The Santiago Sisters (31 page)

Alex ploughed into her wetness, gripping her ass with his strong hands. The carpet stung but she wanted to bleed; she wanted to give her all to him.

He knew how to fuck. He fucked her for a long time, first on her front and then on her back and then on her front again, on her knees, his fingers in her mouth, in her ass, in her cunt; he lifted her from the stairwell, then he brought her down to the floor and fucked her on the rug in front of the fire. Just when she was ready to come, he went down on her. Tess’s body was spent with bliss. She let herself be ravaged and devoured, every part of her explored and adored, every crease and crevice tasted and touched. Alex worked her with his fingers and his cock and his lips until finally he thrust into her while teasing her clit and she climaxed in a blinding storm, her head thrown back, hair plastered with sweat, gasping, her toes curled.

‘Pirate …’ he whispered, as he came after, rocking into her one spasm after another, as the flames cast their bodies in fire. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.’ His statement—impossible, perfect—settled in the heat between them, requiring neither response nor elaboration; just right as it was. Alex withdrew and lay alongside her, taking her hand in his. They stayed like that for some time, not speaking.

Eventually, he turned to face her. When she met his gaze, instead of the burning guilt and anguish she knew was hours away, all she felt was joy.

There it was, her favourite face in the world. Alex Dalton’s.

On a cold Sunday morning, Maximilian Grey-Garner III called from LA. Tess thought he was ringing to update her on the new contract with Kellaway Cosmetics, and braced herself for the return to her high-octane life. But it was nothing of the sort.

‘A hate campaign has been started against you,’ he warned down the phone.

She placed the note she didn’t recognise in Maximilian’s
voice: panic. Tess had been in a haze ever since the Alex encounter, some days devoured by conscience, others on cloud nine at the memory. Maximilian’s news was like a bucket of ice.

‘What?’ She fumbled for her work cell. Eleven missed calls from her PR; three from her assistant; nine from Simone … and one from Vittorio.

‘Scarlet Schuhausen released an open letter,’ said Maximilian. ‘She knows about your affair and is blaming you for her suicide attempt. According to her, you’ve been cheating on Steven all along. I’ve been up all night fielding calls and it would be an understatement to say they weren’t friendly … This is bad, Tess. It’s bad.’

Tess gripped the counter. ‘But how did she …?’

‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve been found out.’

‘Vittorio told me it was over between them. I didn’t know—’

‘What you did or didn’t know is irrelevant. Scarlet’s out for blood.’

Somehow, the thought of Alex finding out was the worst.
He’ll think I’m a slut. Not enough to sabotage his engagement; I was sleeping with a married man, too.

‘Have you noticed anything odd recently?’ Maximilian asked. ‘Anyone following you around, dead calls, stuff like that?’

Tess gulped. ‘No,’ she lied.

Maximilian was silent. She thought she had lost him, then he said: ‘Get back here, Tess. This letter’s poison and it’s going straight through the roof. Scarlet’s bent on doing whatever it takes to see you fall. We have to sort this—before it’s too late.’

Los Angeles

Calida Santiago closed the news site and sat back in her chair.

‘Everything OK?’ Ryan Xiao asked, charging into her hotel room and setting down his equipment. They were in Bel Air doing a home shoot with Olympics idol Leon Sway, and were due in an hour. ‘You look like you haven’t slept a wink.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Well, get your shit together.’

‘I can always count on you for sympathy.’

‘Ten minutes, got it?’ He left.

Calida opened her Mac and typed
Tess Geddes
into Google. In seconds she was scrolling through reams of results. Her twin was wicked, corrupt, worthless, a waste of oxygen; she should be killed, punished, made to answer for her crime …

Over the past few weeks, since Scarlet’s letter was published, Tess Geddes had become the most hated woman in America. Scarlet’s tirade was shared and multiplied across social media, sparking debate about marital crisis, feminism and the sorority, the crumbling of community values, of family, the exploitation of money and power. Tess became a scapegoat for everything that was immoral in the world. She was the name and face attached to every heartache, every betrayal, every wrongdoing.

Haters looked on with glee as Tess’s Hollywood castle came crashing to the ground. They relished the mighty topple, at how beauty and wealth could not buy immunity, at how Hollywood’s golden girl turned to copper overnight.

In one picture, Tess was flying back from England, shielding her face from a clash of cameras. There she was, emerging from her villa under a weight of coats, drawn and haunted; and here, at the premiere of her latest film, wearing a striking pearl gown and labelled: FAT COW. Calida found it sad, the things people wrote behind the cowardice of online obscurity. The treatment Tess was getting was barbaric. There was the impression that should she go out alone, she could be stoned to death on the street. Death threats flooded the forums: Scarlet’s army vowed that Tess had better watch out. According to the press the actress had already been the target of direct assaults: roadkill in the mail, her car tyres slashed.

