Page 34 of All Bets Are Off
ELEVEN
Vida
Walkinginto the party isn’t as hard as I was anticipating.
Tripp’s words are still ringing in my ears, and I’m starting to think he’sactuallyserious about us. He’s not just waxing poetic about some fantasy future that will never unfold. It hurts him when I reject his wealth. When I won’t let him buy me gifts or take me out to five-star restaurants or phone his associates at Yale. I thought I was doing the right thing by dating only him, not his money, but maybe his money and power are something I can’t avoid. Or reject without hurting him.
My hand is held tightly inside Tripp’s as we walk out onto the deck where the party is in full swing. A group of girls sing along to “Pink Pony Club” while a scattering of young men take selfies on their phones. All activity ceases the moment Tripp and I walk out into the open.
“Guys, listen up,” Tripp says, his voice clear and confident. “I would like to introduce Vida. My girlfriend. I know you’re allgoing to make her feel very welcome.” He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “Vida, this is everyone.”
There are mixed reactions, but the common thread isstunned.
From the direction of the girls’ group, I hear, “Wait, how is she wearing Prada summer runway? I thought she was a maid.”
But I don’t think Tripp overhears the whispered comment, which, frankly, is an entirely fair one, so I maintain my smile. If one of them knows I’m a maid, they all do. And I’m not ashamed of my hard-working job. Might as well lean into it.
“Hey, everyone. Instead of making me feel welcome, you could try and keep your rooms a little cleaner.”
Silence lands heavily.
Until one of the guys laughs and they all join in, including the girls.
“Sorry, I’m a Libra,” one of the young women says. “I get a headache when everything is too clean.”
“I’ll skip your room, then,” I quip.
More laughter.
Is this going…well?
Tripp is beaming down at me, his fingertips stroking up and down my bare back. And while I want to curl up against his side and stay there all night, I should make an effort with his friends. They’re important to him. On the heels of our tough conversation, I want him to know I accept the most vital parts of his world.
“Um…” An idea strikes, and since everyone is still staring at me, I have the floor. “Did you say you’re a Libra?” I ask the girl who just spoke.
“Yes,” she responds cautiously, one eye squinted.
I take my backpack out of Tripp’s hand, quickly unzip the top, and take out the handheld travel telescope my aunt bought me for Christmas.
“You can actually see the Libra constellation in the sky tonight. It’s pretty clear out,” I say, hesitantly walking toward the group of girls.
They stare back at me over their champagne flutes.
I slow my gait and wait.
“Hold on, Libra is aconstellation?” the first girl finally asks.
“It is,” I respond without a hint of condescension.
“Oh my God, show me.” She fumbles for her phone. “I need a picture.”
“What about Leo?” another girl asks, this one in a gorgeous teal cocktail dress.
I wince. “No Leo this time of year, but Scorpio and Sagittarius are a go.”
“That’s me!”
“And me!”
