by R. K. Lilley
I sat down a few feet away. I wanted badly to look at Chester, I don’t know exactly why, perhaps to feel less alone and estranged, but I restrained myself.
Instead I downed the rest of my champagne.
It wasn’t lost on me that I was the only one that had their personal security with them in the club, and I wondered again why my husband and his family insisted on such strict measures.
I wondered, but I wasn’t upset about it. I enjoyed having Chester around. Often he was one of the best parts of my day.
The waitress came strutting up with two bottles of Grey Goose lit with sparklers. She waved them around theatrically while the ladies cheered her on.
I couldn’t help it. I glanced at Chester. We shared an amused look.
Millie asked the waitress to pour us all shots.
I took mine without protest. It seemed like a good night to try a shot, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to admit to these filthy rich princesses that it was my first one.
Worst case scenario: Chester was big and strong enough to carry me out.
I barely choked it down, though it wasn’t as bad as I’d been expecting—it was something surprisingly sweet—but it was still more than I was used to.
I looked around. There were several other VIP booths in the large room, but for the most part the place was deserted. “I thought it would be busier,” I remarked.
“It’s not actually open yet,” Millie admitted with a laugh. All of her friends joined her as though they’d been cued. “It opens in a half hour, and this is a private room. The main club is through there.” She pointed across the room.
One of the girls, Addison, I thought I recalled correctly, asked the waitress for another round of shots.
“Oh,” I was surprised. “So we’re not going to the main club. We just stay in here?”
Millie shrugged, laughing again. “We do whatever we want!”
I digested that as I took another shot with the group. This one went down easier. I pointed at the empty glass. “I like these,” I said more loudly than I needed to.
Shit. Was I already drunk?
The group erupted into fresh peals of laughter at my expense. My face stiffened, cheeks reddening.
I was embarrassed, and I tried to quickly recover with a serious (and I thought neutral) question, “So what do you all do? Like for work?”
More laughter, this time louder.
I wasn’t in on the joke. I knew they were rich, duh, I got that message loud and clear, but didn’t every adult need something productive to do? Going by the fact that they’d all gone to school with my husband, they were all around twenty-six years old and none had kids yet.
What did a twenty-six year old do without a job or children?
It was particularly strange to me since I’d been working and supporting myself full-time from the ripe old age of fourteen.
Oh yeah. That’s when my fuzzy mind remembered. They’re a different breed than me. Not working class.
“We’re full-time socialites,” Millie explained with a kind smile. “I’m sure you’re getting into the swing of something similar, when you’re not busy modeling. We represent our families socially.”
“It might sound superficial to an outsider,” one of the brunettes (I thought it was Camilla) added, “but we all have Ivy League educations. And we all do a lot more for society than a typical working woman.”
My eyes tried to climb straight up to my hairline for that one. “Do you now?” I tried really, really hard to keep my tone even and neutral.
Millie sent her friend a look. “What Camilla means is that we try our best to contribute. We’re all involved in charity work, and Hadley,” she pointed to one of the light brown-haired ones, “even got a law degree just to help represent her husband’s cancer research foundation.”
My hackles were still up from Camilla’s comment, but I managed to let it go. I wasn’t here to judge anyone (why would I be?) and charity work was certainly something I admired.
To each their own, I chanted in my head. Being born rich and privileged was not a crime.
I tried my hardest not to have a chip on my shoulder about that kind of thing, but sometimes it was harder to hide than others.
If I was honest with myself these types of women were one of the reasons I’d agreed to such an arrangement. I hated the idea that there was an upper class and that they were better than.
I didn’t want anyone to have something over me like that. If there had to be a social ladder, I wanted to climb to the top and stay there. To dig in roots and make it mine for generations.
I wanted to change my family tree.
I shook off the thought. Now was not the time.
Someone had the waitress make us another round of shots, and I took mine gratefully.
The group just sat there for a while.
I wondered if there was going to be any dancing, or if they actually were lame enough to come to a club and do nothing but sit and talk.
It was looking that way.
They shared a lot of gossip about people I didn’t know. No one so much as glanced my way for a solid hour.
I kept drinking and tried to school my features into an expression that resembled politely interested, but it was hard to keep my mind from wandering.
Why was this so much harder to sit through than my nightly galas? I should have been used to talking to strangers about things I didn’t care about by now.
This felt more pointless, I decided. This small group of elitist women were never going to like or accept me. Why had my husband wanted me to try to be included?
Eventually the alcohol did its job and I just didn’t care. I kept making silly faces at Chester because it made him smile.
“Do you guys dance at all?” I finally just asked them. Why go to a club and not just a restaurant or bar if they were only going to sit there?
I’d interrupted a tirade one of them had been spouting about some woman who’d had the nerve to wear a dress they thought was out of fashion to one of their parties. Blah blah blah.
Millie nodded, her face shaped into its usual pleasant smile. “We’re just getting warmed up.”
