She meant to close the screen without reading the message—she’d learned the hard way that Jenna only ever contacted her when she wanted something, so it could wait until tomorrow—but she accidentally pressed the wrong button and the words came up on the screen.
Soz it came out lik dis. U shda dun da i/view.
Interview? What interview?
Then Jane remembered. Jenna’s publicist had wanted her to be interviewed a few months ago for a Celebrity Life feature about twins, along the lines of Jenna being the beauty and Jane being the brains. Jane had been in the middle of exams and simply hadn’t had time to do an interview, much less spend a day on a photo shoot. She’d explained why, and thought that was an end to it—but clearly they’d gone ahead with the idea anyway.
Even though she knew it was a bad move, she couldn’t help clicking on the attachment.
And then she really wished she hadn’t done it. She definitely hadn’t posed for that photograph. It looked as if it had been taken after she’d been at the tail end of a busy week on night shifts. She was wearing ratty sweat pants and an old T-shirt under a zipped hooded jacket that had seen better days, with her hair tucked under a woolly hat—clearly ready to do her daily run before crashing into bed. There was nothing in the article about what Jane actually did for a living; it was all about Jenna and unidentical twins.
Worse still, the magazine was going to be on sale in the hospital shop, where everyone could see it. She’d better warn Theo, because it wasn’t going to look good for the department. But not right now; it wasn’t often that he and Maddie had a night out, and Jane didn’t want to spoil things for them. There wasn’t anything anyone could do about it right now in any case, so leaving it until tomorrow was the right thing to do.
She closed the phone, but the question buzzed round her head. Why did Jenna hate her so much? Jane had tried and tried and tried to be supportive to her twin. She knew it wasn’t easy, being a supermodel. You were always in the public eye; you had to watch what you did and said and ate and drank, and whatever you did people would twist it to suit their own ends. Plus there were always new models coming along, ready to take your place in the spotlight. Not to mention those who were quick to take advantage. It was a lonely, precarious business that had left their mother fragile and prone to bouts of serious depression. Jenna, too, suffered from headaches and what she called ‘nerves’, whereas Jane had the constitution of an ox and hardly ever caught so much as a cold. But she’d tried to be kind. She’d looked after them both. She’d never complained, never said or done anything to make them feel they were a burden to her.
And yet nothing she did could ever please Jenna or Sophia. They seemed to resent her and look down on her in equal measure, and Jane had no idea how to change that.
She blew out a breath. Sorcha had talked her into coming to the hospital ball and Jane wasn’t going to let her twin get to her tonight. All the same, instead of going to the tombola table, she went to the bar and drank a glass of champagne straight down before ordering a second. The bubbles, to her relief, hit immediately. They didn’t take the magazine picture out of her head, but they did at least dull the edge of her misery.
She’d just bought her second glass of champagne and was turning back to the dance floor to go and find someone she knew to chat to and dance with when someone jogged her arm and the entire glassful went over the arm of the man standing next to her, soaking his white tuxedo.
‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry,’ she said, horrified. ‘Please excuse me.’
‘It was an accident. It’s not a problem.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped up the spill.
The handkerchief wasn’t enough; she knew the champagne was going to leave a stain over his sleeve.
‘Please, send me the cleaning bill.’ She was about to grab a pen and pad from her handbag to scribble down her details for him when she realised: she didn’t have either. The dinky little bag she’d brought tonight was less than an eighth of the size of the bag she normally used—the one that Sorcha always teased her was big enough to carry the kitchen sink as well as everything else. In this one, Jane could just about cram her door key, her wallet and her mobile phone into, and even that was pushing it. She was about to pull out her phone and offer to text him her details when he smiled.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Really. But if you want to make amends, you could dance with me.’
She blinked. What? The guy looked like James Bond. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smile that made her feel as if her temperature had just gone up six degrees. He was the kind of man that attracted third glances, let alone second. ‘Dance with you?’ she asked stupidly.
He shrugged. ‘It’s what people are supposed to do at a charity ball, isn’t it?’
‘I…’ Yes. But this man was a stranger. The epitome of a tall, dark, handsome stranger. ‘Well, if you’re sure. I’m J—’
‘No names,’ he cut in, smiling to take the sting from his words. ‘I rather like the idea of dancing with a gorgeous stranger. Cinderella.’
Gorgeous? Even Sorcha’s skill with make-up couldn’t make her look as stunning as her mother and her sister. Jane knew she was just ordinary. All the same, she smiled. ‘If I’m Cinderella, does that make you Prince Charming?’
‘Are you looking for a Prince Charming?’
‘No. I don’t need rescuing,’ she said. Though it wasn’t strictly true. Right now, she could really do with dancing with the best-looking man in the room. To take the sharpness of that article away. Honestly compelled her to add, ‘Besides, your toes might really regret that offer later. I have two left feet.’
‘I don’t. So dance with me anyway,’ he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
‘If you have bruised toes tomorrow, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Somehow, I think my toes will be just fine.’
And then Jane discovered that Prince Charming could dance. Really dance. Moving round the floor with him was like floating. Effortless. He was guiding her, so her footwork couldn’t possibly go wrong. She’d never, ever danced like this before, and it was a revelation. This was what it was like not to be clumsy.
When the music changed to a slower number, he didn’t let her go. It felt completely natural to move closer. To dance cheek to cheek with him.
His skin was soft against hers, with no hint of stubble—clearly he’d shaved just before coming out tonight—and she could smell the citrus tang of his aftershave. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the moment. Right now she really could imagine herself as Cinderella, dancing with her Prince Charming as he spun her round the floor.
And then she felt him move slightly. His lips brushed against the corner of her mouth.
If she pulled away, she knew he’d stop. All her instincts told her that her gorgeous stranger was a gentleman.
But what if she moved closer? Would he kiss her properly?
Even the idea of it made her pulse rate speed up and her breathing become shallower.
And then she did it. Moved just a little bit closer.
His
