The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,124

and I’m sharin’ a room with you. Ain’t the world a crazy place!’

‘It sure is,’ I agreed as I reached for the grits, which I hated, but I didn’t want to upset Vanessa.

‘How’d you get to be a model?’

‘An agent spotted me in Paris when I was sixteen,’ I shrugged. ‘It was just luck.’

‘It’s ’cos you’re as tall as a giraffe,’ she giggled, and even though the joke was on me, it made me happy to see her smile. ‘You make the clothes look good. An’ you’re pretty too. Where are your folks from?’

‘I don’t know. I was adopted. You?’

‘Mom was Puerto Rican an’ Dad, hey, he was just a sperm, y’know?’ Vanessa studied me. ‘Your hair real?’

‘No. Not most of it anyway. I wish I had hair like yours, Vanessa. It’s so long and beautiful.’

‘You don’t want nothin’ that I got,’ she said, but her expression told me she was pleased. ‘You like bein’ a model?’

‘It’s okay. I mean, I get paid well, but it can get boring being dressed up like a living doll every day, and all the hair and make-up stuff.’

‘Like your body ain’t your own?’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

‘Hey, I sell mine every day to anyone who wants it. So I guess we’re just the same, ain’t we?’

With that, Vanessa got up and walked out of the dorm.

‘Wow. Wow . . .’ I breathed, feeling my heart banging against my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes because somehow, a young junkie plucked from the streets of New York had made me feel about two inches high.

In a panic, because those feelings of anger were the ones that had sent me down Vodka Alley and inevitably steered me along Cocaine Walk, I put on my running gear and headed for the door. Outside on the trail, it was far busier than it ever was at sunrise, and I ran past the other joggers, trying to pound the outrage I felt out through my feet.

‘How frigging dare she! Comparing me to her . . . Jesus Christ!’

By the time I came off the track and was at the water cooler, I was dripping wet, partly due to the sun that was frying everything beneath it and also because I had just completed five circuits. I gulped back the water, feeling dizzy and disoriented and wishing that Fi was around to talk to about how I was feeling.

‘Hi there,’ said Miles, walking towards me from the car park as I dragged myself towards the entrance of The Ranch. He was looking even smarter than usual, in a jacket, button-down shirt and tie.

‘You’re late for your run today,’ he said as we hovered in front of the door.

‘Yeah, I am. Listen, could we go talk for a moment?’

‘Sure. How about the canteen? It has air con and the sun’s boiling hot today.’

We went inside, me grabbing myself a bottle of water and Miles fixing himself a coffee.

‘What’s up?’ he asked as we sat down and he loosened his tie.

‘Vanessa. She told me I was no different to her; that I sold my body too.’

‘I guess that struck a nerve with you.’ Miles sipped his coffee, then regarded me steadily. ‘So?’

‘What do you mean “so”? Jesus, Miles, can you just quit sounding like a therapist?’

‘I’m honestly not trying to do that, but when you get uptight about stuff, it’s normally because part of you thinks it’s true.’

‘Gee, thanks! So you think modelling equates to prostitution?’

‘I’m not saying that, Electra. I’m asking you what you think.’

‘I think that I get paid a shit-load of money for being in promotion,’ I said, quoting a line from another famous model who had been quizzed on the subject. ‘And you know what? I’m sick of people thinking that just because I do this job, it’s, like, easy.’ I stood up suddenly. ‘It’s damned hard work, the hours are crazy, I rarely sleep in the same bed for more than a few days and before coming here, I hadn’t had more than a couple of days off for maybe two years. And . . . there’s something else I’ll tell you.’

‘You go for it!’

‘Being famous isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Like, everyone in the world is chasing fame, but they take for granted having the freedom to just walk out of their apartment on a Sunday morning and go for a run without someone recognising them, or a newspaper getting a tip-off and then getting a shot of them sweating like a pig. Every