The Secret Diamond Sisters

“I’m not being negative.” Peyton rolled her eyes. “Just realistic.”

“So you’re not going to give him a chance?”

“He doesn’t deserve one,” Peyton replied. “And if you’d stop freaking out because ‘Omigod, we’re in a private jet!’ then maybe you’d see that.”

Courtney looked back and forth between the two of them. If they were going to be like this when they met their father, it was going to be disastrous. Luckily a flight attendant asked them if they wanted any drinks before Savannah and Peyton could argue any more.

The captain made sure they were ready to go, and Courtney moved to a window seat, pressing her forehead against the glass. She tapped her nails against the armrest as the plane sped up, and her stomach flipped as they rose into the sky, the world below shrinking to resemble a clay model. Everything was so small that she felt like she could reach down and pluck a truck right off the road.

She still felt like she was in a dream. Less than a week ago, she was working extra shifts at Starbucks to help her mom pay rent and make sure they had enough groceries for the week. Now she was flying in a private plane to Vegas, about to meet the father she’d never known.

Things like this didn’t happen in real life.

But they were happening in hers.

chapter 3:

Even Peyton had to admit that the Las Vegas Strip was impressive from above. The mishmash of buildings along both sides of the wide street looked like it had been dropped randomly in the endless brown desert, and no two hotels looked similar. There was a shiny black pyramid, a medieval castle, matching gold-plated towers, a massive green building that reflected the sunlight and a tall one at the end that looked like the Seattle Space Needle, just to name a few.

Peyton wondered which one was her father’s.

Her father. Adrian Diamond. The owner of Diamond Resorts Worldwide.

It was completely unreal.

And it pissed Peyton off.

She clenched her fists, pressing her fingernails into her palms to release some of the anger. Someone who made zero effort to get to know his daughters had to be a horrible person. Peyton didn’t blame her mother for not accepting charity from him. Not after he married her, only for her to find out four years—and three children—later that his life was “too dangerous” to have a family and he didn’t want them around anymore. It was way messed up.

No, Peyton didn’t blame her mother at all. She admired her for it. Her mother had raised them to the best of her ability—until the constant drinking came into the picture. She’d always had an alcohol problem, but it had gotten way worse when she’d lost her secretary job a year ago. Then Peyton had had to watch her mom come home drunk every night, usually with a sleazy guy she’d picked up at a bar. She’d wanted to move out and get her own apartment—especially after one of her mom’s boyfriends kept hitting on her and trying to touch her. Peyton had told him to back off and threatened to call the cops on him if he laid a finger on her or her sisters. That had stopped him from going too far, but she’d shuddered whenever he’d looked at her, and she’d warned her sisters to never be alone with him. She’d tried to tell her mom what was going on, but her mother had just called her a slut and said she was asking for it by leading him on. Peyton couldn’t have been happier when her mom had discovered he was cheating with a young bartender and told him to get lost.

She wouldn’t have been able to get her own apartment anyway, because no one would rent to a seventeen-year-old, and while she didn’t get along with her sisters all the time, she could never leave Courtney and Savannah to handle their mother and her boyfriends alone. They needed her—especially Savannah, who didn’t know how bad things were. With Courtney always at work and Savannah at sports practice or out with her friends, it was up to Peyton to do damage control, pouring her mom’s alcohol down the sink and helping her sober up before the other two got home. Her mother yelled at her, calling her a bitch and a slut, but Peyton didn’t care. She’d learned not to take the name-calling personally, and whipping her mom into shape and cleaning the apartment before her sisters got home was her responsibility. Courtney did her part by taking extra shifts at work to pay the bills, and Savannah was too young and naive to have to deal with it.

But with her mom continuing to go downhill, Peyton couldn’t have kept it up for much longer. Maybe Adrian Diamond really did care that their living situation had gone down the tubes.

But she doubted it.

The plane landed, and another limo pulled onto the tarmac to pick them up. After thanking the captain and saying goodbye, Peyton and her sisters got into the backseat and headed off to wherever they were going.

Guess it would have been too inconvenient for their father to come to the airport to greet the daughters he hadn’t seen since they were babies. Peyton clenched her jaw, grinding her molars together. It was just more proof he didn’t care about them.

Add it to the overflowing list.

The airport was close to the Vegas Strip, and while Peyton didn’t want to like the place where her asshole of a father lived, she couldn’t help admiring the hotels as the limo drove by. Some were themed like cities—New York, Paris, Venice—while others were shiny and glitzy. One had a gigantic fountain in front of it, the bursts of water dancing to a classical number coming from invisible outdoor speakers. A crowd had gathered around the railing to watch. Even the Denny’s sign was surrounded by flashing lights. Everyone walking along the sidewalk was laughing and having fun, a lot of them sipping colorful drinks that were two feet tall. It was only the afternoon, but that didn’t seem to stop anyone from starting to party.

Or maybe they were continuing the party from the night before.

Finally the limo pulled up to two crescent-shaped gold-plated buildings standing side by side, stretching high into the sky. They had to be the tallest buildings on the Strip. Lighter shades of gold lined the tops and bottoms of every floor, eventually stopping to leave a wide space for swirling cursive writing on the top. Peyton held her hand over her forehead to shield the sunlight, squinting to make out the words. The farther building said The Diamond Hotel, and the closer one The Diamond Residences.

“Wow.” Savannah pressed her hand against the window as they pulled into the circular drive of the Residences. Limos and luxury sedans lined the curb, and wide columns surrounded the golden double doors. Two men in white suits flanked the entrance, their hands clasped in front of them, their hair gelled back so they looked nearly identical. Beside each of them stood pedestals with arrogant sphinxlike gold lions.

