Part 1Loved A Billionaire In Disguise

The year we hit absolute rock bottom was the year I got pregnant by accident.

To pay for the abortion, Holden took out a payday loan with a predatory interest rate. While I was bleeding and recovering on our thrifted mattress, the most nutritious thing I ate was a two-dollar frozen chicken thigh from the discount grocery down the street.

My heart ached for him. I hated watching Holden break his back doing construction during the day, only to throw on a neon DoorDash jacket to deliver food all night. To ease his burden, I only took three days off after the procedure before picking up a side gig. A friend got me a job as a cocktail waitress at a highly exclusive VIP lounge downtown.

"It’s a coveted spot. High base pay, crazy tips. I only pushed your resume through because I know how bad you’re struggling right now," she had told me. "Don't worry. You just smile, pour the drinks, and stay out of the way. It’s totally strictly professional."

That was how I found myself staring into the dimly lit, velvet-lined VIP booth, watching Holden sitting dead center, surrounded by beautiful women.

He had ordered seven or eight bottles of champagne that cost twenty-five grand a pop. The watch he casually unclasped and handed to one of the bottle girls as a joke was rumored to be worth a quarter of a million dollars.

When the clock struck 3:00 AM, he casually wiped a smudge of red lipstick off his cheek, picked up his scuffed yellow delivery helmet from the leather sofa, and announced he was heading home.

"Come on, Holden, are you really still playing out this tragic DoorDash-driver-meets-warehouse-girl romance?" one of his friends drawled.

"Didn't your old man just threaten to cut you off if you don't settle down with the fiancée? End it already. If she ever finds out who you really are, she’s going to latch on and drain you dry."

Holden let out a low, breathless laugh. "Please. She doesn't have the brains to pull that off."

I stood perfectly still in the darkest corner of the room, my head bowed in total submission to the shadows.

The abortion had cost three hundred dollars.

The food he bought me to recover cost maybe fifteen.

Three hundred and fifteen dollars.

Less than the price of the complementary fruit platter sitting untouched on his table.

I was so incredibly cheap.

* * *

Holden beat me home.

When my phone vibrated in my pocket, I had just changed out of my uniform and collected my nightly cash envelope. A hundred and twenty bucks. I worked myself to the bone at the fulfillment center all month, and my take-home pay barely scraped six hundred.

"If we're short-staffed again, you want me to call you?" my friend asked.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shook my head.

My Nana raised me to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. The money here was easy, but it made my stomach twist with a deep, nameless anxiety.

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, not pushing the issue. "Text me when you get back."

I nodded and stepped out into the biting chill of the city.

The night buses ran on an agonizingly slow schedule. After standing on my feet all night in heels, the freezing wind felt like glass against my skin. My head pounded. My stomach cramped, a dull ache radiating from my empty womb.

Holden had called me eight times.

On the ninth ring, I finally answered.

"Where are you? Why weren't you picking up?"

His voice was taut, laced with an urgency that sounded so terrifyingly real. "You didn't even leave a note. Do you have any idea how out of my mind with worry I've been?"

I didn't make a sound. Sensing my silence, Holden realized he was coming on too strong. I could hear him take a deep, measured breath, forcing his voice to soften into that gentle cadence I loved so much. "Where are you, baby? Let me come pick you up. Please?"

The bus hissed to a stop in front of me. I climbed on and tapped my card.

"No need. I'm almost home," I said quietly, and hung up.

The roads were dead. The ride was fast. When I stepped off the bus at my stop, the first thing I saw was Holden. He was standing under the flickering amber glow of the streetlamp, wearing that grime-stained delivery jacket. The light hit the sharp, aristocratic lines of his jaw perfectly.

Looking at him now, he didn't look like a delivery driver at all. He looked like an actor playing one in a Super Bowl commercial.

Before tonight, I just assumed my love for him gave him that glow. He looked devastating in a faded t-shirt. He looked gorgeous in beat-up Converse. Even when the helmet flattened his hair into a mess, he was beautiful.

I loved every single part of him.

When Holden saw me, he didn't say a word. He just reached out, took my heavy canvas tote off my shoulder, and brushed his knuckles against my cheek. Then he took my freezing hands and buried them inside his jacket, pressing them against his warm chest. "You must be starving. I got you a bodega sandwich. Asked the guy to add an extra fried egg."

When we were at our most desperate, an extra egg was a luxury. It was my exclusive privilege—fried hard on the edges, just the way I liked it. Holden never took a single bite. He always saved the whole thing for me.

Those little sacrifices used to be my most treasured possessions. I had given Holden my entire soul. I thought that as long as we had each other, the poverty and the exhaustion couldn't touch me.

But as it turned out, in Holden’s eyes, me, my devotion, even our unborn child...

Added all together, it was only worth a fruit platter.