Free Unsticky by Sarah Manning Page A

shade of porcelain. Or maybe it was just the lighting in the room. Her hair was already pinned up with a handful of sparkly clips so Grace concentrated on applying a sweep of liquid eyeliner and some lipgloss that was exactly two shades darker than the dress. If she wore anything brighter, then Vaughn was bound to get the wrong idea.
     
    But ultimately this Grace was just a reflection in a mirror. In reality there was tit-tape sticking the bodice to her chest so Grace didn’t flash her Love Kylie bra at the wrong moment, while her feet were being crunched into a shape they weren’t meant to go by her peeptoe heels. It wasn’t very feminist, but Grace fervently believed that a girl had to suffer to look this good.
     
    The phone suddenly rang and Grace’s stomach slam-dunked at the prospect of what might happen in the next few hours, but as long as she kept it light and frothy and managed not to say anything stupid, what could possibly go wrong? Grace scooped phone, lippy and purse into her vintage clutch bag and at precisely 8.01 p.m., the lift doors swooshed open and she stepped out into the lobby to find Vaughn waiting for her.
     

chapter six
     
    Vaughn was a little taller and leaner and scarier than she remembered. Maybe it was the slim-cut charcoal suit and black shirt, which made him look grim and forbidding. Or maybe it was just the way he stared at her, head tilted, without saying a word.
     
    ‘Hey, it’s me,’ Grace said uncertainly as her eyes swept over Vaughn’s unsmiling face. Considering she’d been wearing Primark and tear stains the only time they’d met, maybe he didn’t recognise her.
     
    ‘I know it’s you,’ he murmured, stepping forward to graze her cheek with a barely-there brush of his lips. Grace took a hasty step back to get away from him and the faintly disconcerting scent of limes.
     
    She was meant to be light and frothy, not skittish. Grace clasped her hands in front of her and gave him a cool smile, even as her heart thumped out a warning tattoo. ‘Do you want your contractually obligated drink first or do we have to be at this exhibition thingy soon?’
     
    ‘Drink first, exhibition thingy second,’ Vaughn decided, finally smiling as he spread his arms expansively. ‘So where are you taking me?’
     
    Somewhere she could put the bill on her room tab and swear blind, even under the toughest interrogation, that he was a fashion PR. Grace pointed at the stark metal steps. ‘Hotel bar,’ she said firmly.
     
    Vaughn’s hand was already curving around her elbow so he could guide her up the stairs as if she was a delicate flower of a girl who couldn’t walk unaided.
     
    ‘How did you get that cut on your cheek?’ he asked as they walked into the lounge.
     
    Grace marched determinedly to the bar, ignoring the plump, cosy sofas and chairs in favour of hauling herself up on to one of the stools. ‘There was this whole thing with a box of costume jewellery,’ she said vaguely. ‘It looks worse than it is. What do you want to drink?’
     
    It wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t quite so bad as they sipped vodka martinis, so dry that the first taste made Grace’s tongue recoil in horror. If she was light and frothy, then Vaughn had decided to be charming and urbane. They talked about the weather because they were English people abroad. Then they talked about New York. Vaughn mentioned an apartment with a view of the park and an ancient next-door neighbour who was one of the Kennedys and never went out without her sable coat, ‘even when it’s ninety degrees humidity like today’.
     
    And Grace told him the thing she liked most about New York so far. Which had been her first glimpse as she drove along the BQE and looked over the water to see the tiny island of Manhattan, rising up from the Hudson like some mythical, enchanted forest of skyscrapers and neon.
     
    Grace was just munching on the three olives she’d begged from the barman in a futile attempt to mop up some