THE CALLAS ESTATE
BARCELONA, SPAIN

Monday, June 8
5:19 P.M.

“Grassy,” Alicia wave-thanked her dashing Uncle Fabian as she stepped out of his black-on-black Escalade. Behind her, Nina, Isobel, and Celia tumbled from the backseat onto the crushed-stone driveway.

“De nada!” he called, pulling the car into a seven-car, climate-controlled garage.

“Welcome!” Marina Callas yell-waved from the wood doorway of the stucco-and-red-tiled estate. Alicia’s aunt Marina was five-eight, deeply tanned, and forty-five, with the same dancer’s body she’d had since the eighties.

The sprawling nine-bedroom home looked exactly as Alicia remembered: three stories tall with a clay-red roof and oversize arched windows and doorways. Blooming pink bougainvillea hugged the side-terrace against a backdrop of mountains that for some reason looked older and wiser than the ones she had skied in Aspen. The entire estate shimmered in the early evening light, but that was thanks to the grids of metal scaffolding needed for the renovation. The house reminded Alicia of a beautiful alpha girl with braces—temporarily out of service with a promise to be better than ever when all was said and done.

“Forgive the jackhammers.” Mariana smiled warmly, pulling Alicia into a Jovan Musk–soaked embrace as she and Nina reached the house.

“Hardly noticed,” Alicia shouted, forcing a return smile. But after a nauseating, headache-inducing drive up the winding cliffside road high above the Mediterranean Sea, sandwiched between Nina and her perro poo–encrusted suitcases, with no AC, and Uncle’s Andrea Bocelli remixes, the staccato hammering was giving her headache a migraine. The sun was setting, and jet lag was kicking in. Or maybe it was the skimpy, one–Luna Bar brunch she’d had several hours earlier. Whatever the cause, the cure certainly was nawt sharing a room with Nina and her graphic novels, unless the SLBR miraculously sprouted jets that showered Alicia with steaming hot lavender–infused mineral water every night before bed.

Behind her, Isobel and Celia were whispering in rapid-fire Spanish. “Sí?” Isobel asker her sister.

“Sí!” Celia answered, pulling her twin toward their metallic-red Alfa Romeo, which had been banished from the garage back when Fabian had bought his third Bentley. Clearly something had been decided.

“Be back soon,” Celia called, slamming the door shut.

“Where are you going?” Marina shielded her kind brown eyes from the glare of the low sun. Nina crossed her arms under her boobs.

The engine grumbled to life and Isobel lowered her window, revealing the car’s shiny black interior along with the blaring chorus of Justin Timberlake’s “SexyBack.” “Sample sale.”

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 watch 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!