TESS GEDDES: ‘FRIGHTENED FOR MY LIFE!’ the headlines blared.

Calida studied pictures of her sister and saw in her eyes what she had been searching for since they were fifteen—since before then, if she were honest.

Recognition. Fear conjured the ghost of the girl Tess had been many years ago, a black-eyed child with a mischievous laugh who was scared of the dark and of snakes and of noises in the night. She wasn’t this invincible movie star, this goddess beauty queen; she was the same person. Teresita. Their little Teresa …

Calida watched the drama unfold and bit her tongue to silence. Each time she heard Vittorio’s name, at parties, at work, in dialogues on the street, she walked away. Anything she said or agreed on was sheer hypocrisy. Everything the press hurled at Tess could just as easily be hurled at her. Calida had committed the same offence—worse, because in Tess’s latest statement she maintained she had broken off her relationship with Vitto immediately upon hearing of Scarlet’s suicide attempt.

Had Calida? No. She had stayed. She had even accepted his proposal.

Now, she scanned the venomous articles with alarm. TESS GEDDES GETS ALL SHE DESERVES. KILL THE BITCH! BURY HER! MAKE HER PAY! The hashtags that spread like a rash over Twitter: #TessKarma #TessDeservesIt #TeamScarlet.

Every woman who had ever been scorned or let down or cheated on by a man was making Tess their voodoo doll. And that doll, at last, had a face. Calida, too, had driven in a pin. She’d lost count how many. When she’d been fifteen and wished her twin would disappear. When she’d heard from Julia that Teresita had begged for the adoption. When she’d received that note, telling her Teresita was never coming home. When she’d moved to Buenos Aires and vowed to make it. When she’d hit New York and set out to match her sister’s fortunes step for step. When she dreamed of meeting Teresita again, and … And what? What then? Where did they go from there?

Calida touched her locket, cool and smooth and timeless. She had been convinced all this time that her sister was rotten—had believed every scrap of dirt that the world now threw at her. But since her discovery at Vittorio’s apartment, a splinter had appeared in her hate, a splinter of possibility that whispered in her ear when she lay in bed at night.
What if she still thinks about you? What if she didn’t mean those things? What if she wanted to leave home but she always missed you? What if …

Calida’s phone shrilled to life. ‘Where the fuck are you?’ blasted Ryan.

She clicked it shut and left the room.

That night, she arranged to meet Vittorio.

‘Thank God,’ he said when they were together. ‘I’ve had Scarlet’s attorneys on the phone all afternoon stringing me up by my balls. My lawyer says now is the right time to announce the engagement. We’ll issue a statement at dawn. There’ll be pictures, interviews, the whole circus. OK? You’re with me on this, aren’t you?’

Calida watched him across the back seat of his Mercedes and shook her head.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not.’

Vittorio drew a blank. Then he laughed. Then he stopped laughing.

‘I know I’m not the only one,’ said Calida.

Vitto slammed his fist into the leather. ‘This isn’t about Tess Geddes again, is it? Calida, I’ve
told
you. Scarlet’s fabricated the whole damn thing. I’ve never so much as gone
near
the woman. This is classic settlement blackmail—don’t you see? She even made up that crap about a pregnancy. It’s lies, all of it.’

‘Tess has admitted to the affair.’

‘Only so she can divorce that degenerate husband of hers.’

‘You’re clutching at straws.’

‘You’re accusing me of
nothing
!’

But she didn’t need Vittorio’s admission to be certain. Around the time Tess claimed to have ended the affair, Calida’s lover had become moody, distant, for days plummeting into black holes and snapping at her over the smallest thing. Sometimes he could only have been described as needy, which wasn’t a word Calida thought she would ever associate with him. ‘
You won’t leave me, will you
?’ he’d asked more than once, running his hands through Calida’s jet hair as if it reminded him of something. Someone.
‘Don’t be silly
,’ she’d replied, kissing him and thinking as she did:

Who is this man I’m kissing
?

It was probably why he had asked her to marry him. Tess’s rejection had been a blow to a man like him. Vittorio Da Strovisi didn’t get dumped.

‘Good luck, Vitto,’ Calida said now, twisting off her engagement ring and tossing it on the seat between them. ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

She opened the car door and disappeared on to the street.

The following week, Calida attended a drinks reception at designer Mateo Frank’s warehouse studio. Ordinarily she would share Ryan’s ride home, but since he’d had obligations elsewhere, she decided to sober up by taking a walk back to her apartment. It was nine p.m. when she left and the evening was warm and calm.

Partway down Bleecker, she heard her name being called.

‘Calida!’

She stopped. A woman she didn’t know was rushing towards her. The woman was dressed in cheap furs and plastic jewellery, as if she had raided a second-hand clothes store. As she came closer, Calida saw her make-up was badly applied and clownish. Fake diamonds pulled her earlobes and her dress was worn and frayed.

