India's Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

into a Givenchy dress. She’d caught a glimpse of a couple of guests arriving and dashed upstairs in the hopes of finding something more glamorous to wear. After twenty minutes it was finally dawning on her that Annabelle was now a full-size smaller than she used to be. “Shit,” she muttered. “Put something on. Anything.”
    Squeezing her toes into a tight pair of black patent Louboutin stilettos, she smoothed down her slip and stepped gingerly back into her own Agnes B. black linen wrap dress. Spritzing herself, lavishly, with Guerlain Mitsouko perfume, she shook out her hair and checked her makeup. “Now or never,” she thought, taking a deep breath as she headed, cautiously, down the winding staircase toward the drawing room. Her toes were already killing her.
    “India, I was worried you might have fallen asleep.” It was Joss. He was standing with his back to a Jackson Pollock and chatting with a tall, strikingly beautiful woman. India immediately recognized her from the cover of many glossy magazines.
    “Heidi, have you met Annabelle’s sister, India?” he said as the two women shook hands.
    “No, I don’t think I have.” She smiled.
    The waiter was standing at rigid attention, so entranced with Heidi he couldn’t move. India picked up a glass of wine from his tray.
    “You look alike,” Heidi volunteered, nodding in Annabelle’s direction. “Are you an actress too?”
    India’s reply was cut short by a deafening shriek.
    “Heidi, it’s you. How ARE you?”
    Heidi swung around so swiftly she almost knocked the glass out of India’s hand.
    “Julia!” she screamed, at least ten decibels higher than India thought necessary. She watched as the two women hugged then stood back and admired each other.
    “You look amazing!”
    “You too. I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
    Weeks? You’d think they were separated at birth, India thought.
    Heads turned as Annabelle made her entrance. She was dressed in a skin thin azure Pucci dress and flat, silver embroidered thong sandals. She was wearing a necklace of shimmering chocolate diamonds strung like pearls. Her French-braided hair was held up with a single pin splattered with crystals. “Come on in, everyone.” She shouted. “Let’s move into the dining room.”
    “Lizzie and Stan just called and canceled,” she whispered to India. “So I’ve put you between Stephen and Matt. You’ll like them.”
    India smiled, hiding her disappointment. Lizzie was the closest Annie had come to a long-standing friendship. She’d been looking forward to a real tête-à-tête; a chance to catch up on all the news. And what about Adam? Her heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing him. I really hope he’s going to be here, she thought, settling into the plush, silk-covered chair and nodding hello to the men on either side of her.
    “A toast!” said Joss, raising his glass. “To my favorite sister-in-law, who is here from London. I just want to say how happy I am to have not just one but two incredibly gorgeous women around me. Here’s to India!”
    The shouts of “India, India,” reminded her of that moment just before the fire-walk. Delighted, she smiled graciously.
    As three movie-star-handsome young waiters in starched white shirts began serving minuscule portions of wild arugula dusted with shaved Parmesan, India made polite conversation with the man on her left. His wife was sitting across from him and kept looking over, which India suspected was cramping his style, because all he talked about were his allergies.
    “I can’t even drink vintage wine,” he said, placing his hand over the empty goblet as a waiter tipped the decanter toward it.
    “That must be awful for you,” India commiserated, holding up her own glass for more. “I hope they’re not contagious … The allergies, I mean.”
    The man looked at her blankly as they struggled through a hideous silence.
    “Listen, everyone.” Annie was tapping the side of her glass.