{"product_id":"sisters-isbn-9780440243267","title":"Sisters","description":"\u003cb\u003eFour sisters, a Manhattan brownstone, and a tumultuous year of loss and courage are  at the heart of #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Danielle Steel’s novel about a remarkable family, a stunning  tragedy—and what happens when four very different young women come together under  one very lively roof\u003c\/b\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwenty-one-year-old Candy is blazing her way through Paris, New York, and Tokyo as fashion’s latest international supermodel. Her sister Tammy, twenty-nine, has a job producing the most successful hit show on TV. In New York, oldest sister Sabrina, thirty-four, is an ambitious young lawyer, while Annie, at twenty-six, is an American in Florence, living for her art. One Fourth of July weekend, the four sisters come home to Connecticut for their family’s annual gathering. But before the holiday is over, tragedy strikes and their world is utterly changed. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuddenly, four sisters who have been fervently pursuing success and their own lives come together to share one New York brownstone, to support each other, and to pick up the pieces while one of them struggles to heal her shattered body and soul. A bustling house is soon filled with eccentric dogs, laughter, tears, friends, men . . . and the kind of honesty and unconditional love only sisters can provide. But as the four women settle in, they are forced to confront the direction of their respective lives.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith unerring insight and compassion, Danielle Steel tells a compelling story of sisters who are irrevocably woven into the fabric of one another’s lives. Brilliantly blending humor and heartbreak, she delivers a powerful message about the fragility—and the wonder—of life.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Danielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel is one of the best!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Few modern writers convey the pathos of family and material life with such heartfelt empathy.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Philadelphia Inquirer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel pulls out all the emotional stops. . . . She delivers!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eDanielle Steel \u003c\/b\u003ehas been hailed as one of the world’s bestselling authors, with a billion copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include \u003ci\u003eHappiness, Palazzo, The Wedding Planner, Worthy Opponents, Without a Trace, The Whittiers, The High Notes, \u003c\/i\u003eand other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of \u003ci\u003eHis Bright Light\u003c\/i\u003e, the story of her son Nick Traina’s life and death; \u003ci\u003eA Gift of Hope\u003c\/i\u003e, a memoir of her work with the homeless; \u003ci\u003eExpect a Miracle\u003c\/i\u003e, a book of her favorite quotations for inspiration and comfort; \u003ci\u003ePure Joy\u003c\/i\u003e, about the dogs she and her family have loved; and the children’s books \u003ci\u003ePretty Minnie in Paris\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003ePretty Minnie in Hollywood\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e The photo shoot in the Place de la Concorde, in Paris, had been going  since eight o'clock that morning. They had an area around one of the fountains cordoned  off, and a bored-looking Parisian gendarme stood watching the proceedings. The model  stood in the fountain for hours on end, jumping, splashing, laughing, her head thrown  back in practiced glee, and each time she did it, she was convincing. She was wearing  an evening gown hiked up to her knees, and a mink wrap. A powerful battery-operated  fan blew her long blond hair out in a mane behind her.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Passersby stopped and stared,  fascinated by the scene as a makeup artist in a tank top and shorts climbed in and  out of the fountain to keep the model's makeup perfect. By noon, the model still  looked like she was having a fabulous time, as she laughed with the photographer  and his two assistants between shots as well as on camera. Cars slowed as they drove  by, and two American teenagers stopped and stared in amazement as they strolled by  and recognized her.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Oh my God, Mom! It's Candy!\" the older of the two girls intoned  with awe. They were on vacation in Paris from Chicago, but even Parisians recognized  Candy easily. She was the most successful supermodel in America, and on the international  scene, and had been since she was seventeen. Candy was twenty-one now, and had made  a fortune modeling in New York, Paris, London, Milan, Tokyo, and a dozen other cities.  The agency could barely handle the volume of her bookings. She was on the cover of  Vogue at least twice a year, and was in constant demand. Candy was, without a doubt,  the hottest model in the business, and a household name even to those who knew little  about fashion.