Alicia Read online

  Marina’s deep burgundy–lined lips fell to a disappointed frown. She gently placed a sympathetic deep red nail–tipped hand on her youngest daughter’s shoulder.

  A giant ball of hurt formed in Alicia’s empty belly, like a melting snowball in reverse. Why hadn’t her cousins invited her? Couldn’t they see Nina snicker-pinching her nose as she pointed to the crusty brown clump on the left wheel of Alicia’s stuffed Louis? If ever a situation called for a cousin-BFF rescue, it would be this one.

  Marina opened her mouth to speak, but Isobel beat her to it.

  “The samples are for A-cups only,” she bellowed over Justin and the stuttering hammer.

  Nina and Alicia didn’t have to look at their heaving chests to understand what that meant.

  “Ahhh. Sí.” Marina twirled a wavy strand of dark hair around her elegant pointer finger and shrugged in a well-that-answers-that sort of way.

  “Lo siento,” Isobel apologize-shrugged as the Alfa sped off.

  “Well, now you have plenty of time to get settled,” Marina said, leading the two ditched girls into the foyer.

  Alicia’s Miu Miu wedges echoed off the orange terra cotta floor tiles as she entered the beautiful Spansion. Leafy green plants overflowed out of shiny copper vases like fat stomachs in tight jeans. The tall white walls were sparsely covered with framed paintings, mostly of fruit and wine bottles, and rustic wooden pews stood in various corners—possibly so elderly visitors could rest after trekking though the spacious house.

  “We are adding a spa and screening room to the guest wing. So guess what that means?” Mariana didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “You and Nina get to share a room this summer!” She clapped once, as if this news were more exciting than the invention of the iPhone.

  Nina smirked, the sharp edges of her haircut sawing her round jawline.

  “Why don’t you two go ahead and catch up? I’m going to have Brunilda get dinner started.”

  Don’t leave! Alicia wanted to scream. But her aunt was already sauntering toward the gourmet kitchen, her slender frame moving with the sexy sway of an ex–flamenco dancer still intent on working it.

  “After me.” Nina began climbing the dark wood steps with her rough, unpedicured bare feet. Her last name isn’t Callas for nothing! Alicia smiled at her own joke, then made a mental note to text the one-liner to Massie as soon as she had a minute away from the SLBR—whenever that might be.

  Following Nina up the corkscrew staircase, Alicia gripped the cool iron banister before lifting her chilled hand to her throbbing forehead. But it didn’t offer any relief. In reality, the real pain was two steps ahead, wagging her butt like Kim Kardashian.

  Alicia’s bags were already in the room when they arrived—Brunilda must have grabbed them while she and Nina were saying goodbye to the twins. One was on a fluffy ruby-red down comforter that puffed up over the copper-studded bed like a soufflé. The other was on the lumpy cot that had been covered in jewel-toned throw pillows in an attempt to hide the fact that it was a lumpy cot. Whoever delivered them had obviously been confused by the black duct tape that snaked across the azulejo-tiled floor, dividing the room into two very unequal parts. Which was totally understandable.

  “What’s this?” Alicia stepped into the spacious section, taking in the mountains from the elegant arching windows.

  “Your new guest suite.” Nina hooked a finger through Alicia’s gold woven belt and index-pulled her back over the line to the tiny side. In addition to the lumpy cot, this side had a green milk crate (for her clothes?), a dust bunny collection (to keep her company?), and a black rubber-encased flashlight inside (her lamp?). The walk-in closet, red-tiled makeup vanity, sunflower yellow chaise, tapestry wall hangings, and posters of that eerily perfect ¡i! guy were across the border along with the comfy canopy bed. This left Alicia with a white wall and the wood bedroom door, which, when opened, slammed up against the metal frame of her “bed.”

  “Opposite of acceptable!” Alicia stomped her foot. “This is a veal pen.”

  Nina leaped on top of her duvet and folded her hands behind her head, boobs spilling out the sides of her tank top. She sighed dreamily and closed her eyes.

  Alicia’s heart beat ferociously against the inside of her navy shirtdress. “For one thing, my clothes have been cooped up in those bags for hours. They need to stretch and hang or they’ll die from lack of circulation.”

  “Escucha me, A-lee-sha,” Nina shot up. “This is not Westchester. You’re in my house, in my country, and now we do things my way!”

