Read an Excerpt
Sloane Sisters
Chapter One
There's No Place Like Home
Stella Childs watched, annoyed, as her twelve-year-old- sister Lola held her Burberry cat carrier steady on the black leather seat and peered inside. "Don't be scared, Heath Bar," Lola cooed. "We're here! New York Sit-aaaay!"
A few whiskers poked out the front of the mesh grate and the giant orange cat mewed. Stella rolled her eyes and turned back toward the window.
"Stella, darling, you all right?" Emma Childs glanced across the limo at her oldest daughter, who was sitting on the other side of the cat carrier, tracing a finger over a red line in the Burberry plaid.
"Fine." Just fine. Stella rolled down the tinted window and let the warm wind whip through her shoulder-length blond curls. Times Square flew past outside, with its towering walls of garish billboards. A six-story-high Rolex watch showed the time: 4:07. Which meant it was a little after nine o'clock in London. Robin Lawrence was having a party at his flat in South Kensington, just like he did every year the Friday before school started. He had huge dark brown eyes and wild black hair that looked like it was cut with a machete. He was adorable. Stella should have been there.
Emma kept her green eyes on Stella and unbuttoned the top of her beige cropped trench coat. "I'm looking forward to spending the weekend together, getting settled before you girls start school. I missed you both so much this summer."
Stella and Lola had spent the summer in Tuscany with their grandmother, who had moved there ten years ago to grow organic grapes and make her own vinegarlike wine. Butanything was better than being stuck in London, where the tabloids were cataloging every detail of their parents' recent divorce.
"Mum, are you going to be on the Ralph Lauren billboards?" Lola asked excitedly, staring up at an advertisement for Calvin Klein tighty-whiteys.
"I assume," Emma replied. "But we haven't started shooting yet, so not for a while."
Stella rolled her eyes. Emma, as British as cricket, tea, and crumpets, was now the face of the most American label on the planet. Soon she'd be eating corn dogs and throwing barbecues for the Fourth of July.
"Will you sit front row at their show at Fashion Week?" Lola continued excitedly.
"Probably." Emma just smiled.
"When you do, make sure you thank Ralph for ruining my life," Stella muttered, keeping her eyes on the mustard yellow cab speeding next to them. The little boy in the back seat had his thumb lodged up his nose.
"I know this is hard for you, Stella, but New York will be good for us. Winston is so excited to have you here, too," her mom said softly. "I'm glad you'll finally have a proper introduction."
Stella curled her toes in her Juicy espadrilles. There was that name again—Winston. The first time Stella heard about Winston was in the spring, after Emma got back from signing the Ralph Lauren contract in New York. Stella and Lola had been walking with their mom in Kensington Gardens, watching the mini-ature sailboats cut across Round Pond, when Emma dropped the news. Stella had only processed a few words—deep connection, New York, magical, banker, two daughters—but it had been enough to know her mum had a boyfriend. And she didn't want to think about Emma having a "deep connection" with anyone.
Five months later, it was clear that Winston wasn't going to disappear—but Stella intended to stay as far away from him as possible. After all, New York was a city of eight million people. How hard could it be?
Her mother kept her eyes on her older daughter as she finger-combed Lola's wind-knotted waves. "I know you're angry with me right now," she said as the limo wove through Central Park, where groups of teenage girls were sprawled on beach blankets, enjoying their lazy Friday afternoons. "But moving here is the right thing for all of us. I couldn't keep you in London a second longer. This job wasn't just a good opportunity for me—it's going to be good for all of us. It's just—" Her mom's voice cracked.
Stella waited for her to go on, to mention her dad and the affair that had brought them to New York, but she didn't.
Lola shot Stella a why-do-you-have-to-be-such-a-horrid-person look, but Stella just sneered back. She wasn't horrid, she was honest.
It was true that London had been awful this past year, but Stella was supposed to go to the Millshire Preparatory School this fall, the most elite school in London. She had already gone shopping with her best friends Pippa and Bridget for outfits for the entire first semester. But now she'd be attending Ashton Prep, an all-girl school where they wore uniforms every day. It was such a waste to leave London now, with a new wardrobe that would only get to come out and play on the weekends.
Stella bit a cuticle. She hated New York City. She hated that she had to leave her friends, her school, her clothes, her life behind. But more than anything, she hated Cloud McClean, that unitard-wearing, pop-singing twit who had stolen her father, Duke Theodore "Toddy" Childs, from her mom—from all of them. After she'd found out that her dad was cheating with the Britney Spears of the U.K., she hadn't wanted to talk about it or think about it. Even now, Pippa and Bridget were the only two people outside her family who knew why her parents had divorced.
"Sorry, Mum," Stella finally said, so quietly she doubted Emma could hear. Her mom pressed her finger to her temple and sighed. Even when Emma was nervous or upset, she still looked beautiful. Her light blond hair fell just to her shoulders, and her weekly facials gave her skin a permanent glow.
"Look!" Lola shouted.
The limo sped north up a wide avenue, and Stella watched the shops pass one by one—Armani, Versace, Donna Karan, Chloé—feeling like she'd spotted a few old friends. Stella slid into the middle seat to look over Lola's shoulder. A girl with enormous black Gucci sunglasses waltzed out of Donna Karan, clutching a handful of shopping bags from Searle and Prada.
Sloane Sisters. Copyright © by Anna Carey. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
