Authors: Kate Perry
But they both shared drive and ambition, and Titania never treated her with kid gloves. Her sister always spoke her mind and gave an honest opinion. Since Gigi had gone to Hollywood, she’d come to understand the value of an honest opinion.
Most of all, Titania would stand up for her if she ever needed. Like through this mess with Dirk. She was Gigi’s best friend—her only friend, really, until she came home and got to know her other sisters better.
Titania stopped abruptly in the doorway, blinking at her. “What are you doing in my flat?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
The space between her brows furrowed. “So?”
“So we all get together on Tuesdays at the pub down the street from the South Street house. Come with me, Tawny.”
Titania cringed. “I’d rather be eaten alive by piranhas.”
“It’s just our sisters.” At the long pause, Gigi rolled her eyes. “They aren’t that bad. In fact, they’re quite lovely. You just need to get to know them.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She set her camera bags carefully on the floor and then waved her hand at the couch. “What’s going on here?”
“I was relaxing.”
“I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary.” Titania picked up the book on top of the pile and frowned at it. “What language is this?”
“Swahili. I picked it up on location last year.”
“Of course you did. How many languages does that make now?”
Nine. “What does it matter?”
“I just want to know how much of an underachiever I am.”
Gigi tossed the book in her bag. “Are you coming with me tonight or not?”
Titania made a face as she plopped on the couch next to her. “Not.”
All her sisters were headstrong, but Titania was the most stubborn. Hand on her hip, she stared at her younger sister. “Can nothing I say convince you?”
“No.”
“You’re missing out. All our sisters are lovely, and they miss you.”
“They don’t know me,” Titania mumbled.
“Whose fault it that?” Gigi put her purse on the floor. “And you haven’t met Summer yet. Don’t you feel strange not knowing one of your sisters?”
Titania crossed her arms as she slouched deeper in the couch. “She’s Father’s bastard. I have no connection to her, and you know how I felt about Father.”
“It’s not her fault Father was a wanker.” Gigi bit her lip, wanting to ask Titania if she ever thought about him, or how she felt about missing his funeral, but she knew she’d just clam up.
Sighing, Gigi decided to change the subject. “My career is over.”
“Your career isn’t over,” Titania said, sounding long-suffering.
“It is.” She flopped back against the armrest, her arm over her eyes. “I’ve been cast as a floozy by the media and now no one wants to see me as anything but. Worse, they want to pay me gobs of money to play a loose French actress.”
“And that’s bad?”
“I’m a serious actor.”
“Make them see you as something serious, then.”
She peeked out from her arm. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Titania exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Do serious things. Act well behaved. Show them you’re a good girl.”
“A good girl.” Gigi sat up. “That may be brilliant.”
“And a stretch but, like you said, you’re an actress.”
Gigi threw a pillow at her sister’s head.
Titania flashed a rare grin. “Now that I’ve solved your problems, will you leave me alone?”
“Yes.” She kissed her sister’s cheek. “I’m headed to meet the others for drinks. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
“Yes,” Titania said emphatically.
“Lunch later this week?”
“If I’m not busy with a shoot.”
Titania was an up-and-coming photographer. Her photos had been featured in
Vogue
,
Time
, and
National Geographic
, to name a few publications. But as busy as she was, she was never too busy to meet Gigi for lunch, even if she acted it. Gigi tugged on her sister’s ponytail. “I’ll see you Friday, then.”
***
“Titania thinks I need to show the world I’m a good girl,” Gigi said as she joined Beatrice, Rosalind, and Portia at their usual table at the Red Witch. She set her purse on the floor and looked around. “Where are Summer and Viola?”
“Summer had to work late, and where do you think Vi is?” Bea said with a flat look.
Viola was going through an unpleasant divorce and had been dealing with her not-quite-ex’s endless games. Gigi unwrapped her scarf. “Have we started taking a collection to hire a hitman to take him out?”
Bea bared her teeth in a sharky grin. “I’m willing to front the operation on my own.”
Rosalind moved over so Gigi could squeeze next to her and Bea. “You saw Titania?”
