5. Charlotte Bishop

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Charlotte Bishop pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head as she stepped out of the convertible

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Charlotte Bishop pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head as she stepped out of the convertible. She wore a sleeveless silk blouse, a short, floral skirt and a white blazer. She had delicate leather sandals tied to her slender ankles. On her ears were diamond studs as big is my thumbnails.

"I thought that was you Peyton," she called out, her long strides feline and elegant as she made her way to us.

Her glossy blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, a lock of it wrapped around the elastic that held it in place. She paid attention to details like that.

Always polished, always perfect. It was hard to believe we were the same age.

Pale blue eyes flickered over her brother's face, traveled down the length of his body, and finally landed on the pile of my clothes at his feet.

I was behind him, one foot already on the dock. Having no other choice, I stepped out of the water. I was as naked as the day I was born. And just as vulnerable.

"Is that you Layla?" Charlotte asked, peering around Peyton's body to look at me. She gave me a slow, agonizing once over and my chest flushed with humiliation.

Instinctively, Peyton glanced at me over his shoulder and shifted his body to the right to shield my nakedness.

Oh. Perfect.

"Hi Charlotte," I said, wrapping the towel around myself. Keeping my movements as nonchalant as I could, I turned my back on them and squeezed the water from my hair, back into the lake.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking one last look at me before turning her attention back to Peyton. "I didn't realize I was interrupting." She lifted herself to her toes and pressed her cheek briefly to her brother's.

Christ. Air kisses between siblings. It really was a different world. I felt the chasm between us grow and laughed at how silly it was for me to think it was something that could be bridged. You were either born into this kind of stuff, or you weren't. Simple as that.

"I thought you were in Europe," he said flatly.

So had I. I'd heard she was spending the entire summer there and had rejoiced at the news.

"I was, but I came back last night."

Peyton said nothing so she continued.

"We weren't expecting you back until next week," she said, clasping her hands in front of her and rocking back on her heels.

He shrugged.

"Nevertheless, I'm glad you're home," she said.

No one could mistake the two of them for anything other than siblings. Thoroughbreds, the pair of them were tall and beautiful in the most classic sense with their fine bone structure and aquiline noses. But where Peyton's beauty was warm and inviting, hers was icy cold. His eyes were a brilliant deep blue, hers the palest shade of Sistine. His hair was honey blonde, hers almost platinum. His skin tone was golden and rosy, hers nearly translucent, fine enough for her blue veins to show through.

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