Heiress Apparently (Daughters of the Dynasty) , livre ebook

ABRAMS BOOKS - Ma Diana Ma

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168 pages

English

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The epic first novel in a sweeping series following the romantic lives and intrigues of the fictionalized descendants of a Chinese empress-now in paperback! Behind every great family lies a great secret. There's one rule in Gemma Huang's family: Never, under any circumstances, set foot in Beijing. But when Gemma, an aspiring actress, lands her first break-a lead role in an update of M. Butterfly, which just so happens to be filming in the Chinese capital-Gemma heads to LAX without looking back. It's an amazing opportunity for her burgeoning career, and she'll get to work with her idol. Of course, there's also the chance of discovering just exactly why she's been forbidden from entering the city in the first place. When Gemma arrives in Beijing, she's instantly mobbed by paparazzi at the airport. She quickly realizes she may as well be the twin of Alyssa Chua, one of the most notorious young socialites in Beijing. Thus kicks off a season of revelations and romance in which Gemma uncovers a legacy her parents have spent their lives protecting her from-one her mother would conceal at any cost.

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Publié par	ABRAMS BOOKS
Date de parution	01 décembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781647000875
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Images are used courtesy of the following: Cover and this page , center image , Mercedes deBellard; center image skyline , photograph by Xuanyu Han (Getty/1057591360); bottom left , JayKay57 (Getty/157473098). This page , clockwise from top left : Portrait of a seated woman , Portrait of a Chinese aristocrat of Canton , both courtesy Musee des Arts Asiatiques-Guimet, RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York; Mercedes deBellard; Qianlong; Yongzheng (courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art).
PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4197-4996-4
eISBN 978-1-64700-087-5
Text copyright 2020 Abrams Books
Illustration by Mercedes DeBellard
Lettering by Jen Wang
Book design by Hana Anouk Nakamura
Published in 2020 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
Amulet Books is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com
To my parents, Ma Ching Shu and Ma Chao Chang, for sharing your stories with me
CHAPTER ONE
I m breaking two cardinal rules tonight. One-never date a competitor for an acting role. Two-never go on a first date that involves competitive sports. So, why am I bowling on a first date with a guy I met in the audition waiting room for a toothpaste commercial?
The answer is simple. Two days ago, Ken Wang strolled into the audition waiting room-seriously channeling that scene in Always Be My Maybe when Keanu Reeves walks into the restaurant. Slow-motion coolness, hair swinging, music, and everything.
That s why all my rules flew out of my head.
I wasn t the only one staring, but I was the one Ken approached that day-maybe because I was the only other Asian there. But that s not why he asked me out ten minutes later. That had more to do with the intense sparks firing off between us as we talked. So, in a moment of weak-kneed, breathless infatuation, I agreed to go bowling with him.
Now I m wearing rented bowling shoes that smell like a decaying corpse and doing neck rolls to warm up. Because I m incredibly competitive. It s why I have those two rules about dating and competition in the first place.
Ken flashes me a slow smile that shows off his gleaming white teeth as he prepares to let his ball fly. With a smile like that, he s going to get the part . It doesn t even bother me that I m up for the same role. That s how crushed out I am.
Strike! he yells in triumph over the clash of bowling pins. Might as well give up now, Gemma.
My eyes narrow. I may have lost out on a toothpaste commercial to a guy with the world s most perfect teeth and the kind of smile that makes me shiver down to my toes, but I m not going to concede defeat in a game of bowling. You think I m going to let you win on our first date? I fake punch him on the shoulder to give myself an excuse to touch him. It sets a bad precedent.
Ken smiles at me again, and a spurt of pure pleasure rushes through me. Is it possible to get addicted to a smile? My stomach flutters madly as I walk over to the rack of bowling balls to make my selection. Not that there s much to choose from. All the balls are scuffed and scratched with the shine beaten out of them, and half of them look like they re a game away from retirement.
It s a Sunday night, and only a few other lanes besides ours are occupied. Bowled Over Alley has seen better days for sure. The lighting is dim, and although smoking is banned in LA, decades of smoke have already seeped into the walls and carpet, making everything gray and dingy. I kind of love that this is where Ken brought me for our first date. He s being himself and not trying to impress me, and I like that.
I heft up a twelve-pound ball that might ve been neon pink at one point. It s hard to tell. Regardless of the color, the weight of the ball feels nice and solid in my hands.