“I need to powder my nose,” Addison said, standing suddenly. “Come with me, Noura?”
It wasn’t my favorite idea, but I went along with her just for the sake of being agreeable. Also I needed to pee. I did not have a good liquor bladder.
Addison hooked her arm through mine like we were best friends. I let her, but I glanced back at Chester, who was following us.
Addison finally seemed to notice him. “Will he go into the bathroom with you?” She laughed hard at her own question.
I smiled weakly. “No. He’ll wait outside. He’s just doing his job.”
She sent him a second look. “He’s kind of hot. Have you fucked him?”
I nearly stopped in my tracks. She’d managed to genuinely offend me. And embarrass me. I couldn’t even look at Chester. “Of course not. You know I’m married, right?”
Sometimes I didn’t feel married, but I sure as hell was acting like it.
She rolled her eyes at me. “Like that ever stopped anyone.” She sent Chester an unctuous smile. “I have a question for you, Ginger,” she told him. “Does the carpet match the drapes, and what does a girl have to do to find out firsthand?”
I wondered just how drunk she was.
“Not going there today, Miss Du Mont,” he answered, sounding amused. At least Chester had a good sense of humor.
“Pity,” she purred back.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
I was relieved when we reached the bathroom, and I dashed inside.
Addison touched up her makeup while I used the restroom and washed my hands.
She casually offered me coke at the sink, right in front of the bathroom attendant.
I politely turned her down.
She scoffed at me in the mirror. “Oh please. You’re a model, right? Don’t act all innocent about it
with me.”
I leveled an annoyed look at her, one of my brows arched high. “I count my calories and work my ass off. Not all models are cokeheads. Certainly not the ones that keep getting work. It ages you. I wouldn’t do it because I model, and I don’t want to age out of it by twenty-five.”
Yeah, it was a dig. She was clearly a cokehead and past twenty-five. She glared at me. “Suit yourself,” she said. She bent down to the counter, partaking liberally.
So it was going to be that kind of a night. Not so very different than the industry parties I tried my best to avoid.
I cringed at all of the nasty germs she was inhaling with her cocaine. There was so much wrong with this picture.
It didn’t escape my attention that the bathroom attendant didn’t bat an eye.
What a pro.
I tipped her a fifty on our way out.
“I bet you didn’t tip like that before you married rich,” Addison remarked, her tone amused.
This bitch. My head whipped around to look at her.
She was smiling with a smug something in her eyes that I really didn’t care for.
I realized that she was trying to goad me.
Not today, Satan.
“I was always a good tipper,” was all I remarked.
If this was some sort of self-control test, I was going to pass it, I decided then and there.
None of these entitled princesses were going to get a rise out of me.
We went back to the booth and I sat as far away from Addison as possible. She was one of six. How hard could it be to avoid her?
The waitress handed me a fresh glass of champagne and I thanked her.
“So, Noura,” Addison started in almost instantly. “Why is it that Banks’ friends were the only ones in your bridal party? Where were your friends?”
I just stared at her for a long, awkward moment. I hadn’t expected the question, and I didn’t have a good answer for it.
I’m a loner, was a pathetic answer, if accurate.
I didn’t even think to invite anyone I knew to my fake wedding, was even worse.
“Don’t mind her,” Millie said. I was starting to catch on that she was the peacemaker of the group. “She’s still salty that she wasn’t asked to be one of your bridesmaids.”
I couldn’t think of a good, non-humiliating way to tell her that I’d had no say in who my own bridesmaids were. Anything I said would only fuel the fire.
“And she’s jealous that he chose you instead of one of us,” Beatrix added almost under her breath.
But I’d definitely heard it, and it more than piqued my interest. “Excuse me?”
“We all figured he’d impulsively get married after Fatima’s wedding—” Beatrix piped in.
Millie shushed her.
I waved it off. “I know about Fatima. Keep going.”
“Well, we all figured he’d find a bride just to spite her for the betrayal, but we also assumed it would be one of us.”
“Beatrix, enough!” Hadley snapped. “You sound ridiculous.”
“And not a commoner,” Beatrix added.
“A commoner?” I repeated, trying to look more amused than offended. Who the hell did these people think they were?
“Oh, come on,” Addison joined in. “You must see that one of us, one of the girls from his social circle, someone that grew up with him, would have made a lot more sense as his wife than a random model out of nowhere.”
“So if I’m a commoner, do you all consider yourselves American royalty?” I asked, a sardonic edge to the question.
I was the youngest there by several years, but I was quickly realizing that they were the sheltered ones.
Millie waved that off. “No, of course not. I think they’ve had a few too many.” She made a drinking motion with her hand, smiling to try to cut through the tension of the moment.
I respected her effort, but it didn’t work.
“Of course,” Addison answered with honest snobbery. She really believed the nonsense she was spouting. “We’re the closest thing America has to nobility, something you could really only comprehend if you’re one of us.”
“Do tell,” I said with a brittle smile, my eyes cold on hers.
