Michelle Madow - The Secret Diamond Sisters

“We already have dinner plans with our dad,” Savannah explained, the word dad feeling alien coming from her lips. “Otherwise I would go. But we’ll be at Myst afterwards.”

“I’ll find you there, then,” he said. “My friends and I will be on the third floor—it’s VIP—but I’m sure that’s where you’ll be, too.”

“Right.” Savannah tried to act unfazed, even though she’d never been VIP for anything before. But obviously they would be VIP here, since Adrian—their dad—owned the building. Well, buildings. “Does the club let everyone in? I’m not eighteen yet, so I hope that won’t be a problem....”

“Not eighteen?” Damien faked disbelief in a fun, joking way to let her know he’d already figured that out. “Really?”

“Really.” Savannah laughed. “I’m fifteen.”

“And the rest of you?” He looked at Courtney and Peyton.

“Sixteen,” Courtney answered, sounding like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Savannah wished she could at least pretend to be interested.

“And you?” he asked Peyton.

“Nineteen,” she lied, crossing her arms and giving Damien a stare of death, as if she were daring him to contradict her. Damien didn’t bother. Instead he looked back at Savannah, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge that Peyton was lying.

Savannah couldn’t believe the attention he was giving her. “She’s seventeen,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Same as me,” Damien said. “But thanks for the honesty. I like that in a girl.” He paused to let the words sink in, and continued, “You’re supposed to be over twenty-one to get into the club, but if you’re on the VIP list they won’t bother you. Which you will be.”

“Okay.” Savannah couldn’t stop smiling. Being around Damien made her feel like she’d downed a venti cappuccino. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Damien flashed her one last grin before turning to walk down the hall. Savannah thought he was going to leave it at that, but then he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight.”

She waved to him and closed the door. After it was shut she leaned against it and smiled, her heart beating so fast that she could float away from happiness. He was the hottest guy she’d ever met—and it seemed like he was interested in her. Not Courtney, who was tall and gorgeous even when she didn’t wear makeup, or Peyton, who was fearless and not afraid to speak her mind. She might have even sounded sophisticated when she talked to him, as if hot guys invited her to VIP parties at trendy nightclubs all the time.

The day couldn’t get more amazing than this.

chapter 6:

A bellboy had dropped off their bags after they’d finished talking to Damien, and Courtney now stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, frowning. What should she wear when meeting her father? Her jeans and T-shirts didn’t fit in with everything she’d seen in Vegas so far, which was loud, flashy and sparkly. Meaning the opposite of Courtney. She had only three dresses—the ones she wore to church before her mom had started drinking so much that she was too hungover on Sunday morning to drive them. Hopefully one of those would be acceptable to wear to dinner. The nicest restaurants she’d been to were Applebee’s and Macaroni Grill, and she suspected the ones in the Diamond were a few steps above those.

She took off the flowery blue dress and replaced it with a pink one that had white lace on the top and bottom. She normally wore this dress with a jacket, and the spaghetti straps made it the most revealing one she owned even though it fell two inches above her knee.

Would it be acceptable to wear to a fancy dinner and a club in Las Vegas? She had no idea. But she did know that her flip-flops weren’t going to fly. Flip-flops were pretty much all she owned, though. She was already taller than most of the guys in her grade, so wearing heels made her feel like a clumsy giraffe. Then there was the practical issue that heels hurt. It didn’t make sense to wear shoes that blistered her feet when flip-flops were a more comfortable solution.

She studied her reflection and sighed. No way did she look ready to go to a fancy dinner. She needed Savannah’s help. Savannah studied fashion magazines and was great at finding similar-looking items for practical prices.

She headed to Savannah’s room for advice, amazed at the magnificence of the condo as she walked through it. Was this real? She felt like an intruder, unable to shake the feeling that the actual person who lived there would walk in at any second and ask her what she thought she was doing snooping around somewhere she didn’t belong.

In their apartment in California, the furniture had been crammed together, the rooms dark and dreary. Here, the windows overlooking the Las Vegas Strip let in tons of sun, the ceilings were fifteen feet high and everything inside sparkled like it was brand-new. It was so airy and spacious, with furniture that looked too expensive to use without worrying about messing it up. She couldn’t believe she would be living here. That she was living here.

Then she realized she was acting like Savannah—so enamored with their new life that she could forget everything she’d left behind. Hopefully their mother was doing well in rehab. Her throat tightened at the thought. She missed the days before her mom had started drinking all the time. She remembered one Saturday night in particular, when their mom had stayed up with them for hours watching a DVD of Savannah’s favorite CW television show. They’d ordered in pizza, and their mom had used her curling iron to style their hair, pinning them into elaborate updos they could have worn to prom.

Their mom had always drunk more than other people’s parents, but before she’d lost her job, she’d managed to go a few days at a time without getting trashed. That’s when they would have fun nights like that, when they felt like a normal family. But that had stopped in the past year. As their mom’s drinking spiraled, it had made her look sick on the outside, too—she’d gained weight, her eyes, which used to be bright blue, became glassy and bloodshot with puffy dark circles beneath them, the skin on her face had turned wrinkly and red and her dark blond hair had become dull and limp. As hard as it was, Courtney knew rehab was the best choice. Once their mom got better, they would have that other woman in their lives all the time—the one who watched TV with them and fixed their hair like they were about to attend a magnificent ball. If that were possible, it was worth enduring a few weeks, or even months, in Las Vegas.

Courtney blinked away tears and knocked on Savannah’s door. The radio blared from inside, and Savannah was singing along, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She had a beautiful voice—it was too bad she was terrified to sing in public. Her dreams of being a famous singer would never come true if she didn’t get over her stage fright. But no matter how much Courtney encouraged her by complimenting her talent, Savannah insisted she was only saying those things because she was her sister.

“Come in!” Savannah yelled, lowering the volume as Courtney walked inside.

Savannah stood in front of the mirrored wall, admiring the flowy aqua dress she had on, which was short enough to be a long shirt. The high waistband reminded Courtney of the style popular in the Regency era, and the V-neckline dropped low, but not so low that it looked inappropriate on a fifteen-year-old. Not that Savannah had much in the upper region to show off.

“Hey,” Savannah said, as she attempted to tease her hair. “I wish we had time to go shopping before dinner—I had the hardest time picking out what to wear tonight. I can’t wait to get a new wardrobe.”