Chapter One.
The waiting area in front of the arrival gates at JFK airport was crowded with people waiting for loved ones and before I was even fully past the sliding glass doors, a wonderful voice – rich and decadent like a spoonful of chocolate ganache – called out to me.
“Giselle, mi amore!”
Cosima Lombardi was one of the lucky ones. Easily the most beautiful person I had ever seen, she crossed the crowded space with strong strides, her waist-length onyx hair floating behind her and attracting the glances of everyone in the terminal. Oblivious to it, she enveloped me in her long, thin arms and pressed me close to her body, so that I was flush against her famous curves. This was the way a woman like Cosima Lombardi hugged, no boundaries, and no embarrassment, just passion.
She pulled back to regard me with startlingly long-lashed eyes the colour of melted butter. “I’ve missed you, bambina.”
It was still hard to believe a woman like this could be my sister.
“I missed you too, Cosi.” I dragged in a deep breath of her spicy scent and instantly felt at ease. “But you didn’t have to pick me up, I thought you had some work thing tonight?”
As one of the hottest young models on the fashion scene since Karl Lagerfeld championed Cara Delevingne, she was constantly working.
She swished one caramel hand through the air, the gold bangles on her wrist just as musical as her mild Italian accent. “My sister comes before work, Gigi, you should know that. I haven’t seen you in seven months and two weeks.” Her frown was fierce, and it was obvious to me why photographers loved her face as devotedly as they did.
“Excuse me.” A teenage girl, no older than fifteen, approached us with barely concealed excitement, dragging her embarrassed father behind her. “Are you Cosima Lombardi?”
My sister smiled genuinely at them and extended her long fingered hand. “Hello darling.”
She winked at the awkward father and leaned over to give the strange girl a kiss on each cheek.
“Wow,” the teenager gushed, and I smiled as my sister obligingly took a picture with both father and daughter.
There was no one in the world I loved more than my sister. It felt good to watch her interact with the people who approached her for her face and fame only to become enchanted with her warmth.
I was still smiling when she returned to my side and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I’m sorry about that. Now, tell me absolutely everything I’ve missed in the last seven and a half months.”
The shadow of Christopher crossed my thoughts but I stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. There were only two other people in the world who knew the truth about why I was moving to New York after years abroad, and I intended to keep it that way, no matter how much I loved my sister.
“Your life is much more interesting, Ms. Sports Illustrated.”
Cosima laughed at my teasing and it felt good when she took my arm in hers to march me over to the baggage claim.
Yet, I found myself casting my gaze about the airport in search of a certain man with electric blue eyes. I knew that he wasn’t on the same flight but I had done three laps of the plane just to make sure of the fact. The rest of the journey I had alternated between staring blankly at the seat in front of me and bursting into intermittent tears. The poor man beside me hardly faired better than Pierre on the flight from Paris. At least this time the Gravol tablets I had taken kept me from throwing my guts up. Still, I knew my eyes were probably still red from crying and I was pale from lack of sleep. Thankfully, Cosima was too excited to see me to notice the telling signs.
“It was very weird,” Cosima was saying. “The fact that people pay me just to pose for a camera is still strange to me. Do you know how much I got paid for that shoot?”
“Do I want to?” I winced, thinking about how much my studies at L'École des Beaux-Arts cost. Though I had been slowly climbing my way to success in the Parisian art scene, uprooting my life cross continents was bound to take its toll and I was reluctant to rely once again on my sibling’s generous financial support.
“Probably not,” she agreed cheerfully and casually reached out to smooth my wayward hair. “Let’s just say it was enough to put a down payment on a two bedroom apartment in Tribeca!”
It still surprised her, I knew, that her face could buy such an opulent lifestyle for herself and our family. I would never understand what it had been like for her, running away to Milan from our small town in Southern Italy in order to raise enough money for us to leave our impoverished life behind. Sometimes there was sadness in her eyes that I knew no one would ever reach.
“That’s amazing but you know I’m not surprised. You work so hard.”
She made an unattractive sound and easily swept my luggage from the carousal. “Modeling isn’t work. At least compared to what you do. I loved the print you sent me for my birthday, it’s in the office of my new apartment.”