came in.

  “I’m sorry,” he began.

  Cynthia said nothing as she started on emptying another drawer.

  “Can you please stop doing that and talk to me?”

  “Okay… what the hell were you thinking?”

  “She said she wanted to meet you. I couldn’t act like I had something to hide.”

  “Why would she even want to meet me?”

  “Because she knows you’re staying here. She’d be crazy not to.”

  “Well, she absolutely knows we’re sleeping together.”

  “She doesn’t. Trust me.”

  “I’m such an idiot for getting myself into this. This is going worse than nowhere.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  �
��I won’t say ‘it’s either me or her,’ because I already know your choice. I can’t believe you had me serving her food like a fucking—”

  “Cynthia please, it’s not like that, I’m sorry. And I promise I’ll explain, and you can help me work this out I just… can we deal with this when I get back?”

  Cynthia stopped, weeping threatening to overwhelm her. She was heartbroken and humiliated. But she was still a beggar, at least for the next few weeks. Without having to worry about Cynthia, her mom had been able to save up first and last month’s rent quickly and easily, and the apartment with the bonus room wouldn’t be available until January. At the time, Cynthia urged her to wait for the bigger apartment but now, of course, she wished that she hadn’t. She knew her mom probably suspected she was stalling in order to stay in the city with Ben.

  She was a blind idiot. Time was never on her side. She kicked herself for ever letting herself get comfortable— with Ben, with anyone. As long as she didn’t have a home, her dignity was always on the chopping block.

  “I hate crying,” she informed him.

  “If you still want to end it after the holidays, it might kill me, but I’ll understand. I don’t say that to guilt you, I just… I hate that this happened, and if you leave right before I go on this trip, I will put a fucking gun in my mouth.”

  “You assume I don’t want that to happen,” Cynthia muttered. Ben relaxed. If she was making jokes, that meant there was hope.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Cynthia sneered when he leaned in to kiss her, pulling away.

  “Are you seriously going to work on Thanksgiving? While my father fucking skis and drinks butter rum?”

  “I am. Your dad skis?”

  “He does.”

  Ben sat down next to her on the floor against the edge of the bed. He was quiet for a moment, careful not to touch her like he instinctively wanted while he continued.

  “It’s perfectly okay with me if you still hate me after today, and I have no right to ask you for a single thing, I know that. But if you never do another thing for me, do this one thing out of the goodness of your heart, which I know is there, because it’s why I love you.”

  He used the “L” word but he’d say anything at this point, she told herself cynically. A bundle of tears fell from her cheeks.

  “Please, please, please just be here when I get back. Please.”

  “Sounds like you’re begging,” she said, wiping her face.

  “I am,” Ben said, his hands aching to wipe her tears and console her.

  Needless to say, Cynthia took him back. Hearing him come through the door after two weeks of radio silence practically unraveled her. She was doomed and she knew it. There are worse things to be addicted to while homeless, she said to herself, as Ben abandoned his luggage at the door and made a beeline straight to where she was on the couch.

  Sex. It completely changed their relationship. From the moment Cynthia kissed him he knew there was no going back, and it never seemed to be enough. Beyond arousal, Ben felt out of body whenever Cynthia undressed in front of him. The first time she showed him all of her, part of him wanted to look away because he didn’t deserve it.

  Their lovemaking was quiet in nature, which surprised Ben pleasantly. He always loved Melanie’s theatrics and thought he was officially converted after her. In college, the thought of her screaming his name throughout the day would get him so rock hard he couldn’t wait to track her down between classes, peel her away from whatever study group she was at and rush her back to his dorm.

  But after the first time he’d made love to Cynthia, he’d started to worry that most, if not all of it, was fucking fake. And after their two week holiday in Aspen, he had his answer.

  He tried to just let Cynthia sleep when he got home in the evenings. He only had so many hours to sleep himself with his schedule. But he always ended up waking her with his touch, his mouth on her smooth, tight skin until one of those precious moans escaped her throat and he had to find her hips with hands and grip them tightly, so tight until he could completely lose himself in her and be satisfied, if only until their bodies would meet again.

  On this particular morning, Cynthia was the one to wake him. She took him into her mouth while he was still asleep, and for a moment he fought waking because he thought the feeling was coming from his dream. He awoke to the sight and sounds of her head bobbing up and down his lap, the bright pink tips of her hair brushing across his bare chest. He let her continue until he thought he would die if he wasn’t inside her.

  “Get on top. Hurry,” he instructed her urgently.

