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The other women who will be joining me on stage all get out of their seats and file toward the door.
It takes everything I have to do the same, but somehow I manage. Madison sticks right beside me, smoothing out my blonde hair as we go, and giving me her version of a pep-talk. “You can do this.” She adjusts the neckline of the dress, inching it down to show even more of my non-existent cleavage. “You are going to get so much money.”
That’s why I’m here. Apparently the lowest amount any girl has gotten after the auction house takes their cut is thirty-thousand dollars, and that gets me about a third of the way to where I need to go.
But if Madison’s right and I can double my money, then I’ll be over halfway there.
It’s the hope I cling to as we’re lined up backstage, the beat I heard earlier strong enough here to rattle my teeth.
Or maybe that’s my nerves.
They’re only getting worse now that I see myself racked up with everyone else. The other seven women look more like Madison. Curvy and filled out, with boobs spilling from low necklines and shapely thighs peeking from the crazily high slits in the colorful dresses that make them stand out.
Unlike the black one I chose.
I don’t have spilling boobs or shapely thighs or anything else these women all seem to possess.
And while I once appreciated that fact, now I’m realizing it might be the worst thing imaginable for this night.
I look plain and boring compared to everyone else. Definitely not sexy or desirable.
Once again, something I normally appreciate.
But nothing about this is normal, and I’ve accidentally shown up as my normal self, or as close to it as I could convince Madison to allow.
What if no one bids on me?
Or worse, what if they do and I break the new low record?
Then this will all be a waste.
My mother will still be sick and I will be what I never wanted to become.
For nothing.
But I don’t have time to reconsider because the line begins to move. My body automatically responds, feet carrying me out under lights so bright they blind me for a second, forcing me to blink wildly as I fight to see something.
Anything.
Yvonne’s voice booms out from the speakers as time starts to race, the seconds blurring together as the women before me parade across the stage, smiling and strutting while men I can barely see hold up numbers, dragging the bids higher one by one.
And they’re good bids. High enough that I might get even more than the thirty thousand I’m hoping for.
I’m still blinking against the lights when the girl beside me gives me a nudge, making me jump.
I turn to her. “What?”
She tips her head toward the stage just as Yvonne’s voice registers. “Duchess?”
Holy shit. I’m Duchess.
Something that might be considered a smile freezes across my face as I step out, but instead of parading like everyone else I just stand there.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
I might be able to throw up though.
Yvonne’s easy smile holds as she turns to the audience. “Let’s start. Do I have an opening bid?”