  Alicia’s legs felt wobbly. She desperately wanted to collapse on her cot but somehow managed to resist. To sit would mean acceptance, and she was far from that.

  “If you’re so tough, why did you agree to pull my bags?” she fired back.

  “Because Twin Sisters asked me to,” Nina said, as if it should have been obvious.

  “And you do everything they say?” Alicia smirked. Had she found a weakness?

  “Not for long.” Nina lumbered over to her vanity and bent to examine herself in the oval mirror. She finger-tossed her blond bangs left, then right. “As punishment for stealing their boots and taking them to Westchester, I had to do whatever they asked one hundred and fifty times.” She turned away from the mirror and glared at Alicia, the blue kohl smudges still under her eyes. “Carrying your bags was number one hundred and forty-nine. One left and I am free.”

  “Hoooo-laaaa!” Celia shouted as she and Isobel barged into the room. They smelled like floral perfume and too much hair spray.

  Alicia could barely look at them for fear of revealing her hurt that they’d shopped without her.

  “Guess where we’re going tonight?” Isobel squeezed past Alicia and strode over to Nina’s side. Her slick black bun was now a bountiful mess of bed-head curls, and her lips showed signs of what was once a fresh coat of berry gloss.

  “Tell them!” Celia jumped onto Alicia’s cot and smile-bobbed as it squeak-settled.

  “Another sample sale?” Alicia picked her dry cuticles.

  “Por favor.” Isobel walked over to Alicia and put her long, thin arm around her sagging shoulders. “There was no sample sale, American Cousin. That was just an excuse to keep Mother from asking too many questions about where we’re actually going. We parked the Romeo a block away and snuck back to get you.”

  “Given.” Alicia rolled her eyes, her sadness suddenly lifting like Heidi Montag’s chest. “So where are we going?”

  “Hotel Lindo!” the twins shouted at the same time.

  “¡Hola! magazine is throwing a casting kick-off party for ¡i!, and we’re going!” Celia said. She untied her chignon and finger-combed her silky black hair until it fell, covering her axlike shoulder blades. Alicia could have sworn she saw a purple streak mixed in toward the back, but didn’t give it a second thought. She had Spanish celebs to impress and several outfits to sort through before they left. And that took priority.

  Nina tore an article off her wall and waved it in front of Celia’s face as proof. “That party is exclusive.”

  “Sí, but GR Girls get automatic VIP passes.” Isobel scurried across the room on her tippy-toes and high-fived her twin. “And we are GR Girls.”

  “What’s that?” Alicia asked with a playful smile in case it was something everybody knew. That way she could say “just joking” if she had to.

  “Each summer Hotel Lindo hires two very beautiful, very stylish, very cool, very skinny girls to wear designer clothes, party with the guests, and make them believe that two very beautiful, very stylish, very cool, very skinny girls would want ever, in a million years, want to party with their greasy tourist butts.”

  “How did you get those jobs?” Nina squinted with skepticism. “They only go to top models.”

  Celia tugged her purple hairstreak and side-glanced at Isobel. They exchanged a giggle, then quickly sobered.

  Alicia desperately wanted to be on their side of the inside joke. And hated that she was forced to wat
ch the show from the LBR seats in the cheap section.

  “And the best part is we can each bring a guest,” Isobel beamed.

  “Ehmagawd!” Alicia clapped and toe-bounced.

  Nina punched the air like a lotto winner. “Thank you so—”

  “Isobel will bring Cousin, and I will bring Ralph Lauren.” Celia threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

  “Grassy!” Alicia hugged her bony but beautiful cousin.

  Nina lowered her fist.

  “So where is my date hiding?” Celia lifted the iron latch on the wood door of the walk in closet and quickly sifted through the hangers. “All I see are loose-fitting garments made of thin fabric.” She poked her head out and knit her alluring thick black brows. “Who has seen Ralphie?”

  “He’s trapped in the suitcases.” Alicia was happy to offer. “Fighting for his last breath.”

  “What?” the twins gasped.

  “Your sister won’t let me on the big side of the room with the closet, so I guess Ralphie will stay crumpled in my bags all summer.” She paused to let the horror of the situation sink in. “Unless you think I should stuff them in this dusty crate.” She kicked the plastic cube for effect.

