The Rivals

by Allen , Dylan

  It was that last question that got Renee’s attention. Though she’d never married without a prenup again, none of her husbands were green enough to let her walk away with more than enough to satisfy that “the lifestyle to which she was accustomed” clause in their prenups. So, when she heard that I’d gone from successful accountant to the new “Rivers King,” as they called me in the press, she pounced.

  She sued me for a share of my inheritance. She argued that it should have been included in our community property because I concealed its existence from her and because it matured while we were still legally married.

  I pushed back. She was asking for thirty percent of my estate. I wasn’t willing to give her thirty cents. The day after our first court hearing, she showed up at my house with a bottle of wine and an offer for settling. I slammed the door in her face.

  The next morning, she sat down on a local talk show wearing sunglasses and implied that I’d removed her—physically—from my house. The police paid me a visit and set the rumor mill spilling.

  My lawyers advised me to settle. Gigi wanted me to fight back. But, I didn’t want a court battle. She just wanted my money. And that is the one thing I have plenty of. It kept the foundation’s and family money out of her reach.

  “Don’t let it get you down,” Gigi says. She mistakes my silence for sadness.

  “I’m not down. I’m glad she’ s gone,” I say honestly. It’s true. I hope our paths never cross again.

  “Most people aren’t so calculating,” she says. “You had one bad experience. You can’t stay single forever because of it.”

  “Why not?” I say it like I’m joking, but I’ve actually considered it.

  “Don’t say things like that! People will start thinking you’re like that ridiculous George Clooney,” she says.

  “He looks like he’s doing all right,” I say frankly.

  “Hayes McGregor Rivers,” she says sharply, and I laugh at how riled up this topic always gets her.

  “I know I got Renee wrong. But, in my defense, I didn’t think you’d marry her a week after you met. If you let me leave this earth without grandnieces and nephews, I’ll will haunt you forever,” she says.

  “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. I like having you around,” I retort. She lets out a pained, long-suffering sigh.

  “You’re thirty. You need to start thinking about it again. Especially if you’re going to make a successful transition back into Houston’s society.”

  I can’t suppress my groan. We’ve been having this argument for the last year.

  “Gigi, let me do one thing at a time. The foundation needs my attention right now. The wife hunt can wait.”

  “Well, there are lots of eligible girls from very nice families in Houston,” she says.

  “Gigi—”

  “Oooh, if I’m here more often, I could be your matchmaker,” she says hopefully. I start to quip that she’s done enough by introducing and encouraging my liaison with Renee. But, it goes beyond whatever her hopes are. I have watched one marriage of convenience after another fail and fall apart. It’s the last thing I want. So, I level with her.

  “I’m not interested in being with anyone who would use a matchmaker. Especially not if it’s any one of the women you’re talking about. They wouldn’t care if I was eighty, sterile, and impotent. They want my money and they want to secure themselves a lifetime of monthly checks in the form of child support when they birth little Rivers heirs, and they would sleep with our gardener to make sure they got it even if I couldn’t give it to them,” I say.

  She’s completely quiet.

  “Gigi?” I call her name.

  “You need to think about who you’ll move on with,” she says finally. Her voice is completely normal. I put her silence down to a bad connection.

  I’ve already moved on. To a place where choosing a wife will never be an impulsive, uninformed act again. I’ll never put Kingdom at risk like that again. “I will. If you will drop this conversation,” I say.

  “Deal. I had lunch with Henny yesterday,” she says perkily, and I relax a little. Rivers Wilde gossip, I can deal with.

  “How was that?” I ask.

  “She looks wonderful. Retirement agrees with her. We ate lunch in her pool and drank an entire bottle of wine. Her friend Sally made lunch. It was grand,” she giggles to herself. “I was sick to my stomach when I got home, but it just made me think about how much I miss living here,” she says dreamily.

  “Perfect, I’ll buy you a house and you can move with me,” I say.

