Chapter 1
"Are you ready Bella?" My twin sister, Remie said. This was the first big party of senior year, and being Upper East Siders, it was important that people saw you there, or else you would be thrown from your social rank. This was the party. It was hosted by the hottest guy in the Upper East Side scene and everybody who was somebody was going.
"I am so ready for this." We walked, no glided over to the entrance in our 6-inch Christian Loubouton stilettos and showed the David Yurman keys around our necks to the bouncer. The keys themselves were the entrance to the party. Once you had been invited, one had to go to the 5th Avenue David Yurman store and say a certain name, which would then enable the sales assistant to hand over a box which contained a 6,000 dollar, 24 karat, Victorian era key stranded through a delicate but strong platinum chain. One's entrance to the most exclusive party.
My sister and I had been born and raised in the Upper East Side. Our parents were among the top half 1% of people in the world that literally had enough money to buy a small country. Our childhood had been full of nannies pushing thousand-dollar strollers though Central Park, our adolescence a whirlwind of first kisses, true enemies, getting our first Visas, and unaccompanied shopping sprees with friends. Now, it was senior year. The last year to be with the group of friends who Remie and I had been raised with. Our last year to officially show everyone that we're the top girls in New York.
Inside, the party was in full mode. The indoor pool was dark with hundreds of tiny light bulbs strung over it. Persian carpets were laid out to form a dance floor. The hot tub was full of couples making out, the bar was fully stocked, and everyone who we knew was there.
"Oh God, look at that prostitute Emmaline, do you see what she's wearing?" Remie whispered.
"No, I was actually under the impression that she was walking around with nipple covers and a triangle glued to her crotch. Look, she's coming over here." Sure enough, moments later, the said slut was standing in front of us, trying to start a conversation with us.
"Remie! Bella! How are you two? I love the bikini Rem! It's so edgy and fresh! And Bella! Why the hell are you covering that gorgeous suit with some guy's shirt? You always were the attention grabber and now with that sequined bikini, you have your own spotlight!" Emmaline let out a high pitched laugh that made me want to cover my ears.
However, being the social people Remie and I were, we both knew that we had to smile and say something that was nice and bitchy at the same time.
"Thank you Emmaline, you are such a brilliant mind of fashion advice, tell me, where on earth did you get your bikini? I had no idea that micro-mini bikinis were back in style." I had to hand it to Remie, her sarcastic voice could make one flinch at her coldness but Emmaline apparently didn't notice.
"Actually, I got this at some boutique in Manhattan. Isn't it adorable? Where did you and Bella get yours?"
Rose glanced at me with her peripherals for just a second, that was our signal that it was now time to say something cold and turn away.
"They were made for us. By Donnatella Versace. I expect one top would cost more than you would to a guy for a night of fun." Remie sneered and we turned and left Emmaline standing there, speechless.
"That was brilliant Bee! I never see how you can get your insults so fast." Rose laughed as we walked off.
"Don't you ever feel just a tiny bit bad?" She shook her head, "We're the hottest girls in New York Bella. People worship us. We are in every social magazine, US Weekly wants to do a cover story on us, we are two top supermodels, we're supposed to be bitchy to people below our rank. The only reason Emmaline was even invited was because she slept with one of the lacrosse players last year so now, when she wants something, she spends a day in bed with him, and he calls a few people who get her in. But at least she got something right; we look hot in these bikinis."
She was right, we did. Rose was wearing a dark grey bikini that had gunmetal studs on it, paired with a Brooks Brothers men's dinner jacket, low slung khaki shorts, and red Christian Loubouton heels, she looked put together in a completely intentional messy way, like she had spent the night at a guy's house. I was wearing a navy sequined bikini with an oversized men's Abercrombie and Fitch button down left unbuttoned over it, a belt around my waist, and bright yellow Louboutons. It was evident that many guys also thought this too, because they turned to stare at us when we walked by.
Rose and I were talking to some people when a guy came up to her and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, winked at me, and left.
I took off my shoes, belt and shirt, got myself a drink, and went into the pool. I swam and drank and flirted halfheartedly with some guys, I wanted to be alone, but apparently they didn't get that. Finally, I handed my glass to one of them and told them to get me a variety of drinks, whoever got my favorite would be rewarded. They ran off and I swam to the other side of the pool, hoisted myself up, and ran to a door that I had spotted a few minutes ago.