“Yes. She says hello,” she improvised as she settled on the seat. She left her sunglasses on. She hadn’t taken them off in public, day or night, in months. “She couldn’t make it tonight because she had work.”
“Why does she think you need to show the world you’re a good girl?” Rosalind asked, sipping her drink.
“Because I don’t want to be cast in roles where I prance around the screen half naked. May I?” She borrowed her sister’s drink and took a hefty gulp, to wash down the bitterness. Damn Dirk.
Though, truthfully, she understood Dirk’s position: he had scandalous pictures of her, topped by a video where she was obviously doing naughty things. Of course he was going to use them. He was a middling star, and hers had risen. It was a sure way of becoming a name. Betty had told her that he’d taken a lead role in a Ron Howard movie and had been offered another, even larger role.
More than anything, she was angry with herself because she’d trusted him. She fancied herself a better judge of character than that. She’d loved him, but he’d loved the fame she brought him.
Fortunately, her body was mostly shadowed in the video, so it was just an innuendo of what was happening and not full frontal. Still. It was like someone walking in when you were using the bathroom, only instead of being embarrassed in front of one person it was the entire world. The video had gotten over a million views on YouTube the first day it’d been up.
She shook her head and looked toward the bar. Niamh, excellent bartender that she was, looked over right then. Gigi lifted one finger up, and Niamh nodded.
Happy in the knowledge that her martini would arrive quickly, she faced her sisters. “I may go mad if I don’t start working soon.”
Bea eyed her over the rim of her drink. “I’m surprised you stayed in hiding this long.”
“I’m surprised Mother hasn’t forced her out of the house to auditions,” Portia said.
Gigi smiled, knowing their mother had prodded Portia into finally realizing her dreams. Consequently, Portia had found her dream job at a prestigious auction house as well as the man she was going to marry. “Actually, Mum suggested I needed a vacation. I’m not sure what she thinks I’ve been doing the past few months. I’ve done nothing but lie around.”
Rosalind took her cocktail back. “You mean in between yoga, jogging, dance classes, reading in Latin, and whatever else you fill your days with?”
She shrugged. She had to keep ready for work. She smiled in thanks at Niamh, who set her drink down and hurried back to the bar.
“I have a solution for you,” Bea said. “Russell Sherman is looking to cast his next movie. He’s doing some sort of avant-garde take on Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
, something stylized and modern.”
“What?” Gigi sat up. Russell Sherman was like a less angsty Woody Allen. His movies drew acclaim, especially for the actors he cast. His last film won the lead actress an Oscar. “You know Sherman?”
“I know everyone.” Beatrice pulled out her mobile and began tapping at it. “My partners and I invested in one of his films a few years ago. I’ll send you his contact info.”
Portia leaned forward. “Do you know Russell Crowe?”
Bea glanced up from her mobile. “Yes. Why?”
“And you never introduced him to me?” Portia frowned at their oldest sister. “That wasn’t very charitable of you.”
“You’re too young for him, you wouldn’t like him, and I already went out with him.” Bea shook her head. “Shouldn’t you be happy with your cowboy? You found a great love.”
“I did.” Portia beamed. “But that doesn’t mean yesterday’s Portia couldn’t have gone on a date with Russell Crowe.”
Bea shook her head. Then she faced Gigi. “Sherman is going to be at a charity event I’m attending Thursday night.”
“Did you date him, too?” Portia asked.
Rosalind elbowed her.
Portia rubbed her ribs. “I was just asking.”
“Go to the charity ball in my stead,” Bea said, putting her phone away. “First off, being seen at the charity will help support your good girl image. Second, you can talk to him there in person. Charm him and have him think it’s his idea to offer you the lead. He’ll be happy.”
“Maybe you can recite a monologue in Hindi to show him how serious you are,” Portia suggested. When she saw everyone staring at her, she lifted her hands. “What? I’m just trying to help.”
Bea turned to Gigi. “I’ll even lend you my escort for the evening so you’ll have a prop.”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“He wasn’t a date,” Bea said, too casually. “It’s just as well.”
“Who is it?”
“Luca.”
Gigi, Portia, and Rosalind exchanged a look.
