The Secret Diamond Sisters (25 page)

Courtney looked at the Bellagio, a tall, wide hotel painted in crèmes with a large lake in front of it. The unmistakable first riffs of “My Heart Will Go On” from the movie
Titanic
played from speakers around the lake, and the surface lit up, coming to life. Water shot up from formations below—a long arc, a huge double-rimmed circle and smaller circles all around—dancing to the song. It was like magic.

Other couples watched from the observation deck, holding hands, leaning against each other, or touching in some way. Brett stood so close to her that his body heat radiated against her arm. If she moved the slightest bit, her skin would touch his.

She glanced away from the fountain to look at him. His eyes met hers, and her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. Her cheeks heated, and she refocused on the fountains, her heart racing through the rest of the song. In the crescendo the water exploded high into the sky, to the rhythm of the music. Then the song ended, the water calming, and everyone clapped in appreciation.

“I never knew fountains could do that.” Courtney broke the silence between her and Brett. “That was wonderful.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” He leaned his elbows on the railing and looked at her. “You know, I don’t know what you were like in California, but you seem really happy here.”

“I guess I am,” Courtney said, surprised at the realization. “I miss my mom—and I definitely miss my grandma—but for the most part, living at home was hard. I know my mom is better off in rehab, and I’m starting to wonder if I might be happier here in Vegas.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you,” Brett said. “Having to deal with your mom’s situation.”

“It got really bad a year ago, but the turning point was about two years ago,” Courtney said, looking over at the lake where the fountains had danced minutes ago. “I remember the exact day when I realized she was only going to get worse.”

“What happened?” he asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but you can if you want to.”

“This isn’t a story I normally share, but I’ll tell you.” She took a deep breath and started. “It was the summer before my freshman year of high school. I was fourteen, Savannah was thirteen and Peyton was fifteen, so our mom had to drive us to Walmart to get school supplies. She spent more money than she intended to, and she was in an awful mood on the drive home. Then Savannah and Peyton started fighting over the radio station—Savannah wanted to listen to Top 40, and Peyton wanted rock. It blew up into a war between them.

“My mom got fed up with their yelling, and she pulled over at a gas station, telling us to get out of the car for a thirty-minute time-out. She didn’t notice that I wasn’t involved in the fight, so I had to go with them. She told us to work it out, that she would be back soon, and she took off. At first Savannah and Peyton kept fighting. When almost an hour passed, we got worried about when Mom would come back. A few more hours passed without any sign of her, and it was starting to get dark. We discussed walking home, but we were afraid Mom would show up soon and when we weren’t there we would be in more trouble for leaving. So the three of us were stuck at the gas station, sitting at a picnic table, hungry because we didn’t have any money. Finally a nice man gave us sandwiches and soda for dinner. He called our grandma, and she picked us up. We found our mom at a nearby bar. She’d had so much to drink that she’d forgotten to come back and get us.”

“Wow.” Brett looked sad, like hearing the story had really upset him. “That sounds awful. I’m sorry you had to go through that. You deserve better.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I know our mom loves us, but she has a hard enough time taking care of herself, let alone three kids. Our grandma bought us cell phones the next day and paid for the monthly bill, because she didn’t want us to be left alone like that again.”

“It sounds like you get along well with your grandma.”

“I do.” Courtney smiled. “Grandma’s told me—in secret, of course—that out of my sisters and me, I remind her the most of herself. She’s hardworking and kind, so hearing that meant a lot.”

“I hope she can visit you here soon,” Brett said.

“I would love that, but her sister—they’re twins—is really sick right now. Cancer,” she explained. “It doesn’t look good. Grandma’s taking care of her, so I doubt she’ll be able to visit until...” She shook her head, not wanting to say the only possible outcome out loud.

“I understand,” he said. “I’m sorry I made you bring this all up.”

“Don’t be.” Courtney smiled, attempting to lighten the conversation. “It feels good to talk about with someone. And this is going to sound awful, but I think it’s been helpful for me to be here, in Vegas, where all of those problems feel so far away.”

“That doesn’t sound awful,” Brett said. “It makes perfect sense.”

“Thanks.” For a moment neither of them spoke, their eyes locked on each other’s. “So, what else is in the Paris Hotel?”

“How do you feel about strolling the streets?” he asked. “The ones inside, of course.”

“I’d love to,” Courtney said, intrigued.

