As I uttered the words ‘I do’ in front of 300 guests at our lavish country wedding, I felt a jolt of excitement. Less on account of marrying my partner Hugh, and more because I was about to be shackled to his untold wealth.
Call me a gold-digger, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I married for money. And as a result, I’m living my best life: luxury holidays, business-class flights, fancy cars and jaw-dropping diamonds.
Am I madly in love with Hugh? I am very fond of him, though not in love exactly. It’s his fortune I fell head over heels for.
This might horrify those who believe women should strive for financial independence, but I’ve always been upfront about the fact I wanted a man who could more than take care of me financially.
And my approach is gaining ground among pragmatic modern women, who now exchange tips openly on social media about how to date and marry a ‘provider’.
I was 30 when I met Hugh, then 35, on Tinder in the summer of 2018 – and I was tired of men who booked cheap restaurants and expected me to split the bill. So this time I cut to the chase. When Hugh asked if I’d like to go on a date, I replied: ‘Only if you take me to Claridge’s restaurant in Mayfair.’
His response made me realise I’d hit the jackpot.
He agreed without flinching, as if it was a completely normal request. Then promptly booked first-class train tickets from Birmingham to London and the best table in the house.
Sasha enjoys luxury holidays, business-class flights, fancy cars and jaw-dropping diamonds (picture posed by model)
We arranged to meet for the first time on the platform to travel down together.
The first thing that struck me about Hugh was he was much shorter than the 6ft men I’d usually gone for. In fact he was about my height – 5ft 7ins.
I’d seen one photo of him beforehand, which I’d thought was OK. So I knew he was no Brad Pitt; his dark hair was thinning and grey at the temples, and he was noticeably tubby, probably a result of all those expensive restaurants.
But you can’t have everything, can you? I brushed aside his looks, remembering that he made me laugh and showed all the signs of having the burgeoning bank account I desired.
In the first-class carriage, we sipped champagne and I noted his designer clothes and shoes. He told me he’d had a private education and his siblings had all married into wealthy families. I was very aware I was a working class ‘commoner’ in comparison.
Not that he made me feel like that – he was full of compliments. But my ‘posh’ coat was from Primark, I drove around in a Honda Jazz and I was lucky to get one foreign holiday a year somewhere cheap like Turkey with my friends.
But I certainly didn’t mind the wealth gap. For years I’d dreamed of casting off my working-class roots for something altogether more luxurious and fun. I didn’t want a life worrying about bills.
My fears were a legacy of my impoverished upbringing where my mum, a teacher, was the breadwinner while Dad was a taxi driver with a more sporadic income. Money was always tight.
So often, women draw the short straw, looking after the kids and having to work to keep the family afloat as well. Mum had frankly advised me that marrying well would be a good idea.
And I wouldn’t hesitate to say the same to a young woman who asked me today. After all, no one really believes in the perfect fairytale ending any more – all you hear about is the misery of online dating, then marriages plagued by divorce and financial worries.
Why not identify what you really want – in my case, a luxury lifestyle I knew I could never afford for myself – and pursue that, instead?
Hugh agreed to take Sasha on a first date to Claridge’s in Mayfair, booking the best table in the house
I’d been on plenty of disappointing dates with stingy guys, so when it came to relationships I was careful to choose older men who were significantly better off than me – not difficult.
Hugh, however, was the first super-rich man I’d encountered.
His father had retired two years before, leaving Hugh in charge of the family’s leisure empire. But he didn’t come across as arrogant or superior. In fact he had impeccable manners, holding doors open for me and pulling my chair out at the dinner table.
I didn’t pretend to be anyone I’m not – I confessed that I’d never been anywhere like Claridge’s before and wasn’t afraid to show my awe at the sheer opulence of the setting.
We got on so well that, possibly fuelled by all the champagne, we ended up staying the night in one of the plush suites. It didn’t feel at all awkward or premature when we slept together. After all, the promise of a gilded life is a potent aphrodisiac.
Hugh was just as keen on me. Within days he’d invited me to visit his six-bedroom home in Solihull, West Midlands, which we now share. It was immaculate, beautifully furnished and filled with the delicate scent of Jo Malone candles.
After that, things progressed quickly. I met Hugh’s family, who were humble and welcoming, never alluding to the obvious class divide.
I was a little more awkward around his friends, who were all business owners or company directors. Their glossy wives were particularly intimidating. What should I wear around women with such impeccable taste? But I watched and learned an awful lot.
After six months, Hugh whisked me away to a beautiful hotel in the New Forest, where he’d arranged for our suite to be filled with 200 silver balloons. There, he presented me with a solitaire diamond ring that he’d had made for me, and asked me to marry him. Of course I said yes.
A year later, in December 2019, we married in a lavish ceremony in Somerset that cost more than six figures. What do you get for that kind of money? A Rolls Royce wedding car, a jaw-dropping venue filled with elegant white blooms and candles costing thousands, a harpist and a pianist playing throughout the wedding breakfast.
I’d warned my close friends and family to expect an extravagant occasion and they weren’t disappointed.
