Читать книгу Sunny Side Up - Holly Smale, Холли Смейл - Страница 16

onestly, if I had a penny for every time somebody has asked me What the hell do you think you’re doing? I wouldn’t need to model at all.

I’d have paid for university already, and probably a Masters, PhD and some kind of internship on a professional archaeological dig in Egypt too.

But usually I have some idea of the answer.

This time, however, I’m at a total loss.

A very small, sharp-featured woman with a bleached-white bob, purple crop top and perfect purple lips has dragged me in silent rage into an ominously empty back room of the yacht and is glaring at me intensely. I have literally no idea why.

I arrived on time for once, right?

I didn’t fall over or break anything, did I?

I obeyed Wilbur’s letter to the letter, didn’t I?

Unless … Oh no, is it the spot? Am I in trouble for looking like I have a unicorn horn on my chin again? Can she see I’ve been distractedly prodding it in the car on the way here? Am I in the wrong place?

Whose party is this anyway?

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt, trying to cover all bases as I drag my invitation out of my handbag, “the car brought me here and I just got out without checking.” I hold out the card to her, hoping she won’t snap off my arm like a furious French crocodile. “Am I at the wrong event? Is my party on another boat?”

I glance out of the porthole.

There are quite a lot of other water-bound transport options: all shining whitely as they navigate their luxurious way down the second longest river in France.

Then I peer over her shoulder into the main room of this yacht where a party is definitely happening.

There are lots of beautiful people, milling around elegantly with glasses in their hands, all wearing different shades of purple.

Huh. That’s very coordinated.

Although I suppose it is Fashion Week: they probably all discussed it beforehand by group text.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” the woman hisses angrily, narrowing her eyes and batting my invitation away. “You know exactly what you’ve done.”

There are four hundred miles of blood vessel in the average human brain and mine feel like they’re shrinking by the second.

“Um, I really don’t,” I admit, feeling my cheeks start to flush.

“You just happened to put on a dress by another designer, did you? It just happened