"Do you know how she grew up? I've heard you call her Country Club Princess. Where's that come from? The clothes she wears. Sounds to me like you're just as judgmental as that concierge out there," Dana Maria said.
"It’s not the same and you know it," I said. "She dresses that way to make business deals. If anything, she uses it to cover up who she really is. You don't do that."
"I don't hide much," my sister said. She stared down a trio of young men who gaped at her. "Though, we both know you do exactly the same thing as your prim Ms. Allen. You wear your reputation like a bulletproof vest."
I tugged my sister into an alcove of potted palm trees. "You of all people should understand that. I was done being a burden to you. I needed to be on my own. And, to do that you've got to be tough."
"You are tough, Fen," she said. "But you're also being tough on her. Why are you giving her such a rough time?"
"I'm not," I said. My sister clicked an impossibly tall heel. "I'm not doing it on purpose."
"I think you are. I think you're pushing her every bit you can in the hopes that she'll turn and run. Then, you won't have to worry about keeping her out. You won't have to worry about her making a place in your life. That way it won't hurt when she's not there anymore."
"And, what's wrong with that?" I asked. "I'm not ready to share my life with anyone."
"Come on. When are you going to stop preparing and start living?" she asked. "Making sure everything is perfect first is making you miss out and it’s no guarantee that it all won't go to hell."
I shook my head. "I've got nothing to offer her. She doesn't really want me. It’s just fun for her to get out of her comfort zone, you know, go crazy in Vegas like every other tourist."
"So, you're not crazy in love with her?"
"No. It would be crazy if I was even near to feeling anything for Kya Allen," I said.
"Good." Dana Maria peeked over my shoulder. "Because she looks pretty cozy with that handsome man."
I brushed aside a palm branch and looked at Kya. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I saw the man she was with was the same man from the nightclub the first time we met. The man had a catalog quality that matched his short, cropped hair and square jaw. I hated him. Then, I wanted to kill him.
The man's hand trailed down Kya's bare shoulder and curled around her hand. While I crushed the palm branch in my clenched fist, he lifted Kya's hand and brushed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. His other hand was between them, under the table and in a haze of red, I imagined what else he was touching.
"Yeah, you're not crazy for her at all," Dana Maria said. She wrenched my hand free from the palm tree and pulled me towards the elevators. "Let's get you upstairs before you do something you'll regret."
"You mean like going over there and asking her exactly what she thinks she's doing?"
"Hey, you want to make a fool out of yourself, go right ahead," she said.
My shoulders slumped and I let my sister lead me across the lobby. She dragged me towards the elevators, as my steps got heavier. Even if there had been a misunderstanding about who my sister was, Kya had moved on with lightning speed. And the worst part was she had found someone perfect for her.
The doors shut and the handsome man's face beamed at us from an event poster. I swore. Kya had moved on to the number one pick for the big golf tournament. She wasn’t interested in a mixed martial arts fighter from a low rent background. She had her sights a lot higher than me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kya
I unwrapped the black dress, fresh from the cleaners. I thought about wearing the purple dress, but Jackson McRay seemed like a traditional man, even in Las Vegas. I had spent the afternoon cyber-stalking him and had not once seen a picture of him with a sequined or tube top sporting woman. He was rarely photographed with women and only with decent, conservative women from prominent families. I was suddenly feeling a lot of pressure.
The way Fenton Morris had attracted paparazzi to the Tropicana, it was guaranteed someone would get a picture of Jackson McRay on a date the night before his big tournament. All I could think about was measuring up to the elegant women with their perfect lineages that he was normally with when photographed. I had my reputation, but it was nothing worthy of a caption.
I clasped my pearls around my neck and checked the perfect bun I had twisted into my hair. I did not smile into the mirror. That made me pause. The real reason was not the worries about being captured by paparazzi. I was not even nervous about going on a first date. The only problem was I was not excited to be going out with Jackson McRay. And, it had nothing to do with him.
I had not seen Fenton all afternoon. Just as I took out my phone and considered sending him a message, I heard voices in the other room. The overlapping peals of female laughter made me wish I could stay in the master bedroom and barricade the door, but I had to go and meet Jackson in the lobby. I pushed the door open and went to see who Fenton
had invited back to the suite now.
The stripper, wait, exotic dancer named Dana Maria was there with five of her friends. They obviously knew each other from work and had come to party before their shifts. Two ransacked the kitchen for glasses while the others staked out spots on the white sofas and opened wine bottles. I cringed at all the red wine I saw.
"What you looking at, Miss Priss?" one wildly redheaded woman asked.
"I was just looking for Fenton," I said.