Peyton had never seen anything like it.

The limo stopped in front of the entrance, and one of the men opened the door on Peyton’s side. She stepped out into the stifling desert heat and breathed in the stale dry air, focusing on her physical discomfort to hide her astonishment at her surroundings. She wanted to look pissed at her father, not like she was reveling in the energy of Las Vegas.

Before she could take another step, an elderly man—also in a white suit—approached them. He had wrinkled skin, wispy gray hair, and thin lips that looked like they were permanently pressed together. Surely he couldn’t be their father. Peyton didn’t think Adrian Diamond would be so...old. Then she caught sight of the gold badge pinned to his suit. Unless Adrian had changed his name to Bernard, this man wasn’t him.

Peyton exhaled and crossed her arms. Her father hadn’t bothered to meet them at the airport or the hotel. This was not a good start to whatever relationship Adrian Diamond planned on having with them.

If he planned on having a relationship with them at all, which she was starting to seriously doubt.

“Peyton, Courtney and Savannah Diamond?” Bernard asked, giving them a once-over. His lips pressed tighter together when he looked at Peyton. There were only four blue streaks in her hair—and they didn’t stand out much—but Peyton still got the feeling he disapproved. He probably wasn’t a fan of the Hot Topic bracelet collection up her arm, either. She shot a nasty look back at him, and he looked away, nose in the air. Hopefully everyone in Vegas wasn’t this stuck-up.

Courtney stepped forward and told him he had their identities correct. Trust Courtney to take the lead. Most people assumed that because Peyton was oldest, that made her the most responsible of the three.

How wrong they were.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Bernard said. “Mr. Diamond sends his apologies for not being able to greet you himself.”

“Sure he does,” Peyton muttered.

Her hostility only threw Bernard for a second. “I imagine you’re tired after your travels and would like to get situated in your condo,” he said, plastering a smile on his thin lips and motioning to the giant gold doors. “Please follow me.”

“What about our bags?” Courtney pointed to where their stuff was being unloaded from the car behind them.

“Don’t worry about your luggage—the bellhops will bring it up for you.” He turned on the heel of his polished black shoe and led them to the entrance, where two men pulled the doors open for them, and Peyton took her first step inside the Diamond Residences.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it was nothing like this. The inside of the building was magnificent to the point of being otherworldly, and it took her breath away. Marble diamond-shaped tiles lined the floor, with an occasional colorful mosaic design forming the shapes of different gems. There was greenery everywhere, brilliant ferns and trees lit up with white lights surrounding the wide path that led from the entrance to a circular bar in the center of the lobby where people milled around drinking cocktails. Just past the bar, Peyton could make out gaming tables and slot machines. Groups of people dressed in everything from bathing suit cover-ups to expensive dresses walked around, holding pool bags, drinks and shopping bags, smiling and chatting animatedly. The energy was contagious, and Peyton’s veins buzzed as she took in everything around her, but she concentrated on maintaining her outer appearance of boredom. She refused to like anything her father had created.

“The Residences Tower and the Hotel Tower are connected by a hallway, so while you’ll live in the Residences, you can go back and forth to the hotel as you please,” Bernard said, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. “Would you like a tour first, or should I show you to your condo?”

“We’ll go to the condo,” Peyton said before Courtney had time to speak. Savannah pouted, but Peyton ignored her. She didn’t want to clue in Bernard that she cared. There would be time for exploring alone later.

“If you change your mind, let me know and I’ll be happy to show you around,” Bernard said, leading them down the tree-lined path to the casino. The casino played a song of its own—slot machines dinging, chips clacking as the dealer passed them out to the players at the tables, and the chatter of people throwing down money with the hope of hitting it big. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke, but the casino must have a great ventilation system, because it wasn’t overpowering like the smoke in the Indian casino Peyton had gone to once with her friends in San Fran. Some of the machines even spoke in happy, cartoon-sounding voices, asking people to give the game a try or coaxing them to continue playing. It was a carnival for adults. The red carpet was new and plushy, and waitresses with model bodies wearing tight, low-cut gold dresses walked around delivering drinks. A person could get lost for days in a place like this.

Peyton caught sight of a sign saying Main Elevators, but Bernard continued past it.

“I thought we were going to the condo?” she asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t look at her as he continued on. “There are separate elevators for those living on the top ten floors. Follow me.”

Special elevators. Top ten floors. Peyton felt farther away from home than ever. Everyone walking around the hotel was dressed up like they were headed somewhere special—even the bathing suit cover-ups people wore looked designer—and Peyton had never felt more out of place. She wasn’t going to change for anyone, though, so she would have to act like she didn’t notice. She never let not fitting in bother her at home, and that wasn’t going to be different now. Instead, she would see it as standing out. The thought gave her a rush of empowerment.

Once inside the elevator, Bernard stuck a shiny gold key card into a slot above the buttons and pushed Floor 75—the highest one. No wonder they needed separate elevators. They would have to constantly stop for people to get off and on otherwise.

“Here are your keys,” Bernard told them, pulling identical cards out of his pocket and handing them out. Diamond Residences was printed on them in the same swirling font Peyton had seen at the top of the building. She mumbled, “Thanks,” and shoved hers into the back pocket of her shorts.

When they reached floor 75, the elevator doors opened, and Bernard motioned them to exit before him. This hallway had thick ruby carpeting, and the paneled walls were topaz and white. Crystal chandeliers hung from above, and classical music played from invisible speakers, providing a calm atmosphere very different from the excitement below.