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Her full name was Candy Adams, but she never used her last name,  just Candy. She didn't need more than that. Everybody knew her, her face, her name,  her reputation as one of the world's leading models. She managed to make everything  look like fun, whether she was running through snow barefoot in a bikini in the freezing  cold in Switzerland, walking through the surf in an evening gown in the winter on  Long Island, or wearing a full-length sable coat under a blazing sun in the Tuscan  hills. Whatever she did, she looked as though she was having a ball doing it. Standing  in the fountain in the Place de la Concorde in July was easy, despite the heat and  the morning sun, in one of Paris's standard summer heat waves. The shoot was for  another Vogue cover, for the October issue, and the photographer, Matt Harding, was  one of the biggest in the business. They had worked together hundreds of times over  the last four years, and he loved shooting with her.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Unlike other models as important  as she was, Candy was always easy—good-natured, funny, irreverent, sweet, and surprisingly  naive after the success she'd enjoyed since the beginning of her career. She was  just a nice person, and an incredible beauty. She didn't have a single bad angle.  Her face was virtually perfect for the camera, with no flaws, no defects. She had  the delicacy of a cameo, with finely carved features, miles of naturally blond hair  that she wore long most of the time, and blue eyes the color of sky and the size  of saucers. Matt knew she liked to party hard and stay out late, and amazingly it  never showed in her face the next day. She was one of the lucky few who could get  away with playing and never have it show afterward. She wouldn't be able to get away  with it forever, but for now she still could. If anything, she only got prettier  with age, although at twenty-one, one could hardly expect her to be touched by the  ravages of time, but some models started to show it even at her age. Candy didn't.  And her natural sweetness still showed through just as it had the first day he'd  met her, when she was seventeen and doing her first shoot for Vogue with him. He  loved her. Everyone did. There wasn't a man or woman in the business who didn't love  Candy.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e She stood six foot one in bare feet, weighed a hundred and sixteen pounds  on a heavy day, and he knew she never ate, but whatever the reason for her light  weight, it looked great on her. Although she was thin in person, she always looked  fabulous in the images he took of her. Just like Vogue, which adored her and had  assigned him to work with her on this shoot, Candy was his favorite model.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e They  wrapped up the shoot at twelve-thirty, and she climbed out of the fountain as though  she had only been in it for ten minutes, instead of four and a half hours. They were  doing a second setup at the Arc de Triomphe that afternoon, and one that night at  the Eiffel Tower, with the sparklers going off behind them. Candy never complained  about difficult conditions or long hours, which was one of the reasons photographers  loved working with her. That, and the fact that you couldn't get a bad photograph  of her. Her face was the most forgiving on the planet, and the most desirable.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Where  do you want to go for lunch?\" Matt asked her, as his assistants put away his cameras  and tripod and locked up the film, while Candy slipped out of the white mink wrap  and dried her legs with a towel. She was smiling, and looked as though she had enjoyed  it thoroughly.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"I don't know. L'Avenue?\" she suggested with a smile. She was easy.  They had plenty of time. It would take his assistants roughly two hours to set up  the shoot at the Arc de Triomphe. He had gone over all the details and angles with  them the day before, and he didn't need to be there until they had the shot fully  ready. That gave him and Candy a couple of hours for lunch. Many models and fashion  gurus frequented L'Avenue, also Costes, the Buddha Bar, Man Ray, and an assortment  of Paris haunts. He liked L'Avenue too, and it was close to where they were going  to shoot that afternoon. He knew it didn't matter where they went, she wasn't likely  to eat much anyway, just consume gallons of water, which was what all the models  did. They flushed their systems constantly so they didn't gain an ounce. And with  the two lettuce leaves Candy usually ate, she was hardly likely to put on weight.  If anything, she got thinner every year. But she looked healthy, in spite of her  enormous height, and ridiculously light weight. You could see all the bones in her  shoulders, chest, and ribs. Just as she was more famous than most of her counterparts,  she was also thinner than most. It worried Matt for her sometimes, although she just  laughed when he accused her of having an eating disorder. Candy never responded to  comments about her weight. Most major models flirted with or suffered from anorexia,  or worse. It went with the territory. Humans didn't come in these sizes, not after  the age of nine. Adult women, who ate even halfway normally, just weren't that thin.