The Price of His Nineteen-Year-Old Mistress

y, famous for his seasonal affairs with nineteen-year-old girls. For

onor was a nineteen-year-old named Iris. On the day of the surgery, my father died be

ft me to fall. When a chandelier crashed, he shielded her body with his and stepped over

d ungrateful, completely oblivious to t

orce papers and vanished. T

r donor for your dad. Let'

pte

Porter

is new favorite, a nineteen-year-old girl, instead of ensuring she made i

line. He was the golden-boy heir to the Kramer real estate dynasty, a man whos

fic, almost clinical preference: young, inn

nts dazzled by his charisma and wealth, would be lavished with gifts, paraded at parties, and then, just as quickly, discarded. Their tenur

The Columbia literature major who received a first-edition collection of classics before finding her apartment key

there

e program. I wasn't from their world of penthouses and pedigrees. I was from a world of late-night sh

when Christopher Kramer'

ating. It was a whirlwind romance that scandalized Ma

gal son, was suddenly,

y favorite lilies. He learned to cook my father' s favorite stew, sitting patiently in our cramped kitchen while my d

ant screens that usually advertised luxury brands displaying

ispered about. The working-class gi

that I mistook for profound love. He built a fortress of affection around me, and I believed

attered when my

. The only hope was a bone marrow transplant. We searched the global registr

aunch a massive, city-wide donor drive, funding testing kits and plastering my father's st

acle. A perfect

Lindsay. A scholar

as ni

brought her. She wore a simple white dress, her hands nervously clutching the strap of her backpack. She looked u

ent a shiver down my spine, but I quickly dismissed it.

is immune system systematically destroyed by chemotherapy to prepare for the transplant.

ingly small. Once the chemo protocol was complete, my father' s body was a blank slate, unable to

r beside his bed, began to waver. The beeping of the machine

body, stripped of its

gain. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the phone

ally picked up. Her voice was small, laced

hospital just called. My dad's in critical condition! You

trembling. "I'm scared, Emily. The though

this is about m

voice cut through the line from her end.

ou talking to? C

Chris

opher. My

ears were ringing, a high-pitched scream that drowned out the fran

, my mind a blank, howling void. I hailed a cab, my voice a strangled rasp as I gave the addr

ht because it had the smoothest ride

or. The suite was a sprawling expanse of glass and minimalist furniture. And the

She was wearing one of his silk shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbow

ntle, the same way he used to touch me. He was whispering

low, soothing rumble. "We can just postpone it. A few days won't

same proprietary, tender kiss he had given me thousands

"You're so good to me, Christopher.

whispered back. "I'll

he shrill sound cut through the haze o

the h

d, my thr

was heavy, somber. "I'm so sorry.

t need t

ed away just a f

the hum of the hotel's air conditioning, even t

numb fingers, clatterin

made the

doorway, a ghost at the feast of my

over. It had neve

season, and spring

g in to swallow me whole. The last thing I saw was Christopher' s face, his expression shifting from gentle affecti

him, it did