‘Calida!’ the woman said again, breathless, and went to embrace her.

Calida pushed her off. It had been a bad idea to venture on to the streets alone—she wasn’t recognised often, but once was once too much. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

The woman searched her eyes. Calida resumed walking.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ came the voice.

And with it, she stood still. The stranger had spoken in
Spanish, her native Argentinian tongue. The incredible truth speared her in the back.

Calida turned.

‘Mama …?’

Julia Santiago nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. She held her arms out.

‘Oh,
chica,’
their lost language rolled off her mother’s tongue, ‘I have waited so long for this. I have searched for you everywhere. Finally, I have found you.’

Calida’s mouth filled with grit.

‘How?’ she managed. ‘How did you find me?’

Julia’s arms went down, empty, but her smile did not waver.

‘I’ve followed my daughters’ successes. I see how rich you’ve become. I came to New York and discovered where you worked. I went with you to the party tonight.’

It was too much to take. This person, this stranger who had abandoned her on the
estancia
as carelessly as if she were leaving for a morning’s shopping, here, now, unrecognisable apart from the grasping, avaricious glint in her still-hungry eyes.

‘I was outside, waiting for you,’ said Julia. ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Calida, numb. ‘I’m surprised.’

Julia’s painted lips parted in a smile. Her teeth had yellowed; one of them was chipped. She had aged gracelessly, unkindly, coarse lines around her mouth and the ghosts of a scowl etched into her brow. This was her mother? Calida would have walked straight past her on the street. She nearly had. She had thought about Julia sparingly over the years, wondered about her, reviled her—but never longed for her.

‘Come,
chica,
come to your mama,’ said Julia. ‘Be happy to see me, at least. I need looking after,
mi corazón
: the years haven’t been kind. I—I lost all my money.’ Her eyes glazed.
‘All that lovely money … I gave you your half, but I lost my own.’

‘My half?’ Calida baulked.

She had been left nothing. Remembered Julia’s departure, the last words her mother had spat—but no money. Julia hadn’t cared. She’d left her penniless, left her for dead for all she knew, filled only with ruthless intent at building her own fortunes.

‘What happened to the money?’ Calida asked.

‘I spent it.’ Julia lifted her shoulders; the fur rose and fell. ‘Money is for spending, isn’t it?’ Bitterness stitched into her voice. ‘Oh, it wasn’t enough. A couple of years it lasted me, that was all. I’ve tried to get more. Don’t you realise I was rich, Calida, once upon a time? Before your disgusting papa came along and ruined it all.’

Calida took a step closer. ‘Don’t ever say anything bad about my papa again.’

‘I’ll say what I like,’ Julia exploded, ‘you don’t know what your precious papa got up to right there under our roof!’ Then she gathered herself, as if reminded this wasn’t why she was here. ‘I mean,
chica,’
she said softly, ‘you must understand, it wasn’t my
fault.
I didn’t want to leave you that day. I had to. I knew our funds would run dry. I had to make more, for both our sakes! I was always going to come back …’

Calida watched her, this pathetic, broken, heartless woman, and felt nothing.

Nothing.

‘You’ve found Teresita?’ Calida asked, afraid of the answer.

Julia’s eyes lit. ‘Oh, I’ve tried, Lord knows I’ve tried. What a splendour your sister’s become, Calida! She’s far too important these days. I haven’t been able to get close. I was
hoping you might have. Have you? Do you think Teresita will see me?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Calida coldly, her mother’s preference as stark and whole as it had been when they were children. ‘We’re not in touch.’

‘I thought she could help me,’ Julia babbled. ‘Teresita couldn’t turn her own mother away, could she? Nor could you, I suspect, not since—’

‘Like I said, we’re not in touch.’

Julia’s disappointment was as false as her attire. ‘That’s a pity,’ she said.

‘Teresita made it clear when she left home that I meant nothing to her.’

Julia frowned. Calida wondered if her mother might be drunk. There was a dark patch down her faux-fur collar. Her words slipped over each other.

‘Did she?’ said Julia. ‘I don’t recall that.’

‘You told me she begged you to let her go. She begged Simone to take her.’

‘Really? Oh. Yes. Right. Of course.’

Calida’s locket scalded her chest. ‘Teresita did say that—didn’t she, Mama?’

‘Say what,
chica
?’

‘That she was ready to go to England. That she was desperate. That she wanted it to be permanent. That is what she said, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’

Calida saw herself from outside, the rest of the city rushing by, just two friends arguing on the street. But the world was turning upside-down, slowly, slowly.

‘I can’t think why you’re getting so upset,’ said Julia, patting her nest of hair. ‘How about we go for a late supper, hmm?
Your treat. I’m sure you can’t wait to shower your poor mama with a taste of the high life.’

‘Answer my question,’ said Calida.

‘What question?’