Page 121 of Deeper

“Oh, no, Willie D only likes the best. This is one of their summer spots I read somewhere inForbes,” Paul explained. “Hedoesn’t even use this place. He lets his kids stay here.”

Lifestyles of the filthy rich. I couldn’t imagine having the type of wealth where I could just easily lend multimillion-dollar homes to members of my family.

It was our turn to exit our car. Being that Zander was the star, he got out first and insisted on me coming next. He held his hand out for me and helped me out of the car and never let me go. Paul was nice enough to help Nazanin out next.

The four of us stood and faced the steps leading up to the front entrance.

Show time.

“Be on your best behavior,” Paul whispered to the three of us.

“Noted. You ready, Bi?” Zander asked me.

I could only manage a nod of my head. Anxiety was back in full force and I suddenly doubted I could even eat with the heaviness in my belly. Still, I played it off as I walked hand in hand with Zander up the steps on inside.

Bright lights shined in the entryway composed completely of white marble and black lacquer railings for the dual staircase. A gorgeous crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, shimmery as could be. Straight across from the front door was the far back exit to the party. Music could be heard despite the distance, and I wasn’t even fazed by the sounds of Galen Dymond.

This was a Dymond event, so I would’ve been shocked if they didn’t play their own hits. Owen was a producer, and sometimes rapper, Remy was an aspiring rapper, and Galen was the R&B heartthrob. They were a dynamic trio.

We cut across the glossy flooring to the back door and were all immersed in the extravagance of the Dymond Dinner.

We’d walked out onto a balcony that oversaw the never-ending expansive backyard. There was a tennis court with lights, a beautiful swimming pool with a waterfall, and here and there I could make out statues of armless and topless men and women. Talk about extra.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Shangri-La,” Paul mumbled as we all froze, taking it in.

Beyond the pool, pool house patio, and tennis court, was the main yard where a series of tents were set up as well as tables and chairs. The smell of the catering grilling billowed through the air, causing my nerves to ease away as hunger took over.

All at once famous faces started to jump out at me—there was Jay-Z, Usher, Ciara and Russell, Ari Lennox, and not even just famed Black faces; I spotted Ariana Grande mingling about as well as a few Jonas brothers, and Justin Bieber and his wife.

Whoa.

“Network, network,” Paul advised as we began our descent into the madness.

People were everywhere—the workers and staff sticking out with their uniforms, and the celebrities because of who they were. Everywhere I turned I could see a group of people hanging out and talking. Laughter and chatter filled the air and I held on to Zander’s hand as he ushered us to one of the tents to find us a seat. The trick was, at least in my opinion, to sit near the back or least crowded place. Everyone would want to be near the Dymonds, and with all the attention going in one direction, it was easy to blend in towards the back.

A woman with an earpiece and clipboard greeted us as we made our way up to the nearest tent. “Zander Khalil, right?”

“Right,” Zander responded.

The woman turned to her clipboard which was nothing more than a well-designed seating chart and skimmed with her finger for Zander’s name. “Ah, you’re in tent A, right this way.”

There were three long and wide tents with a large collection of tables and chairs spread out. To know that Zander was high-profile enough to be assigned to the first tent said something. As the woman led us to Zander’s table, I noticed right away at the largest table was the man himself, Willie D, sitting next to his longtime partner and wife, Tyra. There were three empty seats on either side of them, making me assume their sons and Pen would be joining them. At one of the tables nearest theirs I could see Jace Hearst sitting next to Patsy, whispering in her ear. Another glimpse around and I spotted Piper and Peyton standing and talking to some people they knew, meaning the rest of the Patels weren’t too far away.

The tables were fairly big, sitting eight chairs each at them. As we were shown to Zander’s table, I suddenly wondered if we’d have it to ourselves, or if we’d have to share.

“They’re just about to open up the lines for the food as soon as everyone finds their seats,” the woman said to us. “My name’s Gretchen. I’m in charge of this station, and I’ll be getting you a hostess shortly to take care of drinks.”

Paul peered down at Zander, a proud smile on his face. “Your first Dymond Dinner and they got you seated four tables down from the man himself. Look at us. Who would’ve thought?”

Zander was bashful as he snuck a peek towards Willie D and co. Tent A was clearly full of legends—and the Patels, so it was quite an honor to have Zander be able to make it to be amongst them.

Deep down, exciting or not, I knew none of this was getting to him. I took his hand and squeezed. “This is big for you. Take it all in.”

“What’s the game plan?” Paul asked, looking at Zander. “We’re not trying to get drunk, are we? I wanna smoke out with Remy, but I don’t want to get too fucked up.”

Zander pulled a face. “You can drop the big brother routine. I’m going to be okay, Paul.”

Nazanin heaved a sigh. “He’s just looking out for you.”

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