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e They had a car and driver who took them to the restaurant on the Avenue Montaigne,  and as usual at that hour and time of year, it was mobbed. The couture collections  were being shown the following week, and designers, photographers, and models had  already started to fly in. In addition, it was high tourist season in Paris. Americans  loved the restaurant, but so did trendy Parisians. It was always a scene. One of  the owners spotted Candy immediately, and showed them to a table on the glassed-in  terrace, which they referred to as the \"Veranda.\" It was where she liked to sit.  She loved the fact that she could smoke in any restaurant in Paris. She wasn't a  heavy smoker, but indulged occasionally, and she liked having the freedom to do it,  without getting dark looks or ugly comments. Matt commented that she was one of the  few women who made smoking look appealing. She did everything with grace, and could  make tying her shoelaces look sexy. She simply had that kind of style.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Matt ordered  a glass of white wine before lunch, and Candy asked for a large bottle of water.  She had left the giant water bottle she usually toted around in the car. She ordered  a salad for lunch, without dressing, Matt ordered steak tartare, and they settled  back to relax, as people at tables around them stared at her. Everyone in the place  had recognized her. She was wearing jeans and a tank top and flat silver sandals  she had bought the year before in Portofino. She often had sandals made there, or  in St. Tropez; she usually got there every summer. You could see her nipples through  the thin white cotton tank top, which didn't bother her at all, nor the men who watched  her. She was totally at ease in her own skin, and with who she was.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Are you coming  down to St. Tropez this weekend?\" Matt asked, assuming she was. \"There's a party  on Valentino's yacht.\" He knew that Candy would have been one of the first to be  asked, and she rarely turned down an invitation, and surely not this one. She usually  stayed at the Byblos Hotel, with friends, or on someone's yacht. Candy always had  a million options, and was in huge demand, as a celebrity, a woman, and a guest.  Everyone wanted to be able to say she'd be there, so others would come. People used  her as a lure, and proof of their social prowess. It was a hard burden to carry,  and often crossed the line into exploitation, but she didn't seem to mind, and was  used to it. She went where she wanted to, and where she thought she'd have the best  time. But this time she surprised him. Despite her incredible looks, she was a woman  of many facets, and not the mindless, superficial beauty some expected. Candy was  not only gorgeous but decent, and very bright, even if still naive and young, despite  her success. Matt liked that about her. There was nothing jaded about Candy, and  she enjoyed it all, whatever she did.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"I can't go to St. Tropez,\" she said, picking  at her lettuce. So far, he had seen her actually swallow two bites.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Other plans?\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Yeah,\" she said simply, smiling. \"I have to go home. My parents give a Fourth of  July party every year, and my mother would kill me if I didn't show up. It's a command  performance for me and my sisters.\" Matt knew she was close to them. None of her  sisters were models, and if he remembered correctly, she was the youngest. She talked  about her family a lot and was very close to them.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Aren't you doing the couture  shows next week?\" More often than not, she was Chanel's bride, and had been Saint  Laurent's before they closed. She made a spectacular bride.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"Not this year. I'm  taking two weeks off. I promised. Usually I go home for the party, and come back  just in time for the shows. This year I figured I'd stay home for a couple of weeks  and hang out. I haven't seen all my sisters in one place since Christmas. It's pretty  hard with everyone away from home, mostly me. I've hardly been in New York since  March, and my mom's been complaining, so I'm staying home for two weeks and then  I have to go to Tokyo after that for a shoot for Japanese Vogue.\" It was where a  lot of the models made big money, and Candy made more than most. The Japanese fashion  magazines ate her up. They loved her blond looks and her height.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"My mom gets really  pissed when I don't come home,\" she added, and he laughed. \"What's so funny?\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"You.  