The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,27

winding up at Madison Square Garden in just two nights from now. I stood up, went to the long windows and slid one open so I could walk onto the terrace. Somewhere close by, Mitch was in town. Tonight, wherever he was, we breathed the same air.

I looked down at my cell again and tried to decipher whether he was offering me an olive branch and what that meant if he was. But olive branches could have twigs sprouting from them, like, one that said, ‘Hey, I miss you and love you and I’ve realised my mistake,’ and another that said, ‘Now we’ve had some time, it would be good to move on as friends . . .’

And I had no idea which it was.

Just say no, Electra . . . It’s too dangerous to go back there.

‘Shit! Goddamn it!’ I punched the glass barrier that stopped me from plunging however many hundreds of yards to my death. At this moment, I wondered if that was the easier option; I was literally in agony because I really didn’t know what to do. I wished I had a close friend who I could call on to ask advice. How sad was it that I had five sisters, yet there wasn’t a single one of them I could say was a friend or someone I completely trusted.

‘Ignore the text,’ I said out loud as I paced the terrace, deadheading a flower from a bush and throwing the petals over the glass wall as I went.

Back inside, I dumped my cell facing downwards on my bed. Maybe I should leave it. After all, if I didn’t reply, and he didn’t bother to re-text me, then that would tell me a lot.

Yes, that was what I would do. I fixed myself another vodka, then wandered to my walk-in closet, thinking about what I would wear if I saw him. The one thing I had in my armoury was clothes. A call to any designer in town and the look I wanted would be biked round within a few hours. Of course, it depended where we were meeting. If it was at my place, I had to look casual but sexy. He’d always loved my legs, so maybe the answer was simple . . .

I walked into the bathroom and stripped off before taking a white fluffy towel off the heated rail. I draped it around me, then turned on the faucet, put my hand beneath it and trickled some drops of water onto my skin. I took hold of my hair and twirled it up into a topknot, then studied myself in the full-length mirror.

I giggled, because this was what I would definitely wear if Mitch was coming to visit me here. However, if I was going to see him . . . I dropped the towel on the floor and went back to my closet. I was just pulling an emerald-green Versace mini-dress from the rack when a text made itself known with a ping and I ran to grab my cell.

It was from Mitch and I held my breath as I opened it.

Electra. Did you get my text? Really like to hook up and talk tomorrow.

‘Yesss!’ I screeched. ‘He’s desperate!’

Jumping – literally – onto my bed, I drank some more vodka for courage, then tried to form a reply.

Hi, only just seen this.

My fingers hovered over the screen as I worked out the kind of schedule he’d have tomorrow. Media interviews would take up his morning, then after lunch, he and his band would go to the venue for rehearsals and sound checks. I reckoned he’d be free by eight.

Can’t do tomorrow day as have meeting for fragrance campaign but should be home around eight.

I read the whole thing back to myself and felt happy enough to send it off. It was only a few seconds before his reply bounced back.

Can make nine your place. Does that work?

At this point I decided to go have a bath. I turned up the volume on my sound system and lay in a deep pool of scented water, listening to Mitch’s latest CD. Climbing out and relishing that I currently (for a change) held all the power, I sauntered into the bedroom and picked up my cell.

Yup, that works. See you tomorrow.

I pressed send and allowed myself a smile. And the best thing about it, I thought as I looked at myself in the mirror, is that I can wear my new favourite outfit.

I hardly