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Isobella looked at her sister, flinching slightly at the childhood endearment—the name that had been on every designer’s lips back in her heyday.
Was Carla mad? What if she wanted more?
She’d trained herself to not want more. Of anything. She didn’t want to open the lid on a whole bunch of cravings she’d kept tightly locked away.
Carla lay back down on the bed. ‘Not all men are like Anthony, babe. You have a great figure. Stop hiding it.’
Isobella snorted. ‘Ihad . Past tense.’
‘Your figure is as divine now as it was when you were storming those Paris catwalks.’
Isobella heard the slight trace of envy in Carla’s voice. The sisters were chalk and cheese in the looks department. Carla was shorter and curvier, and although her figure was trim she always struggled to keep weight off. Isobella could, and did, eat like a horse, with no negative side effects whatsoever.
‘You know what I mean,’ Isobella replied.
‘Babe. Any man worth his salt won’t care about what you look like with your clothes off,’ Carla said gently.
Isobella shook her head incredulously at Carla, knowing full well that the male of the species usually judged women exactly on what they looked like under their clothes. ‘I look hideous!’
Carla shook her head. ‘God. Once a model always a model. You have such a screwed-up body image, babe. So, your body’s not what it was? But you are far from hideous. Your scars are part of you. You can lock yourself away because of them or live despite them. Beauty is more than skin-deep, and any man who judges you for the marks on your body isn’t worthy of oxygen.’
Isobella knew what her sister was saying was right. She’d heard Carla and her parents say it a thousand times. Shedid have a skewed sense of beauty. She knew that. The international fashion scene was as catty as it was cut throat. It was hard to overcome how much it had screwed with her head.
‘I know, I know.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish…I wish it had never happened.’ Another tear squeezed out from beneath her lids and she wiped it away. It had been years since she’d uttered those words.Damn Alexander Zaphirides!
‘Me and you both, babe.’ Carla raised herself up on her elbow. ‘Not least of all because those first few weeks you spent in Intensive Care were so harrowing there wasn’t a day that went by when we didn’t think you were going to die. But here you are. Alive. Don’t let it keep robbing you of your life.’
Yes, Carla was right.She was right. But even though she’d already decided to give up modeling, the whole reverse fairy-tale—the swan turning into the ugly duckling—had been a huge psychological blow. Her self-esteem had taken an even bigger hit than her body. Her physical scars had reduced slightly over time, but she still grappled with her mental ones every day.
‘Nowup !’ Carla ordered, grabbing Isobella’s arm. ‘Let’s find you something to wear.’
Isobella followed reluctantly, and stood passively while Carla hunted through her cupboard.
‘Aha! This. You bought it and never wore it. It’s perfect.’
Isobella looked at the dress Carla was brandishing. It was one of many things she’d bought over the years since the accident, despite knowing she’d never wear it. Mainly because she didn’t socialize, but also because it revealed more than it concealed. But the female inside her had been unable to resist. TheFleckeri ’s brand might have robbed her of her confidence, but it hadn’t taken away her love for shopping or beautiful clothes.
It was the colour of a deep merlot, and was made from a fabric that clung in all the right places. Isobella shrank from it. ‘No. It’s too…It’ll show my trachey scar…I can’t possibly…’
‘It’s perfect,’ Carla bossed.
The feminine side of her wanted to reach out and touch the very sexy dress, but Isobella knew if she touched it she’d be a goner. ‘It’s all wrong.’
‘Why did you buy it, then?’ Carla demanded.
Because it was beautiful. ‘It’s not the image I’m trying to project,’ she said primly.
‘McHusky is here for a few days, and then you won’t see him again. Don’t you want to at least make him drool a little?’ Carla held up her thumb and index finger with a whisker of space separating them. ‘It’s one night, babe. Just one. Don’t you want to feel like a woman instead of a nerdy, four-eyed lab geek?’
‘Hey,’ Isobella protested at her sister’s blunt assessment. But she could hardly refute it. A ‘four-eyed lab geek’ was the image she’d meticulously presented to the world. ‘I do not want to attract Alex.’
