Read Online Trophy Life by Elli Lewis - Free Book Online Page A

Amy had first met Giselle, she had found her unutterably terrifying. Not only was she a stunning, 5'9 blond swimwear model, but she was unflappably tough and unflinchingly candid. She had given birth completely naturally and stoically, to twins following 2.5 hours of labour and had been back at the gym the following week. The doctors had told her that twins tended to come early, but Giselle had, like only 4% of all pregnant women, managed to deliver on her exact due date. At the time they were introduced, Amy couldn't imagine being considered as the same specie as Giselle, let alone part of her family. But as time went on, Amy had learned that her sister-in-law was not a cruel or bad person. In fact it seemed to her that Giselle’s bluntness came from her work in the modelling world, where it was not uncommon to have a completely frank evaluation of everything from one’s weight to their eyelash length. 
    Giselle and Amy had met in Harvey Nichols at 10am sharp the next morning, where Giselle had clucked over Amy’s lack of muscular tone, lack of height and general lack. In the end, they had settled on a pair of these-will-make-you-taller stiletto ankle boots, a tight leather it-will-even-out-your-posture skirt, a strappy white silk vest and a ‘so Millie Macintosh’ tweed blazer, all of which Amy was wearing today.
    Giselle had also made Amy an appointment at a permanent makeup salon, where Amy’s formerly wispy eyebrows were turned into dark, perfectly shaped brows that Cara Delevingne herself would be proud of. Meanwhile Giselle had given her written instructions to pass on to Jean-Paul.
    'It is not enough simply to cut and blow dry your hair,' she had chided her. 'You need colour. Shape.'
    Jean-Paul had been beside himself with excitement as, over the course of three hours he transformed her usually poker straightened brown hair into a mass of carefully coiffed waves with delicate golden highlights.
    'She’s all eyes and hair. Like Natalie Portman, just without the killer abs,' said one of the salon staff to Jean-Paul as he spritzed her here and there, surveying his work.
    'Nah, too pale,' said another. 'Maybe Anne Hathaway with those elastic lips. Just smaller and with more hair. And of course those ,' she said, gesturing at Amy’s chest. Both girls along with Jean Paul had tilted their heads with considered looks on their faces. 
    So, now ready for her big Society debut, Amy tried her best to maintain a smidgen of dignity as she gingerly made her way to the glass frontage of the hotel. Finally on the safety of secure flooring inside, she was directed to a plush sitting room overlooking extensive gardens and what Amy knew was a golf course beyond.
    The women who comprised the London Ladies were scattered around the room, standing carefully on their sky-high heels, like a flock of prize flamingos. Standing was a matter of pride at dos such as this, like an endurance challenge. Only a few elderly members sat, as if on thrones, in armchairs so large they looked ready to swallow their age worn frail bodies. Some of the faces Amy knew well, including the grumpy visage of Lady Fenella, the aged wife of an Earl, some she had seen at events. Amy recognised others from the insides of her Hello! magazine, especially from the party pages. She saw a minor royal mixing with the unprepossessing form of the wife of a sports star. Without exception, every woman there was preened and pristine and Amy imagined that the cost of their handbags alone could rival the gross domestic product of a small nation state.
    'Amy, you’re here.' Giselle came over and air kissed her on both cheeks. Amy really wished she could hate Giselle. If only she was the bitchy, ice maiden that films promised girls this beautiful invariably were. Just looking at her tall, slim frame flawlessly encased in the most unforgiving white dress that had surely ever been created, Amy felt like a child dressed up in mummy’s wardrobe. 'Welcome. Do you know