By the time I return to the penthouse, it's eleven at night. The sky is dark, but the city is bright with lights. From my apartment, I look out over skyscrapers and tower blocks, a concrete jungle. Ever since I’ve lived in New York, I’ve looked upward every now and then, expecting to see stars. There are none. Only artificial LEDs blinking until dawn.

Sometimes, I don’t hate the memory of Arizona or its starry nights.

My ears are still buzzing with the noise of reporters swarming around me all day. Jennifer arranged a half-a-dozen promotions for Destiny, and now I’m completely drained from feigning interest for such a long time. Destiny might be a cash cow, but it’s nowhere near the deal the defense contract will be. Through every meeting and photo shoot, my mind ran over proposal ideas.

I can hear Lorina in the bedroom, and my jaw tightens. I press my fingers into my temples to try and ease my headache. Time to feign interest again.

“Eee-than!”

Lorina’s voice is shrill, like a gong going off in the center of my migraine. She waltzes into the room, looking like a cross between a princess and a call girl. She’s wearing the expensive black lingerie she begged me to buy her in Italy and dripping in diamonds. She’s draped in a sheer wraparound robe, the tie trailing along the marble behind her, her dark hair preened to perfection, hundreds of dollars of makeup carefully painted on her face.

I wonder if the elite teach their daughters that skimpy lace and jewels are the way to bag a billionaire. Once, coming home to a gorgeous, barely-dressed woman was exciting enough.

Now it’s just another role to play.

She strides toward me and doesn’t kiss me before she lays into me. In her manicured hands are dozens of magazines, which she thrusts toward me. Her sickly perfume fuels my migraine.

“Darling, have you seen these pictures?” She points at a centerfold photograph. “Look at your tie! It’s crooked. Does Jennifer let you go in front of the press like that? Honestly, it’s time you got rid of her.”

I feel my skin start to prickle with anger.

“And what’s wrong with your face? How many times have I told you to smile? You look like a serial killer.”

I say nothing, but pour a tumbler of whiskey from the crystal decanter that is never far from my armchair these days. I take off my tie and unbutton my collar.

“This one’s not bad, but Mom says you look too stern.”

“I’ve told you not to discuss my pictures with your mother.”

Lorina raises an eyebrow, then rolls her eyes like a sullen teenager. She leaves the magazines on my lap, and dolefully drags herself to the glass windows, standing half-naked in front of the city. As I watch her, I’m sure she’s striking poses. A new model in the industry, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s hoping a photographer will catch her “unawares,” candid in the penthouse.

“What else am I meant to discuss?” she complains. “While you’re out and about, having a wonderful time with all your business buddies and that awful PA, taking photos and showing off, I’m stuck here, bored out of my mind.”

I’m sick of hearing Lorina badmouth Jennifer. I’m tired of Lorina, period. Maybe I’ll ask Jennifer to set her up in an apartment somewhere else in the city. I’ll tell Lorina I want her to be closer to her mother because I care.

“That’s not my fault, Lorina. You can’t tell me there’s nothing for you to do in New York City. I remember you telling me that anyone who was anyone in the fashion world needed to be in New York. Arrange another photo shoot. Do some networking.”

I push the magazines disdainfully off my lap, and Lorina immediately slumps onto me. She wraps her arms around my neck and puts on that spoiled school-girl pout that was cute until I realized she had the attitude to match. She runs her foot up and down my leg, fixing me with a sultry stare.

When she speaks, her voice is childish and begging. “Ethan, darling, you said you were going to network for me, remember? You said you were going to drop my name to your friend with the label.”

“I did not say I was going to network for you, and I did drop your name to Paulo—not my friend, by the way. He’s a business acquaintance who I’ve met twice at charity events. He said your look wasn’t right for their brand.”

His precise words were, “Her ass isn’t big enough for glamour, and her face isn’t memorable enough for high fashion. She’s attractive, but not a model.”

Lorina scoffs and stamps her foot down. She pouts again and crosses her arms. “The girls he picks look like little boys. I’ve seen them. Tiny, ugly wraiths.”

I shrug. “I don’t do fashion, Lorina. What can I say?”

“What, then? I’m meant to only stay up here in your tower like fucking Rapunzel, while you live the high life?”

“You’ve been to my press conferences. Those bored you, too.” As soon as you realized the photographers weren’t interested in your picture.

“I came to New York to make it big, not to be your trophy girlfriend.”

“You’re welcome to leave.”

Lorina’s face falls, and she wraps herself around me again, pressing her scantily-clad body against my chest, and letting her robe fall open. She sulks. “Darling! Why would you say such a thing? You know I don’t mean it. I’m feeling a little lost right now, that’s all. Of course I don’t want to go. And you don’t want me to leave either, do you? We’re great together.”

It’s a daily charade. Lorina whines and whines until I lose my temper, and then she switches back to being sweeter-than-pie. I know she’s not scared of losing me. She’s terrified I might cut her off. As much as she likes to think she’s the crème de la crème, she’s only got this far on her mother’s former fame and fortune. Lorina has never done anything on her own, and I’m merely the latest fool to bankroll her fantasies.

“Maybe you should go back to Venice. Your mother must have more connections than I do.”

“Ethan, why are you so mean to me? Every time I’m upset, you say you’ll send me away. Is that all I am to you?”

I cast her a knowing glance. “And you love me for my personality, right?”

She scowls. “You’re deliberately making this hard.”

“The door’s over there.”

Lorina screws her face up in anger and storms away. “You’re impossible, Ethan! You think I’m a gold-digger, is that it? If you hate me so much, why am I here? What’s in it for you? Don’t act like I’m the only one playing the game. Fuck you.”

She enters the bedroom and slams the door behind her. Seconds later, the apartment is filled with the sound of loud, angsty trap music. I slouch down in my chair and take another swig of whiskey.

Every night, the same story. We’ve been a couple for a year now, ever since we were introduced at a charity gala. She’s lived with me for the last six months. The arrangement is mutually beneficial and full of equal resentment. We love only what we can do for one another. It’s far more business than romance.

That’s not to say we won’t end up fucking in the emperor-sized bed later and be photographed having brunch together in the morning; that’s the way it goes. When did my life become such a farce?

I stand with my whiskey and take up the spot where Lorina was posing. I look out over the city and remember another time.

* * *

I enter the room, and her face lights up. She runs to me and leaps at the last second, wrapping her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and showering me with kisses. Her pounce makes me stagger back a couple of steps, but I hold onto her. She smells like strawberries and cream.

She’s been painting, and she’s covered in orange spatters. It’s hard to tell which ones are freckles. Her blue eyes are beaming. She squeezes me with her whole body in a huge hug.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I was only gone a day.”

“I still missed you.”

* * *

I drink into the early hours of the morning, until I know I have to make amends before the photographers start up again when we go out.

I crawl into bed next to Lorina and wake her with kisses on her neck. I promise to take her shopping anywhere she wants the next day. I promise to put in a good word for her with a photographer I know. I promise to smile when they photograph us together.

She is satisfied and smiles. She curls up against me and falls asleep again.

I don’t sleep. I lie awake and think of the freckled girl I left behind.