The only thing I paid for was my ivory, French lace bridal gown, which was £2,000 from my savings – I wanted to feel that I was at least contributing something.
Some of my friends had worried that I was rushing in too fast. And yes, I knew I was compromising on one level – I wasn’t absolutely besotted by Hugh – but I didn’t have any doubts as we took our vows. I couldn’t wait for my new lavish life to begin.
You might imagine that I had to sign a water-tight pre-nup but Hugh had no such concerns. We genuinely got on very well so he was confident in our future together.
But although he’s pretty indulgent, he isn’t a total pushover. When I casually mentioned the possibility of me giving up work after we married, he looked at me calmly and said he’d prefer me not to be ‘lazy’ and swan about the place.
Far from being stung by his comment, I accepted it. I do actually enjoy my job at the digital marketing company where I’ve worked since graduating from university, and I’m hardly under pressure to advance up the career ladder.
Of course I’d rather spend my days visiting spas, going to private members’ leisure clubs and shopping. But Hugh works such long hours, six days a week, that I suspect I’d soon be pretty lonely without a career of my own. Sometimes he’s not home until 9pm. And I do enjoy the tiny bit of independence that my £30,000 salary brings – after all, it’s not required to pay the bills.
Besides, I hope to give up work when we have children. I’ll also have more help around the home at that point – we currently have a cleaner but Hugh says we can’t have her more regularly until we have kids.
Some might question what it’s like to be married to a man you’re not strictly in love with. What about our sex life, for instance? Though I’m not burning with passion for Hugh, our initial connection remains and I do fancy him. I couldn’t have married a man I found repulsive, regardless of wealth.
And I believe we’re as close as many couples after a few years of marriage, dragged down by the pressure of maintaining two careers just to make ends meet, given the cost of living crisis.
Apart from his determination that I should work, Hugh is quite old-fashioned, believing that it’s up to a man to pay bills and provide a home. Not to mention the perks.
Over the past five years I have amassed a dressing room full of beautiful clothes and handbags from fashion houses such as Prada, Mulberry and Chanel, totalling over £100,000.
He doesn’t provide me with an allowance or a credit card, but if there’s anything I want he generally buys it for me. There is a joint account, but I don’t like to use it for fear of looking like I’m all take, take, take.
That’s not to say I get everything I ask for. Sometimes if we’re shopping in our local Selfridges and I ask if he’ll buy some clothes for me, he’ll say, ‘No, get them yourself’ – which is exactly what I then do, using my own money.
He doesn’t like me to be too brazen with my demands; rather than asking for things I like while we’re in the shop, he prefers me to show him the items at home so he can look at them himself and decide whether to buy them.
Last week, he treated me to a new white Louis Vuitton bag which I’d showed him online.
For birthdays, Christmas, Valentine’s and our wedding anniversary, Hugh will spoil me with four or five expensive presents, which have included a Dyson Airwrap, a Max Mara coat and a gold bangle this year alone.
As for me, I don’t tend to reciprocate. What do you buy the man who has absolutely everything? He loves clothes and gorgeous fragrances but he buys them whenever he wants them, and he’s very particular about what he wears so he wouldn’t want me choosing things. We tend to take a fabulous holiday to celebrate his birthday… paid for by him.
Does the fact Hugh controls the purse strings mean he controls me? He certainly has the final say on our holiday destinations, but I don’t mind as he always chooses the best hotels. If I really wanted to go somewhere in particular, I’m sure I could use my womanly ways to encourage him to book it.
Over the past five years, we’ve enjoyed endless jaunts to everywhere from Lake Como – where George Clooney has a house – to Rome, Paris and Dubai.
George Clooney’s mansion in Lake Como – an Italian resort area where Sasha has been on one of her many luxury holidays with Hugh
Naturally, we always fly business and often see famous footballers and boxers in the hotels we stay in, such as the £3,000-a-night Jumeirah Al Naseem in Dubai.
We’ve just returned from a trip to the Red Sea Islands in Saudi Arabia, which was a wonderful experience – we like to visit the next big places ahead of the crowd.
But I’m careful not to flaunt our good fortune. I’d feel very embarrassed if my colleagues found out; many of them have very little and are lucky to go one holiday a year – as opposed to our four or five (thankfully my work allow me to take unlimited unpaid days’ leave, which I make plenty of use of).
In fact I still go away with my friends on budget holidays every summer – even if it means swapping the chauffeur-driven car from the airport for a rickety old bus. It keeps my feet on the ground.
I use a little Audi A3 as a runaround to go to work. Although it’s brand new and top spec, it doesn’t stand out as much. And I certainly don’t wear my enormous, four-carat diamond engagement ring on a daily basis.
I won’t brag about the fact that this year we plan to buy an even bigger house, with a pool and a gym, either. On the other hand, I do plan to insist my name is on the house deeds this time so I have a little security should things not work out.
All in all, I’m delighted I married for money. Why wouldn’t I be? Every marriage has its challenges and I’d rather take luxury over true love with no money.
Would I have married Hugh if he wasn’t filthy rich? No. Has he any idea of my mercenary motives? No. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
- Names and identifying details have been changed
- As told to Sadie Nicholas
