“Strippers?” Ivy exclaimed.
I grinned at her. “Kidding! I’m not subjecting anyone else to Imogen.”
We looked at my half sister. She was scrolling through her phone.
“Oh my god. Kaitlyn, Brandy, and Ashley are out to dinner right now at that new Japanese place. They’re doing this on purpose to snub me. Evan,” she snapped, “you need to do something. We need to go to Morocco or Mexico. This is so embarrassing! Everyone’s going to see me have the lamest bachelorette party ever.”
I draped an arm around Ivy. “I can send you wherever you want to go, Imogen, but I have to work tomorrow, and so do other people, so you’ll be going alone. It’s your choice.”
Imogen started crying.
“We can’t go to Morocco, Imogen,” Mika said, stroking her arm. “The wedding is in a few days. You need your rest.”
“But I want to have a destination bachelorette,” she cried.
“Evan, can’t you do something?” my stepmother insisted. “After all I did for you and your sister. You could at least try to give me this one happy memory.”
“He doesn’t care!” Imogen raged. “None of you care about me!”
Though my stepmother liked to guilt us and remind my sister and me that my father had wanted to send us to boarding school in Austria, in her defense, shehadkept us in America, and it was only by her good graces that Mika and I weren’t playing Oliver Twist from ages six to eighteen.
As much as I despised my father, my stepmother had at least done slightly more than the bare minimum.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “Where would you like to go? It has to be in the continental U.S.”
“We have to go to a party city, since it’s nighttime,” Tiffanie said in excitement. “Miami is perfect! We’ll go to a club and rent a yacht. Your friends will be so jealous! They’ll wish they had stayed in your bridal party!”
* * *
As soon aswe sat on one of my private planes, I immediately regretted giving in to Imogen. She’d insisted that we take the large custom 747 so that she could show it off on her social media feed. The plane did have a bed in it, and part of me was looking forward to fucking Ivy in it and perhaps testing out some of the products in her bag. However, Imogen monopolized all of Ivy’s time, going over the flowers, the ceremony, and her hair and makeup and complaining about her ex-bridesmaids.
It was late evening when we finally landed and climbed into the limo to drive to the swanky condo building on the beach. Ivy yawned, and I snuggled her against me.
“Look lively!” Tiffanie said, giggling loudly and clapping her hands at Ivy. “The clubs here stay open until five in the morning. We have so much partying to do!”
“I really don’t know if I’m dressed for it.”
“You have to come party for my bachelorette party, and you have to have a good time,” Imogen ordered.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Ivy. “I asked the concierge to purchase some outfits. They should be waiting upstairs,” I told her as the limo pulled up at the condo tower.And I’m very excited to see her in them.
The building manager greeted us and escorted us to the private elevator to the penthouse.
“Welcome to Miami!” I announced, throwing open the doors.
The whole penthouse was floor-to-ceiling glass that curved around the main, two-story space offering an impressive panoramic view over the city and out to the bay, where brightly lit yachts dotted the water.
“This is amazing!” Ivy said, looking around in awe.
Tiffanie, Imogen, and my stepmother raced through the penthouse giggling and snapping pictures.
“Did you Airbnb this?” Ivy asked.
“Did I…” I gaped at her. “No, I didn’t. I own this!”
“Huh.”
“And who was saying that billionaires and their money were ho-hum?” I teased, pulling Ivy to me and kissing her.