  “Dios!” Celia covered her mouth in shock. “I assumed the big half belonged to Cousin.”

  “Opposite of true.” Alicia sneered at Nina.

  “Switch!” Isobel clapped twice. “Ralph must hang.”

  “No way!” Nina stood on the duct-tape boundary and firmly placed her hands on her hips.

  “You must!” Isobel marched behind Nina and pushed her to the small side.

  “It’s my room!” Nina stepped back over the line.

  “You will do it, and it will count as number one hundred and fifty,” Celia insisted.

  Nina gasped. “But—”

  “No discussion.” Isobel tugged the Louis bags over to the closet, locked eyes with Alicia, and made an all-yours gesture with her hands.

  “Cousin, let us know when you have finished unpacking so we can get dressed together. We can offer plenty of makeup and ¡i!’s ‘The Rain in Spain’ single. Preparations will take place in here. We will Cruz like Penélope in the Alfa when the sun goes down. Okay?” Celia asked.

  “Given.” Alicia beamed.

  “Can’t wait!” Nina beamed too.

  “What makes you think you’re going?” Isobel asked.

  “These.” Nina pushed open the window by her ex-bed and dangled the Alfa car keys over the man-made lake below.

  “Give them back!” Celia lunged.

  Nina quickly pulled them back.

  “How did you get those?” Celia huffed.

  “Ahhhh. The hand is quicker than the eye, sister.” Nina grinned like a proud pickpocket.

  “Fine.” Celia held out her hand. “But don’t talk to us in public.”

  “No problem.” Nina dropped the keys in her sister’s glistening palm. “I will stay close to Cousin the entire time.”

  “Good,” Celia said.

  Even though it sooo wasn’t!

  HOTEL LINDO

  BARCELONA, SPAIN

  Monday, June 8

  8:11 P.M.

  The line outside Hotel Lindo was Miley-Cyrus-on-tour long. It curved around the back of the hotel, which was shaped like giant pink marble L, and continued to grow as limo after limo pulled up to the valet parking attendants. Apparently, every SLBR with a pair of high heels and fake lashes had decided tonight would be the night they’d catch a glimpse of ¡i!

  But they were wrong.

  Anger-peering at the bouncers, wondering why they weren’t moving forward, the wannabes fanned their faces and reapplied their lipstick so they’d have something to do besides anger-peer and wonder why they weren’t moving forward. The crashing surf, located directly behind the hotel, seemed to echo their rage. Not that the bouncers cared. Rocking on the heels of their white leather Vans, they glanced up at the starry sky as if they were alone at a bus stop, contemplating life on a warm summer night.

  “There’s no way I can stand on that line in these . . . things.” Alicia pointed to the silver open-toe boots she’d let Isobel talk her into. They did look caliente with Celia’s white pony-hair miniskirt (don’t tell MB), pewter chain belt, and ivory gauze halter. If the Pretty Committee had seen her ew-fit, they’d have put her on trial for crimes against fashion. But she had to put the S in Spalpha somehow, and everyone was envy-staring.

  “Por fah-vor, American Cousin, we will not be standing on any line,” Celia practically spat, marching straight toward the blue-eyed bouncer with the buzzed head and bronzed arms. He stood in front of a red velvet rope, wearing a white linen suit and hugging a clipboard to his shirtless chest.

  “Hay una cola.” He tilted his head to show them the line, just in case they’d somehow managed to overlook it.

  “We’re Guest Relations,” Isobel insisted, purposely popping the collar on her black and white–striped blazer so he could spot the black Ralph Lauren label. Then she turned and adjusted the back of her bloodred short shorts, casually revealing the same label, proving her fabulousness wasn’t restricted to her upper half.

  He eagerly scanned her long, oil-slicked legs, then consulted his clipboard. “Nombre?”

  “Celia and Isobel Callas, plus two,” Celia said, like it should have been obvious.

  “Ahhh, sííí.” His eyes crinkled with kindness and his expression softened. “Forgive me. It’s just that your outfits confused me.” He finally spoke English.

  “Why?” Celia jumped back as if his words were fire. “What’s wrong with our designer outfits?” She grabbed her 100 percent silk navy wide-leg pants in one hand and matching beaded vest in the other and squeezed the delicate fabrics in her quaking fist. “This Ralph Lauren is hawt couture. From Ah-merica!” The canary yellow canvas riding cap (also Ralph) atop her blowout nodded in consent.