  “I-I couldn’t leave Positano, but I’m thinking with you gone, it won’t feel like home. I spent the first twenty-five years of my life in Houston. Being back here, especially in Rivers Wilde … I’m tempted to start spending part of the year here. It’s charming,” she says happily.

  “Charming isn’t how I would describe it, but I think you being there would make it feel less like hostile territory,” I say.

  “I wish your brothers would come home. You need them. Though, with that dreadful mother of theirs, I can understand why they scattered the way they have,” she says ruefully.

  “They will,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I certainly hope they will. So far, their responses to my request have been less than promising. But, Gigi’s right, I need them. They’re all the real family I have left.

  Houston doesn’t feel like home anymore, and I have to find a way to make it so. Having them around might make that easier.

  “Oh, dear.” My aunt sounds dismayed. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Renee. She always spoils the mood.”

  “She’s good for that,” I say.

  “Just goes to show how money can’t buy you anything that matters.”

  “Right,” I say shortly. Talking about Renee and money are two things I’d always rather not do. But when I think about all the money I spent to book this particular suite in the hopes of finding quiet, and how that, too, has managed to elude me, it makes me downright antsy.

  “All right, baby, you go on. Just promise you’ll try to have a nice time,” she says.

  “I promise,” I say and hang up.

  I walk back to the door and open it.

  The corridor is empty. Oh, I plan to have a very nice time.

  GOLD DIGGER

  HAYES

  “This is paradise.” A female American voice drifts into my ear as if carried by the light sea breeze and interrupts my afternoon nap. Reluctantly, I open my eyes slowly and sit up. I squint against the afternoon sun’s glare and sweep my eyes over the huge veranda. I’m as alone as I’d been when I first came out here to lie down.

  I listen and don’t hear anyone talking. I walk over to the ornately-carved stone wall and rest my forearms on the smooth, sun-warmed cement rail and stare out at the view.

  The sweeping green and blues of the sea, sky and verdant, lush landscape seem endless. The light breeze isn’t stiff enough to do more than ruffle the very fine hairs on my arms. But it carries with it the smell of lemon and pine. The salt of the sea spray gives the air a bite that’s softened by the sound of the sea’s lazy current.

  The sea stretches and disappears into the curve of the horizon. I gaze at it and understand why people thought the world was flat. From here, I can imagine falling off the illusion created by the glancing kiss it shares with the sky.

  The mossy cliff that runs along this stretch of beach surrounds the villa making it feel secluded even though there are neighboring villas on either side. My room is one of only two massive suites on the fourth floor. I thought it would be quiet. I hoped that if I had neighbors, they would be people who wanted to be as far away from the festivities’ noises as possible.

  A cacophony of excited women’s voices tears a hole in that hope. Laughter and unintelligible shouts of delight spill through it and splatter all over my mood. It was good while it lasted, I tell myself. I pull out my phone and scan my emails.

  I scroll through email after email of bad news. Kin
gdom is being hit with lawsuits left and right. From breach of contract to improper dismissals. In the last fifteen years, my uncle’s failure to manage Kingdom and all of its holdings properly is matched only by his lack of transparency. He’s stacked the board with his minions instead of competent people. We are in violation of hundreds of regulatory guidelines in nearly every facet of our business, and everyone is looking to me for answers I don’t have.

  It’s been two weeks since I became chairman of the board. The first email I received in my official capacity was from my newly-appointed executive assistant. In it, she asked me to send her a guest list for my swearing-in ceremony and banquet. My reply informed her that, until we had something real to celebrate, the banquet was postponed.

  This wedding couldn’t have happened at a worse time. When Gigi asked me to attend on her behalf, I said no.

  She pinched my ear, told me not to talk back, and booked my flight.

  So, here I am.

  “Let’s go out here. I want to see the ocean,” the same voice that woke me says. Even though I can hear the women, I can’t see them, and they have no idea I’m here.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe we’re here. This is beautiful,” another voice gushes.

