DEMETRIA
Driving to the Beverly Hills Hotel, Anastasia sat beside me, talking my ears off. We were already running late for the gala. Dressed in my black gown with my Saint Laurent black heels, I felt every inch the woman ready to face Los Angeles’ wealthiest crowd.
The second gown I chose hugged my waistline and flowed down in a soft silk cascade that whispered elegance. My hair had been swept into a low, glossy bun, exposing my neckline, where my diamond drop earrings and the diamond necklace Marion gifted me with caught the soft glow of the passing streetlights. A silver clutch sat on my lap, my manicured nails tapping against it as I pretended to listen to Anastasia’s chatter.
“…Are you even listening to me, Demetria?” she asked, raising a brow, her French-manicured nails snapping