She did. “We were taught impeccable manners practically from the womb. We all attended the same finishing school together, and it was the best there is. We were born to marry powerful men like our fathers. Men like your husband.”
“I guess he had other ideas,” I pointed out.
“We are fluent in social etiquette,” she plodded on as though I hadn’t spoken. “You don’t even know what that means, do you? I’m sure you received a crash course in it, but everyone here knows the difference. Except for you. Do you know that you’re not even holding your glass correctly? I won’t even tell you how many embarrassing faux pas you’ve committed since we got here.”
“Are you showing impeccable manners when you point out someone else’s faux pas?” I asked her, tone deadly calm. The more vicious she became, the less it affected me. If debutantes were created to show impeccable manners, models were made to endure harsh criticism. This twit had nothing on any random savage casting agent I’d ever had a run in with. “Just curious,” I added pleasantly.
Three of the other girls started to speak at once, and at first I thought for sure that they were backing up their friend.
I was wrong.
“Calm your tits,” Camilla scolded Addison.
“What the fuck, Addie?” Veronica exclaimed.
“That was rude,” Millie said to Addison in a sharp tone. “Apologize.”
Addison rolled her eyes, glared at me, and stood up. “You know what? If you’re going to unload on me just because I’m the only one here that’s not being fake as hell, I’m going to dance. Peace.” She held up both hands in peace signs as she strutted away.
I watched her until she’d disappeared through the door that led to the actual night club with envy. It had to be more fun in there than it was in here.
Three of the five women left apologized for their friend’s rude comments, and I shrugged it all off.
Was I offended? A little. Was I surprised? Not at all. Snobbery was the least of what I’d expected from the rich girl club I was being forced to hang out with tonight.
I contemplated taking the Addison route—just ditching them all so I could go dance with some strangers—but decided against it. I was still at the point where I was trying to play nice with them just to prove to myself that I could. If I was honest, though, I was about one easy strike away from ditching the whole crew.
Things had grown quiet and awkward after Addison’s dramatic departure. Everyone had taken to playing on their phones.
I did the same, wondering if they’d notice if I dug out my headphones and started watching some K-drama. It sure would pass the time.
I was still entertaining the idea when Millie started bouncing up and down in her seat, making excited noises.
I looked her way politely, since she seemed to want everyone’s attention.
“We have company coming!” she squealed.
“Did you hire some strippers?” I asked deadpan.
No one laughed. I glanced at Chester, who was trying to hide a smirk. I smiled back. That was reward enough for me.
“As you know, our husbands,” Millie said slowly and dramatically, “are out drinking together tonight.”
I nodded, pretending that I’d known that, but of course I hadn’t.
“My Preston,” she continued, “just told me that all they can do is talk about their wives.” She beamed at me. “They miss us! How sweet is that?”
It didn’t escape my notice that the two single girls remaining at the table were rolling their eyes at each other. Who could blame them?
“It’s so sweet,” I answered woodenly. Millie seemed to expect it.
“That sounds like my Bradley,” the one I thought was Hadley said smugly.
Hadley and Bradley? Really? Had their par
ents planned that shit out?
“Of course they do,” Veronica said with unshakable confidence. “My Royce hates going out without me.”
Millie nodded emphatically. “My Preston is the same.”
“What about you, Noura?” Beatrix piped in. “Does your Banks hate going out without you?”
There was a certain something in her voice. Something catty and almost knowing. I wondered what she’d heard, and some part of me wanted to be brutally honest. Some part of me wanted to just spill the tea to the whole gossipy lot of them just to see how scandalized they’d be. No, my husband doesn’t hate going out without me, in fact he’s only gone out with me once.
But I knew I couldn’t do it. I’d signed away all my rights to being a truthful person when I’d signed that prenup. Hello, money. Goodbye, honesty.
I just smiled blandly and said that he did.
“You guys are basically still on your honeymoon,” Millie added without an ounce of irony. “God, I remember those days. I miss being a newlywed.”
That prompted the women into telling various romantic early marriage stories.
I listened attentively. Hearing about happily married people sure as hell beat out the gossip about random women I didn’t know.
This went on for a while and when they eventually tried to draw me into telling them a story about my marriage, I quickly redirected the conversation. “Did you say they were coming here?” I asked.
“Yes! The husbands are on their way. Isn’t it nice that they’re such good friends?”
I agreed that it was nice.
“We need to find Beatrix, Addison, and Camilla husbands that fit in with our men,” Hadley added. “It’s a small pool to draw from, though. Not many eligible, single men left from our circle.”
“They can only marry men from your circle?” I asked. I was past being offended and into honest curiosity. How these people thought was a complete mystery to me.
“I mean, they can marry anyone they want. It would just be nice if it was an insider instead of an outsider. No offense.”
I shrugged it off, but of course her saying no offense only made it more offensive.
There was a commotion at the back entrance, and I saw that several tall men had just entered the room.
