43. Dani
DANI
“This is so much better than Cabo.” Greta toasts us all with her champagne.
“Totally,” Maya adds. “I don’t know who thought Cabo would have been a good idea.”
“It’s so basic.”
“So basic.”
Colette looks more and more annoyed.
“Dani, you planned the best bachelorette party.” Maya nudges me.
“I need you to be my maid of honor.” Greta dollops caviar on a cracker.
“Yeah, Colette really should have made you her maid of honor.”
“I won’t make that mistake,” Maya adds and hugs me. “Maid of honor bestie! I want a surprise destination bachelorette too!”
“Isn’t this an amazing bachelorette?” Colette’s cousin smirks at her. “You didn’t plan one this nice for me, and we’re actually family.”
“Oh, Dani!” Nora turns to me. “Can you and Graham come to the party David and I are throwing next weekend? We’d love to have you.”
“I’ll ask—he’s pretty busy,” I say weakly. “I know you don’t want just me there alone.” I laugh awkwardly.
“Nonsense. Of course, even if you come alone that’s fine. Colette,” she adds, “I know I said you could bring your friend from the FinanceLite board, but we really have to have an even number of people.”
Colette looks furious.
“Let me go see if the train butler can get us some more champagne.” I stand up under the furious glare of Colette.
“She’s plotting your downfall,” Piper tells me after I talk to the train conductor in my terrible high-school French.
“The only reason they’re being nice to me is because of Graham.” I sit down next to Piper.
Even though we took Graham’s huge private plane here, I’m exhausted from the flight—from being “on” and trying to make sure everything goes perfectly so the cool girls don’t hate me and talk shit about me to everyone back home in New York.
We’re in a window-lined train, the Glacier Express, slowly chugging through the snowy Swiss mountain ranges to the next stop on our high-end, superluxe bachelorette weekend.
“They’re acting like I’m their best friend,” I whisper.
“It’s what I’ve always wanted since I was twelve years old.
To be one of the cool, popular girl-squad girls.
Except now I don’t even care—it feels fake and performative, and honestly?
I have bigger problems.” I stare out into the icy landscape.
“Graham is like… I don’t know. He’s being weird. ”
“He’s rich. Billionaires are weird. Also, relationships are hard… So I’ve heard.” Piper digs her spoon into the caviar. “It’s not like I’ve actually been in one.”
“I mean, me neither. Though my brother doesn’t seem to be working all that hard on his. I had to go buy the engagement ring, for goodness’ sake.”
“Once people lose interest in the you-know-what”—we glance at the Girl Squad—“he’ll be back to his normal sexy self.”
“Yeah, I think he just needs to sleep.”
“Sleep!” Gran yells. “Who said anything about sleep? We’re here to partay!”
Yes, friends—my grandmother is indeed on this bachelorette trip to luxury hell, where you get a fancy chocolate with your eternal torture.
Because apparently money can’t buy you everything.
And Gran’s ex-boy toy works as a concierge at the Palace Hotel and is getting us the hookup for all the fancy events.
Don’t know why people bring family members on trips they weren’t invited to.
Nora rolls her eyes. “If you want to sit in the room and drink hot chocolate with Dani, fine—but the rest of us want Granny to bring hot guys.”
“Totally,” Colette’s cousin agrees. “David’s starting to lose his hair, and I like the perks with his job, but I need some eye candy on this bachelorette. We all know Dani’s too uptight to actually hire a stripper.”
“This is St. Moritz, not Vegas. You can’t just hire a stripper here,” Gran tells the private train car. “You gotta be in the know.”
“This is a wholesome luxury bachelorette—that’s why we’re not going to Cabo, right?” I start freaking out. “Strippers are not in the budget or itinerary. I promised Graham that we’d be doing spa days and eating fondue, that this wasn’t a typical bachelorette.”
“Boo, boring!” Gran shouts to drunken cheers from the Girl Squad.
“Graham’s already on edge. I can’t have him get wind of me being around strippers.”
Greta rolls her eyes. “You’re so weird. Men aren’t going to care that you see a stripper.”
“It’s because she’s so sheltered,” Colette says snidely.
“Don’t you worry.” Gran tops up everyone’s glasses. “We’re going to have all the hot men with French accents you girls can handle. Leave it to me.”
The Palace Hotel has an entire line of Rolls-Royces waiting at the train station. We’re whisked up the winding road toward the hotel, backdropped by the snowy Alps, the turrets and towers lit from below, glowing gold against the blue-white Alps.
The hotel lobby—well, “opulent” doesn’t even describe it. Soaring ceilings. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. Everywhere you look there’s velvet, gilt, carved wood, fresh flowers even though it’s winter. The air smells faintly of pine, expensive perfume, and money.