  “You know, I live forty-five minutes from the beach, and I don’t think I’ve seen the ocean all year,” another voice raves. Like the other voice, hers is bubbling with excitement.

  “It’s the sea, Cass. The Ligurian Sea. Not the ocean, and I’ve got a headache. I’m going to lie down. Have fun with the girls, okay?” This voice makes my ears perk up. It’s my elevator girl. But she sounds decidedly unhappy.

  Who wouldn’t be happy to be here?

  You. That’s who. I remind myself.

  “Oh, come on, TB, it feels so good out here,” the enthusiastic voice calls out to her.

  “No, you guys have fun. I’m just tired after that trip,” she says, her words muffled by a very fake yawn.

  A chorus of pleasant goodbyes rings out behind her, and the door closes with a sharp rattle of wood and glass.

  Then the claws come out.

  “God, Cass. Why did you bring her?” one voice drones as if she’s in pain.

  “Actually, I brought you. She’s my plus one. And she’s having a hard time, so you guys better not be dicks,” Cass responds.

  “Well, from what I heard, it’s her own fault,” another voice chimes in.

  “And why is she dressed like that? I mean, if I had thighs like that, I’d never wear shorts.”

  “I think her thighs look great,” Cass says defensively.

  “I mean, she’s pretty, but … like … how can she even afford this trip? This room? I heard no one will hire her,” a chorus girl says.

  “That’s none of your business, you guys.” Cass’s voice is rising in anger.

  “Well, if her gold-digging ways are going to reflect on us—”

  “You’re only here because Liv was nice enough to let you use her room block despite the fact that you’re not wedding guests. And if this is how you feel about her, then just keep your distance this weekend.”

  I like this Cass. There’s a beat of silence before one of the voices responds in a whiny bray.

  “She’s the one who—”

  “I’m baaaack!” The door flies open as the voice belonging to “TB” rejoins the group. Their conversation comes to a complete and utter stop.

  “Oh, hey. Couldn’t sleep?” Cass says in a much thinner, more hesitant voice than the one she’s been using since they came outside.

  “No. I was just so excited thinking about all the rich guys who’ll be here this weekend,” she says in a sing-song voice.

  I freeze. Suddenly, I wish I’d gone inside. This is the very last thing I need or want to hear.

  “I mean, it’s an Italian villa. It’s bound to be crawling with them,” Cass says and her discomfort is loud and clear even from where I’m sitting.

  “Exactly, ladies,” TB crows. “If you want me to teach you, all you have to do is ask. It’s not that hard. Men with money are the best boyfriends. They’re usually so busy making it they don’t have time for you. You might only have to fuck him once a month,” she says. A chorus of uncomfortable giggles ripples through the crackling air around me.

  I know firsthand about women like her.

  I’ve just finished freeing myself from the clutches of one.

  My amusement, interest, and good mood fizzle all at once. I start to head back inside. At least I’ll know who to avoid tonight.

  I’m almost to my door when my phone starts to ring.

  The loud trill fills the air like a siren, and the conversation from the next balcony comes to an abrupt stop.

  “Oh my God, is someone there?” I hear one of the chorus girls say right as I shut the door behind me and answer the phone.

  DOLCE VITA

  CONFIDENCE

  “Who is that?” I lean over to Cass and whisper without taking my eyes off the tall, well-built, beautiful man who just strode into the tent like he’s about to tell us all he’s our new ruler and ask us to pledge our loyalty or die. He’s even more beautiful in that suit than he was half naked in the hallway this afternoon.

  I can still feel the soft brush of his fingers on my neck. The way my breath caught in my throat when he’d dragged the pendant up my chest until it nestled into the small hollow at the base of my throat.

