The Billionaire Throuple

Samuel the Third [Flashback: abuse]

Young Samuel Rothschild [Five years earlier]

For sixth grade, my parents enrolled me into an elite private middle school for billionaire heirs called Winthrop Academy. It was the standard place and time for Rothschild heirs to cease home-schooling and begin socializing with those of their station. It was also when, but not where, I met the first boy who sped up my heart. I first saw Reginald playing rugby at Winthrop Park II from the adjacent, but privately owned and gated, Winthrop Park I. 

The moment I saw him, I was mesmerized, lost to the world. My heart never stood a chance against this tan, handsome being. He had long, flowing brown hair that always fell in his face and thick expressive eyebrows that nearly met in the middle. His eyes were a match to the clear blue sky. They were the light to my dark, blue-black eyes.

I liked how tall he was for our age, how his limbs were toned and well-defined and how his chiseled jawline was already so prominent. I liked how he was with friends even though they weren't me. He was daring and fearless, protective and kind.

I wasn't too shy to approach him. I simply didn't know how. Greeting a stranger was such an inconceivable thing for a Rothschild. I watched from afar and kept my feelings bottled inside me until the way I felt started to frighten me. I knew nothing of sexuality, only how much it hurt physically to not be near him.

The cure was befriending him, that much was clear. I ended up following the lovely example Father set parenting me. I came bearing gifts for the whole team as an in and it worked like a charm. I gained friends who loved them and a permanent, undeserved spot on the team.

I was the absolute worst at rugby and I never improved. I had no interest in sports outside of Reginald. I kept at it for years, all the way through high school and whenever Father asked, I told him I was great. I wasn't lying, but we had very different interpretations of great.

For me, great was being Reginald's boyfriend—a title I officially held. Great was cheering loudly from the bench and getting whatever the team needed. For Father, great meant I was winning every game for the team. I was winning every game for them, but it had more to do with me sponsoring whichever player Reginald wanted and nothing to do with whether I was playing in the games.

Father didn't figure any of this out until it came time to put my rugby accolades on college applications and he wouldn't have cared if he hadn't bragged about how good I was.

He didn't care that his son had no concept of actual friendship, that I spent over a hundred thousand dollars on a sport I hadn't played an official minute of, that my straight boyfriend was having sex with women behind my back, or that Reginald regularly beat me senseless—usually when he was drunk. I was convinced it was love since he always apologized after.

Father only cared that he'd been made to look the fool and in Rothschild fashion, he razed everyone and everything. It was entirely out of my hands.

After Reginald and the entire rugby team were blacklisted from every college they applied to, even the ones they'd received acceptance letters from, he came to me and I wanted to help. I loved him. Even though we'd never so much as kissed, I was perfectly content with the love he showed with his fists.

Seeing him distraught made me inconsolable. My heart mandated that I share in his pain. I contacted Mother and told her what Father had done and she scheduled a sit down with Reginald and I. I told him the news, thinking he'd be pleased, but he was terse on the phone and demanded we meet in person.

I rushed over there straightaway, well before he was expecting me. It wasn't the girl in his room nor the friends eager to sell him out that tipped me off. It was the only thing that ever could've: his words alone.