“Stop it,” Bea commanded, taking a sip of her drink. “I was throwing him a bone, and I wanted him to see that he doesn’t fit in my life so he’d stop mooning after me.”
“You sure
he
wasn’t throwing
you
a bone?” Gigi asked.
Bea arched her brow.
“Maybe we should strategize what Gigi should wear to the event,” Rosalind said. The new Vera Wang, Rosalind, knew dresses. “A dress of course. Do we want color? White says demure, if you’re trying to combat your recent image.”
Portia nodded. “But it shouldn’t be too demure because no one will believe it.”
Gigi stared at her sister.
Portia shrugged. “You can’t argue that.”
“Actually, you can’t,” Rosalind said.
Bea rolled her eyes. Then she faced Gigi. “Wear white, something that has an edge and is still sexy. You don’t want to lie to people and say you’re virginal, but you also want to minimize your sexpot image.”
“I’m not a sexpot.” Her sisters just stared at her so she sighed. “Much. But you can’t tell me you don’t like sex.”
“I do,” Portia said brightly.
Bea shook her head at Portia but her lips curved with amusement. “We all like sex, but our passions aren’t plastered all over the Internet. We aren’t trying to prove we’re good girls.”
“Excellent point.”
“Just remember that no one will believe you of all women are sexless. You have to show that you’re passionate, but in an intriguing way and not crass like that wanker you dated made you seem,” Bea said.
Gigi winced. “Let’s not discuss that wanker.”
Bea took her hand. “You let me know and I’ll make sure he never wanks again.”
“Thank you.” Gigi smiled, feeling better than she had in months. “I think I know what to wear Thursday night.”
“I have glasses with clear lenses you can borrow,” Portia offered.
“Why would I need glasses?” Gigi asked.
“To look studious.”
“Of course.” She sipped her martini. “Any other words of wisdom for me?”
Portia took a moment to think about it. Then she said, “Don’t insult his manhood, because if you tell him his penis is small, it’ll make him sad and less likely to hire you.”
They all stared at Portia.
Then Rosalind shrugged. “She’s actually right about that. He would be sad.”
Chapter Two
Merrick heard his front door slam and then Valerie’s footsteps clacking with determination down the hall.
His best friend was the laziest person he knew. She sauntered, never strode. The fact that she was headed toward him at such rapid speed was alarming enough, more so given what day it was. But he’d braced himself by the time she stormed into his home office.
Valerie stood framed in the doorway, frowning at him. Then she said, “Is this really how you’re going to live the rest of your life?”
He sat back in the leather chair, making a point of looking around the room. He’d had it professionally designed, so it looked powerful and posh—exactly how one would expect a politician’s office to look. “My life looks pretty good from this vantage point.”
“Your life is dull.” She marched into his office and plopped a garden gnome on the center of his desk. “This bloke is more fun than you are.”
He stared at the gnome, who seemed to mock him with an insane smile. “Yes, but I’m taller. That has to count for something.”
“Look at this space,” she said, ignoring him. She waved a hand in his general direction. “Look at your tie. You’re wearing a blue tie with little yellow dots on it. At home.
Boring
.”
“I had a meeting earlier at Portcullis Office.” He and his staff had offices there, like all the other Members of Parliament, but he preferred to work from his home office most of the time.
But today he’d had good news: his safety act had finally gotten past the second reading in the House of Lords. After all these years, all the lobbying, he finally had a chance at getting it passed.
Fitting that it’d happened on this date.
Of course, it was contingent on getting the conservative vote. But he had a plan for that. His act would be passed.
“What happened to Ricky Hazard? What happened to the red leather pants and psychedelic shirts?” Valerie demanded, arms crossed and glaring at him.
Ricky Hazard had died the same day Michaela had. Merrick Graham had risen from those bitter ashes.
And Merrick had enough trouble being taken seriously as a politician without being reminded of his Ricky Hazard persona. His opponents called him the “The Bad Boy of Politics” to discredit him. Yes, he had world-changing ideals, but the moniker was more in reference to his former rock star life.
No one took the partying lead singer of a boy band seriously. Merrick had taken great pains to clean up his image and be the personification of the Code of Conduct MPs were supposed to live by.