Sure you can handle that? Ken points to my twelve-pounder.
Ask me again after I ve kicked your ass, I say sweetly. Maybe I should go easy on the smack talk . Paul, my ex-boyfriend from high school, used to complain about how competitive I can get.
I think it s your ass that s going to get kicked. Ken s eyebrows lift, making his face wickedly suggestive. But don t worry. I ll go easy on you.
He s so freaking sexy that the retort on the tip of my tongue almost flies right out of my head. Almost . But I just can t let Ken get in a dig like that without a response, no matter how distracted I am by the slow heat simmering in my body. Contrary to popular belief, size really doesn t matter, so when-not if -you lose, don t blame it on my balls being bigger than yours. Was that too much? Paul had hated it whenever I said anything even slightly risqu . It s not like you , he used to say. Which just goes to show you that he didn t know me at all. Big surprise-Paul and I lasted only three months.
Ouch! Ken dramatically clasps a hand to his chest as his eyes light up. Damn, girl. You give as good as you get.
Grinning like crazy, I soak up Ken s admiration. Maybe bowling on a first date isn t such a bad idea. And maybe I should quit worrying about silly dating rules and be myself. It s just that I don t have much of a dating track record, and I don t want to blow it with Ken. The three months with Paul was my one and only relationship. Guys at my mostly white suburban high school had a certain vision of me-as an innocent, goody-two-shoes Asian girl. And white guys like Paul who were actually into that kind of thing were always disappointed by me. But now that I ve left high school and the state of Illinois behind, I hope things will be different.
I don t want you to get the wrong impression about me. I plunk my ball into the ball return rack. So I should let you know that I play to win.
Yeah, I can tell. Ken looks me over slowly. As if he likes what he sees.
Electricity tingles through me. I get the feeling that things are going to be different. That I didn t make a mistake in moving to LA after graduating from high school a few weeks ago. For one thing, there wasn t anyone as cool as Ken back in Lake Forest, Illinois. So, if it weren t for the smell of ancient smoke and the residue of a thousand previous feet in my shoes-I d think I was in a dream.
Over the next half hour, Ken and I do more flirting and accidentally, on purpose, bumping into each other. Still, when it s my turn to bowl, I tune out Ken s friendly heckling and snap my attention back to the game. Like I said, I m competitive.
When Ken takes his turn, we switch roles. I try to distract him with wisecracks, but he stares down the lane with laser focus. Apparently, we re both competitive.
I end up winning by a hair. And let the gloating commence! I announce gleefully.
A shadow flits over Ken s face, and anxiety licks at my stomach. Oh no. Please don t let him be like Paul, who never could stand to lose. I m competitive, but one thing I m not is a sore loser. Good-natured ribbing is part of the fun, but some guys don t seem to think so. Not when they ve lost.
On the fly, I convert my fist pump in the air to a shrug. Beginner s luck. Instantly, I hate myself for doing it. That s how I was with Paul, always worrying about his ego. It s one of the reasons I broke up with him. I swore to myself that I d never get into another relationship like that.
The shadow disappears from Ken s face. You won fair and square, so no false modesty, OK? He opens a can of soda and hands it to me.
Relieved, I accept the soda, and we sit down together on the black vinyl bench. My friends back home accuse me of being too competitive, I admit. They ve collectively banned me from Monopoly.
Ken laughs. I m competitive too. It comes from having Chinese parents. He starts mimicking his parents. You got a 99 percent on that test? How did everyone else do? Anyone get a 100 percent?
Right? I got an A-minus one time, and my mom made me talk to my English teacher about it. To be fair, Mom only did that once, and it was because she thought I deserved better.
Well, what did you expect? he teases. You did get the Asian D after all!
I start cracking up, and it feels so good. I never laugh about this kind of thing with my white friends, who wouldn t get the joke. But with Ken, we re sharing an inside joke instead of being the butt of a joke.
Strict parents, huh? Ken asks.
No, I admit. They pushed me hard to do my best in school, and I had a curfew, but that s about it.
He raises his eyebrows. So your parents are OK with you coming to LA to be an actress?
I laugh. Not exactly. They were less than thrilled that I deferred my college admission to UCLA to pursue my dream. I mean, they didn t rage or threaten. It was much worse than that. I drop my voice to a theatrical whisper. They were disappointed .
We talk about our parents a bit more, and then Ken scoots a quarter of an inch closer to me. My shoulders tense in excitement. Is he going to kiss me? Instead, he asks, Hey, do you want to go get some food?
I swallow my disappointment and tell myself that it s a good thing that he actually wants to hang out and get to know me instead of trying to shove his tongue down my