EPILOGUE
If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.
—Dorothy Parker
Six Months Later
Alexis stirred her martini, watching a woman ordering one of the cabana boys at the hotel pool to get her a towel and something from the bar. The werewives had decided a vacation down to Atlantic City was in order, and were making the most of the time away from their husbands by shopping, gambling, visiting the local clubs, and soaking up sun by the poolside. Now, resting at a glass table with a view overlooking the rest of the patio, the pool, and the ocean in the distance, the ladies were relaxing after a long, hard day of wearing out the magnetic stripes on their husbands’ credit cards.
Alexis studied the woman with interest. She was dark-haired and golden-skinned, probably from out of town. Her bikini and matching sarong were ones Alexis had considered buying herself when she was shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue earlier in the week. The rock on her finger shone brightly enough that Alexis was glad she’d remembered to bring her Christian Dior sunglasses with her.
The lady said something so sharply that the boy taking her order was quick to pick up her purse for her when she gestured for it, and then rushed off to fetch her drink. Though the sight of the tight butt as he bent over to pick up the bag was distracting, Alexis used the excuse of plucking the olive garnishing her drink out and shaking it in the woman’s direction to turn the attention of the other werewives her way.
“What do you think?”
Heather glanced over the rim of the oversized piña colada she’d ordered, then shrugged. “Not bad.”
Cassandra nudged her Prada sunglasses down to rest on the tip of her nose and tipped her sunhat up. She watched the girl snap her fingers as she made demands that the hotel personnel scurried to carry out, catering to her whims as if she were the Queen of England.
“She looks like she’d be a pain in the ass to break in,” Vera commented, not bothering to crane her neck to take a look.
Tiffany slid behind her, giving her a hug as she put one of the two cocktails she was carrying down on the table in front of Vera, giving her an air-kiss on the cheek. “That’s why I love you. You’re always so positive about these things.”
Vera gave Tiffany a vicious, toothy grin, which was soon returned in kind. Tiffany slid into her own seat, crossing her legs so that her Zac Posen floral skirt rode up high on her thigh, distracting several of the men working and lounging near the pool.
“We’ve taken chances before,” Cassandra said, smiling wryly at Tiffany and toasting her with her drink. “What do you think, darling?”
Tapping her cheek with one French-manicured fingernail, Tiffany made a big production of thinking about it, taking her time while the other women rolled their eyes and sipped at their drinks. Lips curved into a Cheshire grin, she curled her fingers around her glass, hairline cracks appearing in her polish as her nails began forming into talons.
“I say it doesn’t hurt to give her a chance. After all, she looks like she’d fit right in.”
The woman, thanks to the Bulgari sunglasses shading her from the sun’s glare, failed to notice five pairs of glowing, golden eyes simultaneously focused upon her with predatory intent.