  Cynthia liked being on top. Ben liked being torn between the sight of her body and gazing into those translucent eyes of hers. She hastily got in position, grabbed his manhood and slowly slipped it inside. He held his breath, afraid he would miss her initial reactions to his needy thrusts. Finally, his lungs were bursting, his heart beating so fast it felt like he could never get enough oxygen. He wasn’t going to last very long. He grabbed at her t-shirt and methodically she shed it, knowing what he was after. He wanted to come while watching her tits bounce, a look of gorgeous anguish blooming across her face. He hiked up one of her legs, found the spot that she liked and went to town. He watched her hand go between her legs and it was the last thing he saw before climax took over and he thrashed underneath her, his large hands and her narrow hips practically fused together.

  His eyes were still closed as he noticed he was slick with sweat, her hot humid breath hitting his earlobe as their panting subsided. He slowly became aware of the frantic sounds of the city from the open windows. A breeze far too mild for December crept through the windows.

  “What was that for?” he breathed.

  “It’s an unseasonably warm day and I’m happy,” Cynthia cooed. She planted a kiss on his lips and smiled as she rolled next to him.

  “Why, because you’re really a mermaid?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “That’s what you do when you’re happy?”

  “Isn’t that what everyone does?”

  “No,” he chuckled.

  “Kiss me,” she replied. He rolled to his side and loomed over her, complying with a kiss on her temple.

  “Do you know your mom’s schedule?” he suddenly asked.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I want to take her to dinner.”

  “My mom?”

  “She’s from Grenada, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I found a Grenadian restaurant.”

  “You what?”

  “I found a Grenadian restaurant in the city.”

  Cynthia just looked dumbfounded in response.

  “You think your mom would like that?”

  “I think… she would probably cry. Especially if they do it wrong. But I can’t imagine a Grenadian restaurant existing at all if they were going to do that. Do they serve oil down?”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s like, the national dish. It has a thousand ingredients and takes a thousand years to make.”

  “I don’t know but I can find out.”

  “Why do you want to take my mom out?”

  “Why not? A friend of mine mentioned a Grenadian restaurant and my ears perked up. I think she would get a kick out of it. She’s such a nice lady. For, you know, letting me schtup you.”

  Cynthia smiled. “Alright.”

  “Give me a date and we’ll go.”

  “You sure you’ll have time? To go to dinner?”

  “I’ll make time.”

  “I think we’re being followed. Have you noticed?”

  “I noticed.”

  “Is that… normal?”

  “Our dad always kept tabs on us when he could. But recon work is a new level. For me. I don’t remember him much caring what I did. He followed my older brother all the time.”

  “Jesus. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Usually, my brother stopped whatever he was doing not long after.”


  “Oh no, Benji.”

  “But my brother was… special. And it never was over a relationship.”

  “Did I do something to tip them off?”

  “I think we both did.”

  “We hardly see each other at work.”

  “That’s the point. We went from chatting it up to chatting it up a little too much, to nothing.”

  Cynthia smiled. “They’re onto us. What do we do?”

  “I have an idea, but it’s flimsy.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I can put out a rumor that we dated, but then we broke up. Just among the guys. So that stupid plant Leland can send it back to my dad. It might require some… acting. And we may have to stop seeing each other for a while. A week or two should do it.”

  Cynthia’s energy shifted against her will. It would still be another month until she and Bev had a place of their own.

  She didn’t plan on having to keep her homelessness a secret. They weren’t even still supposed to be homeless by now. It was supposed to be a bump in the road. She could just tell him the truth. But she would then become like most of the people in his life, and she didn’t want to see the change in him once he realized she had no real place to go. She didn’t want their relationship to be tainted by it at all. God, she fucking hated it. At times she nearly forgot, until they had conversations like this.

  She didn’t expect this thing with Ben to last, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Other than the fact that life just didn’t let good things last for long, especially if they were rooted in secrets and lies.

  “It’ll be hard, I know,” he smiled, trying to read her mind. “I’ve gotten used to waking up to you.”

  “What about Melanie?”

  “What about her?”

  “What if she finds out?”

  “I honestly don’t care anymore. She’s literally not even listening to me at this point.”

  “Where am I supposed to go for a week or two?”

  Ben put the obvious out of his mind. She felt left in limbo. As did he. Though he doubted that Cynthia felt as nauseous as he did about his cowardly indecision. He simply couldn’t have broken it off with Melanie during the holidays. It wouldn’t even be taken as anything but a joke. Plus, if he were to burn virtually all of his bridges, he needed to come up with a plan. And with his father closing in, playtime with Cynthia was truly over. It was time to get his future figured out.