“Very true, Lindsay. Did you know that Alessandro claims to this day you seduced him? He said he didn’t want you, but he felt sorry for you because you were so awkward and so embarrassing and so, well, damned pathetic, and that’s why he had asked you to Paris, because nobody wanted you and you were so lonely. He had no idea that you were serious about him. He claims you seduced him, that you insisted.”
Lindsay looked at her bandaged finger. She felt stripped, naked and cold, to her soul. It would never end, she knew it now. It would always be there, dark and ugly, lurking, just waiting for her to remember, waiting for Sydney to make her remember. Her part in it, what her father and Sydney believed to be true. Even after five years. She couldn’t let Sydney reduce her to nothing, not now, not like she used to. She was twenty-three years old, an adult.
She looked up at her half-sister. She said very calmly, “What you say certainly makes sense to me. Now that I think about it, poor Alessandro didn’t have a chance against all my teenage charms. Why, I remember threatening to break his arm if he refused to slap me up; I told him I’d scream for all the hotel staff if he didn’t slam a fist in my jaw, not once but at least three times. Yes, it was wonderful. It was a thrill to be ripped up inside. Nothing like it. Something every teenage girl should experience to teach her how much power she has. Well, it’s long over now and if it’s okay with you, I’d just as soon talk about blood sports or something equally tantalizing.”
“You’ve grown some armor, haven’t you?”
“You’re growing tedious, Sydney. Why are you really here? What do you really want? To torment me because you’re out of practice?”
“Oh, no, you were never much of a challenge. You were always vulnerable and you knew it. You never knew what to say even at the slightest jab. You knew you were ugly.”
“Old refrain. Why are you here? What have I ever done to you?”
Lindsay looked at her half-sister, wishing she could understand, wishing she could see into her mind to know what Sydney wanted. God, but she was beautiful. Lindsay felt like a scrub next to her. Beautiful, perfect Sydney with a perfect child and a husband who liked teenage girls.
“Actually, little sister, I brought up my husband just to see your reaction. You say you’re grown up now. I just wanted to test the waters, to see if it was true. Alessandro, believe it or not, is rather a good father, perhaps even a decent husband, as men go. He’s sorry he got rough with you. He wanted me to tell you that. Should I believe him, I wonder?”
“Then why did you say all those things to me in Paris? Why did you follow him? Why did you bring a gun? By God, Sydney, you shot him!”
Sydney just shrugged, a supremely European gesture. “I don’t recall what I said to you. I was upset seeing my little sister fucking my husband. If you’d been on top, why then I’d probably have shot you instead.” Another shrug. “Alessandro is like most men, my father included—forgive me, our father. He occasionally roves. He lost it with you. He got rough. As I said, he very much regrets it now. He would like to see you, to mend fences, so to speak.”
“No, I will never see that bastard again willingly in my life. And you’re lying, Sydney. Why?”
“Lindsay, I can see nothing’s changed. Five years is a very long time. You were young and infatuated and silly. He shouldn’t have allowed you to stay at the suite, but he did. It’s over. Just forget it.”
It wouldn’t ever be over, not as long as Sydney waltzed into her life every five years or so and peeled the scab off the wound and poked around. She’d be dead before the memories and pain were finally gone; she knew it, accepted it, and dealt with it.
“I came not only to see you but someone else as well. I didn’t tell you, and I haven’t told Father yet. He’ll scream, I’m sure, but I don’t really care. I spoke to Vincent Demos several weeks ago after I’d sent him some quite lovely photos of myself. In short, dear sister, he wants us to do this layout together. He thinks I’m beautiful and stylish and very patrician-looking, the opposite of you, who appear so wholesome and outdoorsy with the proper makeup and clothes. He thinks two sisters, one of them an Italian princess, the other a model who’s already somewhat established, is very salable. There’s a new Arden perfume that will be coming out, and they’re very interested in the sister approach. You know, a perfume that appeals to two very different types of women.”
Lindsay couldn’t believe this. “He didn’t say anything to me.”
“I told him not to or the deal was off. I wanted the pleasure of telling you myself. Can’t you just see it now? La Principessa and Eden. Both of us kissing a bottle of perfume or spraying each other.”
“But why would you want to be a model? It’s not all that much fun, Sydney. It’s hard and sweaty and a grind. You’re always on a diet and always in bed by nine o’clock because the shoots are usually scheduled early in the morning and you have to be there early for makeup and clothes and hair. It’s grueling. Lots of times the director is a jerk, the photographer an ass, and they make your life miserable. For God’s sake, you’re a lawyer, a princess, you run a business!”
Sydney laughed and sipped at her wine. “Did I tell you I like your modeling name? Eden. It has panache, class, mystery. Did Demos select it for you?”
“Both of us did, together.”
“I see. How interesting. I suppose, like you, I’ll have to cut out the alcohol. It’s all sugar, you know. Of course, I’ve never had a problem with my weight.”
Lindsay looked at her half-sister and thought: Why is she really doing this? Not to spite me, no, I’m hardly worth her time or her trouble, not on this scale. Lindsay felt mired in confusion. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
“Why not tell you the truth? It doesn’t matter. The money, dear, the money. After I shot Alessandro, he was slow to recover. He’s never gotten back his full scope of killer instincts. He’s changed—all because of you, naturally—and now he’s no longer ruthless and callous. He nearly bankrupted us until I pushed him out. So this modeling will add money to the coffers and give me some fame that I will enjoy. No other reason, Lindsay. Oh, yes, the thrill of seeing you again, the thrill of posing beside you. Just think—the two of us actually working together. I wonder who people will think is the elder?”
“I won’t do it.”
“Of course you will. Or are you still so jealous of me that you couldn’t manage to hide it from a camera?”
“I’m not jealous of you.”
“As you say. As you say.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Sydney.”
“Fine. We meet together with Demos at two o’clock this afternoon. Now, about Father’s wife, Holly. She’s a bitch, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t want to talk about her either.”
“Did you know that she and Father have moved back into the mansion with Grandmother? Holly’s got her eyes on all of Granny’s bucks. Grandmother is eighty-three this year. She still gives Father hell. But then again, she shouldn’t be hanging around all that much longer. He spoke of putting her in a nursing home.”
“No, he wouldn’t! She’s sharp as a tack and has too many connections for him to pull something like that. As for Holly, whatever she does to him, he probably deserves it.”
“I think that’s why Daddy isn’t too fond of you, Lindsay. You’ve always criticized him, made him feel less than a man, made your dislike of him very clear. You always sided with your mother, who is now, incidentally, an alcoholic and sleeping with men your age.”
Lindsay could only stare at her sister. She sliced and cut like a surgeon. Such a fine touch she had. But still, for the first time since Paris, Lindsay didn’t think she’d done too badly. She really needed only the one Band-Aid on her finger.