They took the elevator back down, and walked through the hotel. It really felt like Paris—or at least how Courtney had pictured it. Three-story buildings lined the walls, with windows on the outside so it felt like walking down a winding street. Just like in the casino, the ceiling was painted like the daytime sky, and the floor was dark gray cobblestone, with wrought-iron street lamps down the center. Lining the “streets” were restaurants that looked like cute Parisian cafés with gated patios, giving the illusion of eating outside.

“Let’s get drinks,” Brett decided. “It’s time for you to have a
real
Vegas drink.”

“What do you mean?” Courtney asked.

“I mean we’re playing tourist,” he said, strolling up to a blue window with a wooden sign above it that said
Le Petit Bar.
“Two Eiffel Tower drinks, please,” he ordered, pointing at the foot-tall plastic Eiffel Tower on display.

“You can’t be serious.” She stared at the plastic Eiffel Towers meant for
drinks.
No human being could finish that much liquid without feeling like they were about to explode.

“Strawberry daiquiri or piña colada?”

“Do those have alcohol?” she asked. “Because I don’t drink—”

“We’ll get virgin drinks,” he said. “The point is for the souvenir glass. And to walk around Vegas with a super-tall drink. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

The glass
was
funny, in a ridiculous way. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll have a daiquiri.”

Brett got a piña colada, and they walked down the cobblestone path, each holding an Eiffel Tower glass almost the length of Courtney’s arm. It was heavy and hard to hold, but the sweet drink did taste good. They continued like that, looking into the shops and restaurants, until they stopped at a huge circular fountain with water flowing down three tiers of stone.

“A wishing fountain!” Courtney exclaimed, not caring that she sounded like a little kid. “Do you have a penny?”

Brett dug a coin out of his wallet. “No pennies, but I have a euro,” he said, handing it to her. “Which means your wish will definitely come true.”

“Are you sure you’re okay getting rid of this?” Courtney had never seen a euro before. Silver inside and ringed with gold, it was prettier than any American coin. Surely he’d want to keep it.

“I’m positive,” he told her, closing her fingers around the coin. “In fact, I’ll be disappointed if you don’t take it. Then your wish will be wasted, and that would be a tragedy.”

“How do you know it would be a tragedy if you don’t know what I’m going to wish for?” she asked, although all she could focus on was how warm his fingers felt around hers.

“Because any wish of yours is something you deserve.”

Courtney studied the euro in her hand. One wish. Maybe this would be
the
magical wish—the one that would come true, like in a book or a movie. She knew that didn’t happen in real life, but maybe this once it would be fun to pretend.

She never did things like this in Fairfield, but in Las Vegas with Brett, she felt like a different person. She didn’t have to make sure her mom was sober when Savannah got home, help with the bills or worry that she wouldn’t have enough time after work to do a good job with her homework. She felt...free.

And she loved it.

There were so many things Courtney could wish for, but she tossed the coin over her shoulder and thought,
I wish everything will work out between me and Brett.

It couldn’t hurt to dream.

chapter 23:

Peyton’s new iPhone ringing from her nightstand woke her up on Thursday morning. She hated the fancy new phone—it was pointless, especially since her flip phone worked fine. Why would she need to check her email or go online when she was out? But texting was easier with the keyboard, so she’d given in and was using it.

She checked the clock, surprised it was 9:30 a.m. Who was calling her so early? Plus, she felt awful. How come Courtney and Savannah had been out having fun last night in Vegas, but she’d been having the worst time ever? It had only been a few days, and her sisters were already changing from who they’d been in California. Peyton couldn’t believe either of them. And after what Oliver had said to her last night at Luxe, she wanted to lie in bed with the lights off and never talk to anyone ever again.

Oliver hadn’t even texted her to apologize. She’d just watched crappy television shows when she’d gotten home from the club, ordering room service when she got hungry. She wanted to stay in her room forever. Anything so she wouldn’t have to face Oliver again. Or Jackson, who would probably say how he told her so the moment she left the condo.

She hadn’t programmed the numbers from her old phone into her new phone yet, so she had no idea who was calling. All she recognized was the 707 Fairfield area code.

“Hello?” she mumbled into the phone, hoping it was someone she wanted to talk to.

“Peyton?” Mike. She cursed for picking up. “Did you get my calls last night? Or any of my texts?”

“My cell service is awful here,” she lied. “Sorry about that. What’s up?” She tried to sound perky, even though the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Mike. But since he had cornered her, she might as well get it over with and break up with him. He had to know it was coming.

