Nadia and Sophie are friends from business school. They both grew up in wealthy suburbs of Manhattan, riding around in brand-new cars and never applying for financial aid. They抮e the comfortable sort of well-off, where worrying about paying rent or putting food on the table is a foreign concept.
I grew up taking a private jet between my six-figures-a-semester boarding school and a multi-million-dollar penthouse overlooking Central Park.
There抯 wealthy, and then there抯 me. Crew. We抮e each set to inherit empires including sums of money that have a lot of zeroes. More than anyone could spend in a lifetime梠r a thousand of them. If the Federal Trade Commission had a say in the institution known as marriage, there抯 no way this merger would go through. It抯 a melding of assets akin to a Rockefeller marrying a Vanderbilt.
Whether or not I want to marry Crew is mostly irrelevant. I accepted it as an inevitability a long time ago. I have a choice. It is my choice. Marrying for love isn抰 an option, even if I抎 ever met anyone who made me think so, which I haven抰。 My world would chew him up and spit him out. Not to mention, there would always be a voice in the back of my head, wondering whether he wanted me or the money.
With Crew, I don抰 have to worry about that. He抯 callous, cocky, and cold. He grew up in this world, same as me; he knows what抯 expected. He抯 known for the traits I just observed: entertaining women, always retaining total control, and getting exactly what he wants.
My father did me a favor, arranging this marriage.
It doesn抰 make it any less of a foreign, antiquated concept to people who live in the normal world. Nadia has been dating the same guy for the past two years. Finn is a sweet, unassuming native New Yorker who is in his last year at NYU Law. Sophie is currently seeing a cardiovascular surgeon named Kyle, who sounds like a total tool. According to her, his dexterity makes up for anything his personality lacks.
My mind wanders to stupid thoughts as I keep my gaze firmly on my glass. Like whether Crew is good in bed. He seems like the sort of guy who would expect blowjobs without reciprocating and always come first.
I抣l likely find out.
The end of my drink gets drained with one gulp. 揑抣l be right back.?I stand and stroll in the direction of the restrooms.
I抦 sure Nadia is taking this opportunity to grill Sophie about my upcoming engagement. As soon as I heard my father met with Crew抯， I knew there was no chance I抎 keep it from them梖rom anyone梖or much longer. Neither of our families have ever confirmed an engagement. Rumors have to be fed in order to spread.
My father hasn抰 broached the topic with me himself in years. He assumes I抣l do what he wants without question when the time comes, and for once, he抯 right.
As I walk across the club, I can feel the stares on me. The gold sequined minidress I抦 wearing isn抰 meant to blend into the wallpaper. Work has eaten up most of my time lately. The only reason I left the office before eleven p.m. is that it was Andrea抯 birthday tonight. None of my magazine抯 editorial staff梚ncluding her梬ill leave before I do.
I headed out at seven, which is unheard of for me. I met Nadia and Sophie for sushi at a new spot in the Village, and we ended up here, just like I knew we would. Coming to Proof and rubbing elbows with New York抯 young, rich, and famous is a novelty for my two companions. Less so for me, seeing as I was coming to places like this long before I was legally allowed to.
The hallway leading to the restrooms is empty, lit by muted columns every few feet. My stilettos click a rhythmic melody across the hand-painted tiles and into the lounge that serves as the entrance to the actual bathrooms. I pass the velvet-covered chairs, barely sparing the furnishings a glance, before locking myself into one of the stalls that are situated like private rooms. Each has its own sink and toilet. One wall is decorated with frames filled with dried flowers, while another holds a long shelf boasting an array of expensive sprays, soaps, and lotions.
I抦 washing my hands when I hear the distinctive tapping of other heels approaching and the muted murmur of feminine voices. I shut off the water and dry my hands on one of the fluffy towels from the basket beside the sink before tossing it into the hamper. One of the women is complaining about her blisters. The other is talking nonsensically and fast, indicating she抯 already over-indulged. It costs a small fortune to get wasted in a place like this, so she抯 probably someone I know.
I open my clutch and pull out a tube of lipstick to slick my lips with my signature shade of red. Even if I didn抰 share a name with a hue of the color, I like to think I抎 still be the sort of woman who walks around with crimson lips.
It makes a statement.