Rich Player (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 3)

6

Diamond

This is torture.

I’m surrounded by pink ribbons and bows and bunting. There’s so much pink that I kind of want to vomit on it just so there can be some variety in the color.

But the pink isn’t even the worst part.

When I got here after driving from Nashville, Lillian practically jumped on me, telling me she was so excited to see me and that she was happy I was here. Funny, I don’t recall that being the case when we were kids.

Lillian is three years younger than I am, and we’ve never gotten along. Granted, flipping back and forth between my mom’s and dad’s house was never easy, and there was a lot of stress. But I would have hoped that we could have bonded over that.

It didn’t happen.

On the surface, it’s the same old story: poor little rich girl. My parents were wealthy but that didn’t make them happy, and we didn’t make them happy either. The most we did for them was to serve as pawns in the one-up game they played with each other after the divorce. I helped Lillian get an A in math. Well I helped Di get an A+ in science.

Every second was the pressure to please, and if you didn’t, you were a disappointment. A failure. Not good enough for the Collins name.

But Lillian always seemed to get away with a little bit more than I did. I pushed myself as hard as I could, into track and sports, but I didn’t love it even though I was good at it. And nothing worked, nothing made them happy. So by the time I graduated high school, I was more than ready to say ‘fuck you’ to them and to college.

I went to beauty school instead. But of course, that’s not a career that a Collins should have. They fought me every step of the way. But I love it. I love it the way I’ve never loved anything else. People can say that it’s shallow all they like, but the feeling of making a person feel good about themselves, of having them turn around and light up when they look in the mirror, it’s indescribable.

None of my family were happy about it, and they treated me like shit for years because I was the disappointment with the low-class job. But they’re family, and the Collins’s have appearances to keep. I’ll never be able to get rid of them. Not truly.

Four years ago, when I met Alex, I thought my life was falling into place. Perfect career, free from my parents, amazing boyfriend who loved me. Everything was ideal. I was happier than I’d ever been. We were in the kind of love that people dream about. The kind of love where people think it’s both adorable and gross that you can’t keep your hands off each other. And that’s the way it was, until we’d been together for two years and I found him fucking my sister in the back of his car.

My stomach churns at the memory. The champagne I’m drinking suddenly feels like a bad idea. The sight of Alex, across my mother’s perfectly manicured back lawn isn’t helping, either. He’s talking excitedly with one of the guests about a present. I can’t tell what it is from here, and I don’t particularly care.

It was hard enough finding out that he cheated on me with Lillian. The news that not only were they getting married, but they were having a baby together, made me throw up when I heard. No one in the family seems to understand why. They all think I’m crazy, and that I should be thrilled about the miracle of new life. But I can’t stop the bile from rising in my throat as I watch Alex sweep Lillian into his arms, dipping her and kissing her while his hand is on her very pregnant belly.

God, this was a terrible idea. I wish I was back in Nashville, that I’d stayed in that room with Glenn where all I had to do was think about the next orgasm that I was going to have, and none of this mess.

“You could at least try to smile,” a strident voice says next to me. My mother appears by my side, also holding a glass of champagne.

My father is the mayor of Eastborough, which is easily the most affluent city in Eastern Tennessee. And my mother, after the divorce, has made a name for herself as a philanthropist as she’s wealthy in her own right. If Tennessee had socialites, my family are it. Everyone who’s anyone is at my sister’s shower. It’s no wonder she wants me to smile.

“It’s grotesque,” I say.

“For God’s sake,” she mutters under her breath. “When are you going to let this go? All I ask is that you show up, smile, and not make a scene. Are you not capable of doing that?”