Lola clapped her hands together quickly in front of her face, the way she always did when she was excited. It was beyond annoying, but right now Lola's spastic movements were the least of Stella's problems.

A man opened the door and walked out onto the stone steps. "Emma!" he called. He was in his late forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a tanned, chiseled face. He wore a crisp blue button-down shirt and burgundy penny loafers.

BUY SLOANE SISTERS

"You must be Stella," Winston said, reaching out his hand. Stella kept her arms firmly at her sides. No way. There was absolutely no way she was going shake this man's hand, let alone live in his home.

She turned to step back inside the limo, but it was already pulling away from the curb. It isn't too late, she thought as it stopped at the red light at the end of the block. She could make a run for it. The driver would take her to JFK and she'd get on the next plane back to Heathrow. She'd stroll in the gate of Millshire in her strappy blue sailor dress, flanked by Pippa and Bridget, and they'd have another fabulous year.

But then the light turned green, and the limo disappeared around the corner.

Stella looked back at her mom's worried face, at Winston's overtanned-from-a-season-in-the-Hamptons nose, at Lola's wide green eyes, and then back at the Sloanes' house. The girl had disappeared from the window.

She let go of her Louis Vuitton carryall and it fell to the sidewalk with a thud. Winston took her limp hand in his and shook it up and down for a good ten seconds, smiling like he was a little dim.

Welcome home!