We don’t even touch our bags. Uniformed butlers glide in, tag everything, and disappear toward the elevators.
Gran’s ex-boy toy—Francois, one of the concierges—takes over, sweeping an arm grandly.
“The Palace was originally built in the nineteenth century,” he says. “Now it is a high-end, exclusive boutique hotel. There are tunnels,” he adds conspiratorially, “connecting the restaurants, the spa, and our other properties. Including the hot springs.”
“Spa day tomorrow,” I announce immediately.
“Yes,” Francois says, nodding. “I made sure you have exclusive use of the spa in the morning.”
When we’re finally led upstairs, we find a series of interconnected suites—more like a private wing than hotel rooms. Champagne is chilling in silver buckets. There are trays of delicate snacks: cheese curls dusted with truffles, chocolates shaped like tiny works of art, bowls of candied nuts.
There’s even a small basket of dog treats and a sterling-silver dog bowl for Lulu.
“Do not get used to this,” I tell my dog sternly as she inhales a treat in one bite. “This is not our new normal.”
“It could be,” Colette says smoothly as she and the Girl Squad drift into the suite. “You’re marrying a billionaire,” she adds. “You could live like this every day if you wanted to.”
“You better send that man a titty pic.” Maya sprawls across the couch.
“After all he’s done for you, she better send him a whole-ass porn video,” Greta adds.
“I hope you shaved before we got here.”
“I did!” Colette’s cousin giggles. “I’m getting the full billionaire treatment out of this bachelorette.”
“Girls!” Gran barks, bustling in. “Get dressed. Skimpy outfits. We need at least a few nip slips.” She claps her hands.
“Francois got us dinner reservations for late tonight. Had to let him empty his balls first,” she adds cheerfully.
“They’re giving us a private room, but to get the chef to stay late, he’ll need some extra motivation. ”
“Sounds like we’re going shopping.” Greta and Nora whoop.
“Did your almost-husband give us enough budget to hit up Chanel?” someone asks.
“We’re not married,” I say weakly. “And I’m not sure he meant for us to shop on his card.”
“But you will be married,” Maya says. “So what’s his is yours.”
“And ours!” Greta cheers.
“Will you, though?” Colette says lightly, her eyes never leaving her phone.
“I mean… let’s be honest. I don’t think anyone here believes this is really going to last. I’m sure Graham’s already giving you signals—like this trip.
No man loves his girlfriend enough to fund her friend’s bachelorette party.
This is the last dying gasp of guilt.” She smiles, syrupy.
“So why not blow out his credit card? If he dumps you over that, he was planning to dump you anyway. Girl power,” she adds.
Gran is already rummaging through my closet.
“We have to go shopping,” she declares. “Piper, why did you let her pack this nonsense? You pack like my grandmother. What is this, overalls?”
“We’re not clubbing,” I protest. “This is a wholesome weekend. I have fondue planned for lunch today and some fun evening entertainment, not strippers,” I beg as Gran waggles her eyebrows.
Piper and I pull on our sensible boots, not the stilettos the Girl Squad is strapping on.
“Thanks for coming to help corral Gran,” I say to Piper.
“You owe me,” she replies.
“Put it on my tab.” I sigh.
“But not too much. This place is swanky. Though I do appreciate a real bed.”
“Room service is on Graham’s tab,” I promise.
I double-check that Graham’s credit card is in my purse. I absolutely cannot afford any of this on my own.
“How much did this even cost?” Piper asks as we take the private elevator down.
“Like… a lot,” I say. “Like a lot a lot.” I chew on my lip. “You think that’s why Graham’s so…”
“Angry? Crazy?”
“He’s afraid he’s going to jail.”
“Billionaires don’t go to jail,” Piper argues.
I fidget with Lulu’s leash. “I know. That’s what I said. I mean… what if it’s me? What if he secretly wants to get rid of me?”
“I thought you said he wanted to be your real boyfriend.”
“What if he was caught up in the moment? Now he regrets it. I mean, you saw the photos of his mom at the party. Guys don’t want a girl who’s less attractive than their own mom.” I fret.
“You guys had kinky kitchen sex. He’s clearly attracted to you.”
“Yeah, for sex, but not a relationship.” I check my phone. “Graham hasn’t responded to any of my text messages. See?”
“He’s probably at work, or maybe he’s in the throes of a sex-starved mental breakdown. You guys were at it about as bad as Gran is.”
“I told him maybe one of his brothers should stay with him while I’m gone. Make sure he eats the food I left. I don’t think his private chef uses enough cheese.”
Piper looks at me. “You like him. You’re going full wifey mode.”
“I feel like I owe him,” I say. “He’s paying for this bachelorette. It’s not even the money—it’s that he even offered, that he was even paying attention enough to offer. He’s like… the perfect boyfriend.”
She raises an eyebrow.