  Nina stepped forward. “And in case you were wondering, I DIY’ed these jeans!” She lifted her skinny leg and showed him her purple and blue tie-dyed denim. “They may not be in America yet, but they will be soon.”

  Alicia turned away, pretending she hadn’t heard her cousin’s embarrassing admission. Or noticed her two different-colored ballet flats—one silver and one gold—or her teeny green bikini top, which she was trying to pass off as acceptable.

  “I like your outfits veryvery much,” the bouncer said to Nina’s D-cups.

  “Let us in!” yelled a delusional American girl from the middle of the line.

  “Síííííííí!” shouted others.

  The bouncer held up his palm, putting an immediate end to their spontaneous uprising.

  Alicia felt wonderfully superior, like when she was seated in first class and got to watch all the LBRs in coach trudge to the back of the plane. Being “in” with the bouncer at Barcelona’s luxe new five-star hotel—on her first night—was Spalpha times ten.

  “Then what’s the problem with our outfits?” Celia pushed Nina aside and smoothed her wild hair to combat the onset of ocean-air frizz.

  “It’s just that Esmeralda has Versace gowns for the GR girls. They are not from America, but they are veryvery sexy and—”

  “Versace! Where?” Isobel began unbuttoning her blazer.

  “Inside your suite.” He dug his dark hand in his white linen pant pocket and pulled out a credit card–size mirror. “This is the key. Your summer wardrobe and all necessary accessories are there for you. If you need anything, I will be veryvery happy to take care of you.” He winked one blue eye. “Welcome to Lindo.”

  “ADM!” Celia and Isobel shouted at the same time. Then, as if rehearsed, they quickly applied Clinique’s A Different Grape to their puffy lips and kissed the side of his stubbly face, leaving behind two purple smooch marks to show their gratitude.

  Alicia side-glanced at the bouncer, hoping he’d ask what ADM meant.

  “What is ADM?” He grinned nervously while petting his soiled cheek.

  Yes!

 
; “Ay Dios mío!” they giggled.

  Alicia smiled triumphantly at the Spanish version of “ehmagawd.” Muy Spalpha.

  “Let’s go to our suite and get changed.” Celia pushed past the bouncer, no longer needing him or Ralph Lauren.

  The crowd booed and hissed as the foursome entered the pink L-shaped hotel.

  No one inside the open-air marble lobby was wheeling luggage, exchanging foreign currency, or studying maps with the concierge. Instead, heavily perfumed locals whisper-huddled every time a group of good-looking boys passed. They’d quickly prop their cameras, then lower them once they realized it was just another group of hot guys and not ¡i! and his entourage. Meanwhile, several iridescent blue peacocks strutted around like supermodels during Fashion Week. They had an air of entitlement about them, like they knew something Alicia didn’t.

  “Check out these elevators!” Isobel pointed at the doors, which doubled as two upright aquariums filled with pink mini dolphins, purple starfish, and dozens of luminous fish. Celia hurried over and smashed a crystal ball–size UP button that contained two live sea horses.

  “Careful! You’ll kill them!” squealed Nina as the sea horses swam into each other amidst an explosion of effervescent bubbles.

  Celia gave her sister a shove when several onlookers gave her the evil eye for overpressing.

  “Ow!” Nina pout-shouted as she rubbed her bare arm in an obvious attempt to milk more sympathy from the compassionate crowd. But they had already turned away to continue search-stalking the elusive pop star.

  A faint hiss signaled that the elevator was slowly dropping down the vertical part of the L, where the guest rooms were. Alicia wished the Pretty Committee could have been there with her to see the spectacular hotel. Or rather, she wished she were on some sort of reality show and they were sitting at home watching her. That way they could distance-envy her and not make her feel like a SLBR for wearing open-toe boots, which, by the way, she was starting to ah-dore.

  The aquarium doors parted and three giggling blondes wearing white mesh “¡i! ♥ ¡i!” off-the-shoulder T-shirts scuttled out. A mix of vanilla and cigarette smoke lingered in the elevator, where a live feed of the raucous dance party by the pool was projected onto the white walls and a thumping remix of Lily Allen’s “Smile” blasted in surround sound.