Page 5 of Rich and Rotten

Miller’s Pointe sat right by the water, offering views of boats docking and fishermen unloading their catches of the day. I loved the food there, but it wasn’t my favorite spot. I mostly ate there when I wanted to feel pampered because I was Malcolm Rich’s daughter. Those people would spoon-feed me if I asked. That’s how much they loved and respected my family in Greenwich Pointe. The Rich and Sterling families practically ruled this city, and it made me sick. I refused to raise my daughter to feel entitled like some of my in-laws and my own family did. They walked around with a sense of entitlement, as if the entire world owed them something.

“Although she’s seen it many times, I managed to snag Hamilton tickets,” Yaya said, distracting me from my thoughts.

“Do you think she remembers today is his birthday?”

Yaya put her phone down and rested her hand on top of mine. “Maybe. It’s also your responsibility to remind her, Tatiana. I know you don’t want to upset her, but she deserves to celebrate her father, even if he’s no longer here.”

“You’re right,” I sighed.

Talking about Karim with Nazira was hard because I didn’t want to make her sad. I was the one who held her all night after he passed away. The next morning, she came downstairs asking for her father even though she knew he was gone. A small piece of my little girl died when her father left us, so I was always careful about how I brought up Karim. The joy was returning to her, and I never wanted to see it disappear. I would be miserable forever if that meant my baby could stay happy.

“I also need you to stop pretending like he didn’t exist with Nazira. The two of you should be celebrating him together on birthdays and holidays.” Yaya squeezed my hand.

“Thanks, Ya.”

Yalina and Liliana––whom we called Bloom––were my best friends, and I also hired them to help manage my busy life. Yaya was organized and detail-oriented, while Bloom was loving and nurturing. So, it only made sense to hire Yaya as my assistant and Bloom as my nanny.

After getting married, I remember sitting on a reformer in a Pilates studio in town, feeling sick to my stomach and heartbroken. Yaya had finished her workout, and her sister was sitting on another reformer. They watched as I counted down in my head, overwhelmed with regret. When I suddenly stood up and bolted to the bathroom, they followed.

Two strangers held my hair as I vomited into the toilet. They stayed right there with me, offering a wet napkin and water as I dry heaved.

I learned they weren’t from Greenwich Pointe but from the next town over. Yaya and Bloom didn’t come from wealthy families; they worked at a nearby strip club. They were hood twins––same father, different mothers––and their father was strict about them knowing each other and having a relationship. Despite our different backgrounds, we became inseparable from that moment on.

No matter how I felt about marrying Karim, the vomiting that day was a sign from Nazira that she existed, and we would be welcoming her into our lives.

“Please don’t let him get under your skin, Tati,” Yaya warned as we pulled up in front of the restaurant.

I’ve never been a daddy’s girl, and it’s a topic my therapist and I often discussed during my sessions. While Nazira loved everything about Karim and would be inside his skin if she could when he was alive, I felt completely the opposite about my father.

“Why does he want to meet with me anyway?” I asked, even though I knew Yaya didn’t have the answer.

I refused to believe this was just a casual lunch to “catch up”. Malcolm Rich didn’t do casual. If he was reaching out, it was because there was something in it for him. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy to deal with him––especially not today. Today was already heavy enough. It was my late husband’s birthday, and I still needed to check in on my mother-in-law. She’d lost her son two years ago, and just last month, she buried her husband.

Raphael Sterling was quiet, stoic, and a man of few words––but his love for his family ran deep. He showed me the fatherly affection I’d been missing all my life.

Placing a hand on my chest, I sighed. I could still hear his deep laugh and feel the way he would pull me into a hug, kissing both my cheeks before teasingly asking, “Bella, are you alright? My son has given you the world, hmm?”

Raphael Sterling was Black, and Carlotta was Italian. Despite being Black, he spoke fluent Italian with his wife. The Sterlings only had one child, Karim, but they had always hoped to give him a sister. That wish never came true––until I married into the family. Raphael cherished me as if I were his own flesh and blood. To him, I was the daughter he never had.

The driver opened the door, and I grabbed my purse from the seat before exiting and walking around the truck. Yaya was right beside me as we entered the restaurant. I didn’t need to give my name because the staff recognized me immediately.

“Mrs. Sterling, how are you this afternoon?” the hostess asked nervously, which probably meant my father was somewhere inside acting like a tyrant.

I smiled. “Hi, Lucy. I’m doing great. How are you and the baby?”

Unlike my father, I enjoyed connecting with the people who worked and served me. I picked up this trait from Raphael, who treated everyone with the same respect––whether it was a janitor or the CEO of a corporation. In his eyes, respect was respect. It didn’t matter what position you held.

She quickly pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of the adorable blue-eyed baby.

“She’s three months old now and can hold her head up. I asked the doctor if that was normal,” she rambled on, proud of her creation.

“Nazira started holding her head up around the same age. These babies are more advanced than we were. She’s beautiful, Lucy.”

“Thank you, and thank you so much for the stroller. I really appreciate it, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Tatiana,” I replied, touching her arm. “I think I can find my father. I know he has to be seated near the largest window.”

She nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”