“I was worried when I couldn’t get ahold of you,” he said. “So I caught the first flight this morning, and just landed in Vegas. I’ve been saving a lot from work this summer, and the flight was pretty cheap since it was so early. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Peyton wanted to throw her phone out the window. That was the last thing she expected him to say. He must have noticed she’d been avoiding him. Knowing Mike, he thought that any distance Peyton was feeling would go away the moment she saw him again. He
would
think a stupid romantic thing like that.

“Are you serious?” she asked, even though she knew he was. So much for breaking up over the phone.

“Of course I’m serious.” He sounded less confident than he had before. “Is now a bad time?”

“No, it’s fine,” she lied. “Get a cab to the Diamond Residences. The driver will know where it is. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

She pressed the end button, and walked to her full-length mirror to see how bad she looked. Her skin was dull and dry, and she had huge circles under her eyes from how terribly she’d slept last night.

Still, she should try to look decent. She took off her pajamas and changed into her favorite frayed jean shorts and a black tank top. She dabbed concealer under her eyes, brushed her hair and put on eyeliner, mascara and red lip gloss. Her hair still wasn’t the greatest, but the airport was less than ten minutes away, so she couldn’t shower before Mike arrived. She supposed she was going for the grunge look today.

She dragged herself out of the condo, and standing in the hall was the last person she wanted to see—Jackson. He had every right to be smug, since he had warned her away from Oliver and ended up being right about him—but she was
so
not in the mood for an “I told you so” right now.

“Leaving the condo so early?” he asked. Strangely enough, he looked...concerned. Did he actually care that Oliver had been a jerk to her?

“I didn’t have a choice,” Peyton said. “My boyfriend decided to show up. In Vegas. Right now.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“You mean you haven’t told Mike that it’s over?” Jackson looked confused.

“How do you know about Mike?” she snapped.

He put his hands in the air and stepped backward. “I was your bodyguard for a few months before you moved to Vegas,” he reminded her. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t know about the guy you were seeing in California. And he never seemed right for you, so I assumed you had broken up with him already.”

“I’ve been meaning to.” Peyton examined her nails like they were the most fascinating things on the planet. “I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“There’s no time like the present,” Jackson said with a chuckle.

“What’s it to you?” she asked. “Don’t you have more important things to worry about than my love life?”

“Actually, since a lot of the danger women today face is from the men they date, your love life is one of my prime concerns,” Jackson said. Unfortunately, Peyton had a feeling he was only half kidding.

She glanced at her watch. Mike would be here any minute. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some breaking up to do.” She tried to act nonchalant, but she was fuming inside. What was Jackson’s deal? One day he didn’t want to be friends with her, the next she could have sworn there was something sparking between them and now he was acting like an annoying older brother. She wished he could decide what he wanted their relationship to be—if he wanted them to have one at all.

“Lead the way,” Jackson said, motioning down the hall.

Peyton huffed and marched to the elevator. Of course, Jackson waited next to her, and stepped into it with her. She pressed the button for the lobby and was silent as the doors closed.

“Nervous about the big breakup?” he asked.

It took all of Peyton’s effort not to hit him. Not like that would have been effective, since he was trained in self-defense.

“No,” she said, keeping her eyes trained on the doors. Jackson didn’t seem inclined to continue the conversation. That was fine with Peyton, because one major thought haunted her mind: What was she going to say to Mike? She hated breaking up with guys, but it was a necessary evil of life.

She didn’t have time to worry about it, because Mike stepped into the lobby right after she got there. The awe on his round face reminded Peyton of when Savannah had first seen the hotel: like it was his first trip to Wonderland or Oz or some other magical place.

He caught her eyes, and she waved, plastering a smile on her face that she hoped was convincing. Jackson trailed far behind her; no one watching would have any idea the two of them knew each other.

“Is this for real?” Mike asked after greeting her.

“Vegas?” Peyton asked. “Yeah, it’s real. The city is different from Fairfield, I know—”

“That’s not what I mean,” he interrupted. “But anyway, I missed you.” He said the last part more softly, and he really meant it. Peyton wished she could honestly say the same in return.

“Thanks,” she said, and his eyes flashed with hurt. She shoved her hands into her back pockets, unsure what to say next.

With the jingling music of the slot machines behind them, this should have been the perfect reunion. Instead, it was like the machines were laughing at her, taunting her. Like they knew what was coming, just as they knew the tourists who gambled were probably going to lose. The coins jingling, chips clacking and machines dinging swirled around in her mind until she felt like her head was going to explode.

She needed a drink.

“Let’s sit down,” she said, motioning to the Lobby Bar.

He tensed up, like he realized what was about to happen. “Sure,” he said. “Sounds good.”

