Loving Ashe by Liz Madrid

it’s not about to happen again, all right? So if it wasn’t Gareth, who was it?” Paige persisted.
    Unlike Riley, who wasn’t much into films, Paige lived for the latest reality TV shows and movies. For the past five years, she was a self-confessed stay-at-home mother, who blogged about life in Manhattan raising triplets while managing to maintain a social life. Of course there was nothing
stay-at-home
about her. She lunched with women just like her, attended gallery openings and movie premieres, and one night a month, spent a few hours hanging out with her baby sister looking nothing like she’d just spent the day running after three rambunctious four year old boys.  Because she didn’t.
    She had a brand that was uniquely her own,
PaigeCaldwell
, where followers could be like her by buying into the lifestyle she promoted. From the clothes she wore to her favorite shoes, even the skin products she used and the vacation spots she and the family went to –  they were all linked from her website to her social media accounts.   But if people thought it was not hard work to be Paige, they were wrong. For Paige actually worked at it, honing her image till it was as perfect as it could be. She’d been a supermodel after all, and married to one of New York’s oldest families, she had a reputation to maintain. But she kept her brand as down-to-earth as she could, if it could even be called that. She knew how to write her blog posts and captions in a way that resonated with many women living their ordinary lives, from the stresses of raising three little boys (no one had to know about the two full-time nannies) to how to bake chocolate chip cookies without burning them.
    At thirty-four, Paige was the epitome of the woman who had it all and everything that Riley felt she wasn’t. Eleven years younger than Paige, Riley should have been the one better versed in technology, the web and social media. Instead, she preferred to spend her nights reading her books, losing herself in imaginary worlds and one night a month, heading a book club at the Library Cafe.
    Maybe Paige was right, Riley thought, and she was really an old lady inside. While Riley tirelessly blended espresso drinks and managed the Library Cafe, Paige managed to spend her time just being fabulous. Whatever she wrote, people believed. Once, she wrote about a cup of café Medicí Riley had made for her at the Library, and the next day, people showed up ordering it. If Miss Perfect ever existed, Riley could honestly say she knew her. They were even related.
    It was that moment that Miss Perfect grabbed the remote from Riley’s hand and switched off the TV. “So who is he, Ri? Why are you keeping secrets from me, of all people?”
    Riley didn’t answer. If she told Paige about Ashe, then she’d have to tell her how they had met — in an elevator at the same hotel that Gareth was staying at.
    Suddenly Paige set down a meowing Miss Bailey and reached towards the vase of roses. Before Riley could stop her, Paige snatched the envelope that held Ashe’s note tucked between the blooms. Total fail, Ri, she thought as she resigned herself to her fate, leaning back on the couch and wondering why she hadn’t slipped Ashe’s note straight into her journal.
    Of course, Riley hadn’t hidden it. She’d reread the note each night since she’d received the roses, though by the third night she’d begun to suspect that Ashe hadn’t written the note himself. His message had probably been dictated over the phone and hand-written by someone who worked at the flower shop.
    “Ashe?” Paige prolonged the name for dramatic effect. “Am I to believe that Ashe Hunter sent you flowers?
The
Ashe Hunter? And not only that, but you had dinner with him at Lee’s, of all places? God, couldn’t he have taken you somewhere classier?”
    “I was in the mood for noodle soup and he wanted to tag along,” Riley said, rolling her eyes. “It wasn’t like we were on a date or