Not next to her, I don’t. My little sister looks like a million dollars. The deep-blue dress shimmers as she walks.
She better, I think grumpily.I’m paying the stylists enough.
Carolina shoves me in a chair. The stylists tug my hair and slather me in makeup, all while making annoyed sounds.
“Hurry up, we’re going to miss the ball!”
“This is the best I can do without putting in ten thousand dollars’ worth of extensions.” The hair stylist throws up his hands.
“There better befood at this event.” I blow at the tendril of hair in my face. My feet hurt in my peekaboo black patent-leather pumps since Carolina insisted I showoff both toe cleavage and boob cleavage. “I wish I had my headband.” I sigh.
“Wine?” a waiter offers.
I grab two glasses. “Go mingle,” I order Kathy. “Look for a lonely billionaire.”
There aren’t any, though. My little sister looks nauseous as we survey the room. There must be at least five girls for every guy, just as pretty and sweet as Kathy, and they’re all younger than she is.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Winnie.”
“You want a rich boyfriend, don’t you? Shopping, travel, exotic locations, expensive presents…”
Kathy grabs my hand. “Yeah, of course, but first I want to go home.”
“I had to wax my vagina for this. We are not leaving here without a man with a ten-figure net worth,” I hiss.
It’s going to be a little harder than I originally planned. The other twentysomethings are predatory, possessively running their hands up and down the arms of the billionaires they’ve claimed.
“Maybe we should have gotten here earlier,” Carolina whispers to me. My little sister whimpers.
I square my shoulders. “You’re prettier than any of these girls here,” I tell Kathy. “They look cheap. You look expensive. You’re wife material. They aren’t. Stand up straight. Take charge.”
“Yeah, fuck them bitches,” Carolina says around the miniature lobster roll some blessed waiter is passing out.
Kathy doesn’t move.
I desperately want to go find an out-of-the-way corner with a plate of snacks and two glasses of wine, but… I look at my anxious little sister.
I hoist up my boobs.
“Come on, Kath. Let’s go find you a boyfriend.”
8
FITZ
“You’re not even fashionably late. You’re just late,” Crawford drawls when I walk in an hour after the party starts, on my third cognac.
“I couldn’t decide between my eighteenth-century-cut suit or the 1960s.” I stare out over the balcony at the sea of wealth and beauty below me.
“You could go down there. All the women are pretty, looking for love.” He nudges me.
“Eh.”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about that poor girl you’re stalking.” Crawford’s hand is a vise on my arm. “You’re not in love with her. It’s a sick obsession. Go find someone willing. You need to settle down.”
“You need to settle down.” I shake him off.
“I’m too busy making sure you all don’t end up in jail.”