The waitress walked up to them and smiled. “Good morning,” she said. “Would you like to order some drinks?”

“I’ll have a mimosa—light on the orange juice,” Peyton said.

“Can I see some ID?” the waitress asked skeptically.

Peyton handed her the fake she’d gotten a few months ago—it had her picture but a different name—and sat back in her chair, trying to play it cool.

The waitress examined it for a few seconds longer than felt comfortable, and handed it back to her, her lips set in a line. “You can either order a soft drink, or I can bring that to the back, scan it and have to report you if the scan shows it’s fake. Your call.”

Peyton’s throat constricted, and she took the ID back, shoving it into her pocket. It always worked at gas stations back home, but the gas stations at home never scanned. Looked like she would have to get a better ID. In the meantime, she ordered an orange juice. So much for that liquid confidence during the breakup.

“What do you want?” she asked Mike. “It’s on me.”

“Umm...” He looked uneasy. “A Sprite is fine.”

The waitress walked away, and Peyton knew the questions were about to begin.

“Do you live here?” he asked, bewildered as he looked around. His eyes stopped at the statue in the center of the room—the golden one of the woman with tree branches coming out of her hands and head until they connected with the ceiling. Then he looked at Peyton again, waiting for her response.

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Peyton watched the waitress place her drink in front of her, taking a long sip before turning her eyes back up to Mike’s.

He looked like he was going to explode with curiosity, but he managed to calmly ask, “Is everything okay?”

Starting was the worst part about breaking up with someone. She would just have to numb her feelings and do it, like when ripping off a Band-Aid. “We can’t see each other anymore,” she blurted out.

He froze, his eyes wide. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to do the long-distance thing,” she explained. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t mean that.” He leaned forward and shook his head. “You’re just worried about it, and with all of these changes in your life I can’t blame you, but it’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I do mean it.” Her voice was hard.

He was silent, and that hurt Peyton more than anything he could have said. “Did you cheat on me?” he finally asked, his voice wavering.

Peyton looked down and played with the frayed ends of her jean shorts.

His eyes hardened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“My life is different now,” she said. “We have to move on. It wasn’t going to work out between us, anyway.”

“It could have worked out if you wanted it to.”

“But I
didn’t
want it to.” It sounded mean, but she had to make him understand that he couldn’t change her mind.

He let out a long breath. “I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you,” he said. “I was stupid to think you would be different with me.”

“You’re not stupid,” Peyton said softly. “Things changed is all. If I hadn’t moved here...”

“Then what?” he asked, his voice rising in anger. “Then we would still be together? Screw it, Peyton. If you wanted us to be together, we would have found a way to make it work, no matter where in the world we were.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I just wish you had let me know before now. Then I wouldn’t have had to fly all the way out here. You didn’t even let me know where you were—I had to ask your grandma. And don’t give me that crap about not getting cell reception. I don’t believe it.”

“I know,” she said, irritated. “But you should have waited for me to respond to your calls before coming out here.”

“And you should have let me know you wanted to break up
before
you cheated on me!” He was practically screaming now, and people at other tables stared at him. “I should get going,” he said, returning his voice to a normal volume. “And you’re right, I
should
have expected this from you. Stupid to think you would be happy to see me when you’ve been too busy living it up in Vegas to remember my existence.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Peyton shrank at how lame it sounded.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged. “Then what
was
it like?”

She lowered her eyes, knowing he was right. “Let me buy you a plane ticket home,” she offered, opening her wallet and handing him a few hundreds she had put in there before heading downstairs. She hated using Adrian’s money, but this was an emergency. “This should be enough to cover your flight here and a ticket back to California.”

“I don’t want your money.” He looked at the bills in distaste, but Peyton placed them on the table anyway. “It’s not even yours. I never took you as one for charity, Peyton.”

“It’s not
charity,
” Peyton said, clenching her jaw in anger. “You would want me to take it if you were in my situation.”

“But I’m not in your situation, am I? And if I were, I wouldn’t have cheated on you with one of the other brats around here.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peyton said. “Just go home, okay?”

He shook his head, pushed the money away and walked out the doors. Peyton’s heart sank as the hurt in his eyes played in her mind over and over again. It must have been the same way she’d looked when she’d found out about Vince cheating on her years ago. And here she was, doing the same thing to Mike. He didn’t deserve it—no one did—but she couldn’t change what she’d done. She’d thought building a tough skin and being the one who ended things before they got too serious would make her immune to feeling the pain of being dumped ever again. And sure, she didn’t feel as low as she had after finding out about Vince, but she didn’t feel happy, either.