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Chapter 1
“You’re wearing that?” Chloe crinkled her nose as she looked Ophelia over. “You can’t keep dressing like this, O. This is Vegas.”
“No.” Priya clucked her tongue. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes and leaned on the edge of the vanity, watching her friends primp in the mirror. Two months ago, she would have agreed with them. Wearing black skinny jeans and a plain black tank top to a party would probably get her onto some “Worst Dressed” list on a celebrity gossip website. She’d tried to make her outfit more chic by adding her Jimmy Choos and a diamond necklace, but apparently it wasn’t enough.
Funny how everything could change in just a day. A moment even. A phone call.
Two months ago, she cared about fashion. Two months ago, she would’ve been worried about whether her lipstick shade complemented her complexion or not. But lately, she was having trouble giving two flying fucks about clothes or makeup.
“This is the biggest party of the year,” Priya said, then turned to the mirror to apply her fake lashes. Like Chloe, she could contour like a professional makeup artist. Not that she needed it. Her complexion was perfect. The two of them didn’t just dress trendy either—they created trends.
Chloe’s red hair hung in loose curls down her back, accented with a jeweled clip on one side. Both wore tight dresses designed to draw attention. Today, Ophelia looked like their uncultured cousin tagging along as their charity project.
“Jason will be there for sure,” Priya said with a smirk.
Chloe purred, “Mmm. Do you think he’s got a sock down there or do you think it’s the real deal?”
“Chloe!” Ophelia yelled, trying to be offended for Jason’s sake.
“What?” Her friend shrugged. “I know you’ve seen the bulge. How could you not?”
Priya laughed. “Too bad he’s only got eyes for O.”
Ophelia didn’t want his eyes. Or his bulge. Or his boring conversation, either. They’d been on a couple dates and he’d droned on and on about himself and his budding music career, barely taking a breath between sentences.
Her friends called her a “chronic first-dater.” She rarely went on second dates. Her mother was starting to ask if she was secretly into girls. The guys in her social circle called her a frigid bitch. Neither was true. Even before her father passed away, she’d found most guys boring. But now . . . Now she couldn’t even imagine starting a relationship. Not when her heart still felt so raw from his death. He was the only person in the world she felt actually loved her. When she was a child she’d known the nannies just showed up every day for the money. Her own mother had skipped out on visitation half the time after her parents had divorced.
Since he’d died two months ago, her heart had been aching and empty. Ophelia hadn’t been a picnic to be around. She wondered if guys were coming on to her because they liked the challenge, not because they were actually interested.
She seriously needed to start reevaluating her social circle.
But God forbid she missed the banquets and multimillion-dollar house parties. Her mother would have her head. Nothing was more annoying than Lorna Davis on a rant about preserving the family’s reputation. Sometimes being an only child sucked. The role of golden child or disappointment fell on her alone.
Her phone beeped. She looked down, wondering who’d bothered to text her. Other than Chloe and Priya, who she’d grown up with, everyone else had faded away after her father had died and she’d shut down.
The name Jason popped up on the screen. She scrunched her nose.
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
That made one of them. In fact, she was going to do everything in her power to avoid him. She felt bad the second she thought it. He was a nice guy—just completely clueless about how to talk to women. And yeah, maybe a little self-absorbed. If she were in a better place, maybe she’d give him some pointers. But right now, she couldn’t stomach the idea of flirting. Or happiness. Or feeling anything at all.
She shoved her phone in her purse then looked at her friends. “Let’s get this over with. I’m in desperate need of a buzz.”
“And a man to screw,” Chloe added.
Ignoring her, Ophelia made for the door. “I’ll drive.”
Priya shuffled behind her, muttering, “Why bother? We know you won’t be playing DD.”
There was a vague sense of guilt, but she pushed it away. She’d been a little freer with her alcohol consumption lately, but it wasn’t as if she was out of control. That was just what people did at parties. Besides, nobody could blame her for wanting to feel numb once in a while.
“Shh,” Chloe scolded Priya. “I’ll drive us home. I’m on a body cleanse anyway.”
They piled into Ophelia’s SUV—Priya in back and Chloe in the passenger seat. Her two friends prattled on about the latest gossip, but Ophelia’s mind hazed over. She let herself get caught in the familiar blank space between feeling incredibly lost and just not caring.
It was a place she was finding herself in more and more lately.
&nbs
p; The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Music pulsed, vibrating the floor beneath her feet. The inside of the mansion had been transformed into a club. Servers poured drinks as lights flashed to the rhythm of the rave music.
Ophelia pushed her way through the dancing crowd, grabbing a drink from the bar on her way. She chugged it quickly. The faster she could get a buzz going, the better. She was having a hard time tolerating this shit lately.
Chloe and Priya motioned they were going to the dance floor. Ophelia nodded and waved them away. Instead of following as she might have done at one time, she made her way to the sliding door that led to the patio.
Outside, girls in tiny bikinis strutted by the pool. The music was muted at least, and she was glad for the break in the assault on her ears.
Christmas lights hung on the patio railing and above on the canopies. Two guys and a girl were by the waterfall, laughing and drinking. Men lingered on the side of the pool, flirting with anyone who happened to have a chest above a B cup. Hers barely made the cut.
She sighed. Sometimes she felt like these were nothing more than upscale frat parties.