  His dark, wavy hair is just long enough to curl right at the edge of his crisp white tuxedo shirt. It’s unruly and perfectly artless in a way that no human hand, and no amount of pomade, could create. Those silky dark-chocolate waves are the work of God himself. His profile is strong and bold; his nose prominent and straight. His lips are set in a straight line but I can see their fullness even in his profile. And God, his jaw. It’s chiseled and wide and covered in a beard low enough to be a five o’clock shadow, meticulously groomed so you can tell it’s not. His broad, tall frame is poured into a black tuxedo that fits him perfectly. He looks like he’s the sovereign of something—a country, a business, a thousand women in a harem somewhere …

  Heads turn as he crosses the room. And I can’t blame them—not even a little bit. He oozes sex and power. His long strides eat up the floor, and he reaches the lone empty table at the back of the tent quickly. When he’s adorned the chair with his glorious body, he turns to face the front of the room where the bridal party is sitting and giving their speeches.

  “Who’s who?” she asks and pokes her head around the room. I tug her arm and nod at him.

  “Him. Also known as the man of all of my dirty dreams,” I purr excitedly, my eyes trained on the finest specimen of man I’ve ever seen this close up.

  “Ohhh,” she drawls, eyes widening with interest and props her chin on her hand and ogles him.

  “That’s Hayes Rivers,” the woman on my right says. Cass and I both turn to face her, surprised by her interjection.

  “Heir to Kingdom,” she says when neither of us respond.

  “I knew it. He looks like a king. Which kingdom?” I ask. I’m already imagining myself in a ball gown, crown on my head walking down some long, red-carpeted aisle where he’s waiting at the end.

  “No, not a kingdom.” And just like that, she kills my dream. “Kingdom is the name of his family’s business. He inherited all the money when he turned twenty-five. And now he’s the new Rivers king,” she says.

  “How old is he now?” I ask, my curiosity overtaking my normal abhorrence for gossip.

  “He must be thirty … he’s one of the richest men in the freaking world,” she exclaims.

  “Really? Why’s he here?”

  “His grandmother is friends with the groom,” our little canary says.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him. His return to Houston is all anyone’s talking about,” she says and looks at both of us like we’re crazy.

  “I don’t live in Houston,” I say.

  “Well, I heard …” Her eyes dart around as if
checking for spies and then she leans into us. “Apparently, he had a fight with his ex. And it got physical,” she grimaces. But her eyes are twinkling. “I’m not one to gossip …” she says and Cass and I exchange a yeah, right look.

  “But, she was all over the place wearing sunglasses. No one saw her, mind you, and she never said, but it was obvious he roughed her up,” she says.

  My lawyer hat comes on and my eyes slide away from the delicious man to her. I make sure there’s no warmth in them and her silly, careless smile falters.

  “That’s actually the exact opposite of obvious,” I say dismissively.

  “Only if you’re blind. I mean, yeah, he’s nice to look at, but he looks so angry, don’t you think?”

  I glance at him, and just then, like he knows what she said, his jaw clenches.

  “Well, if people were talking about me like this, I might be angry, too,” I say and Cass pinches me.

  “Well, if you think you know better, you can ignore me. But don’t say you weren’t warned,” she says and turns back to the victim on her other side.

  As if I need any warning. I can smell a violent man the minute he enters the room. I grew up with them under the same roof. I watched them do more damage than any of the natural disasters that were a way of life for us in the Mississippi Delta.

  I lean toward Cass.

  “He’s staying on our floor,” I whisper. I can’t take my eyes off him. My whole body is tingling just from looking at him.

  “Thank you, God,” I say, pressing my hands together in gratitude.

  Cass laughs. “I mean, he does clean up nicely, but he looks like he’d be more comfortable in a boxing ring than on a dance floor,” she says.

  “Yes, exactly,” I practically purr before I take another sip of my gin and tonic. My thighs clench when I think about how rough things could get.

  “His nose doesn’t look like it’s been broken, though,” she muses.

  “No one’s perfect,” I joke and take a final swig of my drink.