The door led me to the rest of the house. There were some bedroom doors, a kitchen, living room, so on. I went up a spiral staircase up to the third floor, where I finally found a room that I wanted to relax in. In the Upper East Side, it was normal for the guests to be found lying across the living room couch or at the breakfast table eating the host's Lucky Charms the day after the party.
The room was made up of 3 walls of glass, with a balcony; two doors which I assumed lead to a bathroom and closet, and an alcove where a 4-poster bed could be seen. Books were scattered everywhere and there was a vintage looking couch in a corner. I grabbed a random book off the floor and sat on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest and began to read.
I was a total bookworm. No one could guess that I was one to enjoy reading Romeo and Juliet over and over or that at times, I enjoyed writing college acceptance essays, but I did. Remie was smart too, but she didn't see the point of calculus and literature, she preferred partying to physics. We were definitely not identical twins, both in appearance and in nature.
Remie had blonde hair and violet eyes. They weren't blue, not bluish-purple, but a deep violet with grey around the pupils. Her eyes were completely natural and once you saw them, you could never forget them. She was, like me, five feet, eleven and a half inches, and about 125 pounds. Along with her perfect nose, porcelain skin, and pink lips that were just slightly uneven, she could look like a small, vulnerable child one minute and the next, her eyes would darken and she would give you a piercing death stare. Even though we were twins, I didn't look remotely like her.
I have brown hair. Not brownish blondish, not black, but this rich chocolate brown that had some random colored streaks through it that were so unique no one had ever been able to put on a name on their were so many natural shades in my hair, from black, to an blondish color to even some random red streaks. My hair was my identification. No one else could ever try to copy it and get away with the look. It was just me. My navy blue eyes pretty much give away my emotion and that helps when I don't want to talk. Like Remie, I'm the same height, if not a bit taller, and around the same weight. We have the same porcelain skin that looks like it has never seen sunlight but it looks tan at the same time. Only my nose was a bit nicer than Remie's. It was an agreed fact between us.
One of the two doors opened and I jumped, alarmed. Out came the guy. The host of this party. The hottest guy in New York. Edward Masen. He was tall, taller than me, with a sculptured body and hair that was a brownish-color and always looked like he had just gotten out of bed. His sea blue eyes clearly showed his surprise when he saw me, I'm sure mine looked similar to his.
We stood (well he stood, I sat) staring at each other for a minute until he spoke.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself. I didn't know this room was occupied."
"It wasn't really."
"So you weren't just making out in the closet?" I asked, skeptical.
"Uh, no. Why are you up here?"
"Why are you?"
"You didn't answer my question."
"Like you did mine."
He raised his eyebrows, "Fine, it's my house, I can go anywhere I want."
"So you chose this room because you have some fetish with its closet?"
He stared at me for a minute, then laughed, and ran a hand over his face, "I wasn't expecting that. Actually I came up here to think. I hate parties."
"Isn't this your party? If you hate them, why do you throw them?"
"Why do you come to a party in New York? Besides to have fun."
"Social status."
"Exactly."
I shrugged, and then nodded.
"You never told why you came up here."
"Isn't it obvious? I hate parties. The first 10 minutes are decent, and then it gets boring."
"Ouch. Is that observation for all parties or just mine?"
"All of them. Now, will you leave, I was reading."
He cocked his head to one side, "Hey, this is my house, and you're ordering me around?"
"I'm a guest."
"For the party, not in my house."
"You're hospitable. Leave."
"You." He stepped closer to the couch.
I shut the book and stood up, "No, you."
Edward stepped even closer, and in a soft voice said, "Please?"
I'm a tough girl, but I think I went a little weak in my knees for a moment. And then I realized that I was just wearing my bikini. And he smelled really good.
I think my eyes showed something that I was thinking because Edward took the last step between us and pressed his lips to mine. I don't what came over me, but I was tightly wrapping my arms around his neck and running my hands through his hair. We stood there, intertwined, and for once, I wasn't using my judgment. It could take a break for a few hours. I was finally gonna have fun. It is senior year, after all.