You're the hottest model in the business, and you're worried about your mom getting  mad if you don't go home for the Fourth of July barbecue, or picnic, or whatever  it is. That's what I love about you. You're really still a kid.\" She shrugged with  an impish smile.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \"I love my mom,\" she said honestly, \"and my sisters. My mom gets  really upset when we don't come home. Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas. I  missed Thanksgiving once, and she gave me shit about it for a year. As far as she's  concerned, family comes first. I think she's right. When I have kids, I want that  too. This stuff is fun, but it doesn't last forever. Family does.\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Candy still had  all the same values she'd been brought up with, and believed in them profoundly,  no matter how much she loved being a supermodel. But her family was even more important  to her. Much more so than the men in her life, who thus far had been brief and fleeting,  and from what Matt had observed were usually jerks, either young ones just trying  to show off by being out with her, or older ones who often had a more sinister agenda.  Like many other beautiful young women, she was a magnet to men who wanted to use  her, usually by being seen with her, and enjoying the perks of her success. The most  recent one had been a famous Italian playboy who was notorious for the beautiful  women he went out with—for about two minutes. Before that, there had been a young  British lord, who looked normal but had suggested whips and bondage, and Candy found  out later he was bisexual and deep into drugs. Candy had been startled, and ran like  hell, although it was not the first time she'd had that kind of offer. In the last  four years, she'd heard it all. Most of her relationships had been short-lived. She  didn't have the time or the desire to settle down, and the kind of men she met were  not the kind she wanted to stay with. She always said that she'd never been in love,  although she had been out with a lot of men, but none of them worthwhile, since the  boy she'd been involved with in high school. He was still in college now, and they  had lost touch.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Candy had never gone to college. Her first big modeling break had  happened in her senior year in high school, and she had promised her parents she'd  go back to school later. She wanted to take advantage of the opportunities she had,  while she had them. She put aside a ton of money, although she'd spent plenty on  a penthouse apartment in New York, and a lot of great clothes and fancy pastimes.  College was becoming an ever more unlikely plan. She just couldn't see the point.  Besides, as she always pointed out to her parents, she wasn't nearly as smart as  her sisters, or so she claimed. Her parents and sisters denied it, and still thought  she should go to college when her life slowed down, if it ever did. But for now,  she was still going at full speed, and loving every minute of it. She was on the  fast track, fully enjoying the fruits of her enormous success.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “I can’t believe  you’re going home for a Fourth of July picnic, or whatever the hell it is. Can I  talk you out of it?” Matt asked hopefully. He had a girlfriend, but she wasn’t in  France, and he and Candy had always been good friends. He enjoyed her company, and  it would be much more amusing having her in St. Tropez for the weekend.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “Nope,”  she answered, obviously unswayable. “My mom would be heartbroken. I can’t do that  to her. And my sisters would be really pissed. They’re all coming home too.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “Yeah,  but that’s different. I’m sure they don’t have choices like parties on Valentino’ s yacht.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “No, but they have stuff to do too. We all go home for the Fourth of July,  no matter what.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “How patriotic,” he said cynically, teasing her, as people continued  to walk past their table and stare. You could see Candy’s breasts through her paper-thin  white tank top, which was a man’s undershirt, a “wife beater” as they called it in  the business. She wore them a lot, and didn’t need a bra. She had had her breasts  enlarged three years before, and they contrasted sharply with her rail-thin body.  The new ones weren’t huge, but they were spectacular looking and had been done well.  They were still soft to the touch, unlike most breast implants, particularly those  that cost less. She had had hers done at the best plastic surgeon in New York, much  to her mother and sisters’ horror. But she explained that she needed to do it for  her work. None of her sisters or her mother would have considered doing such a thing,  and two of them didn’t need to.  And her mother still had a great figure and was  beautiful at fifty-seven.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e All the women in the family were knockouts, although their  looks were very different from each other. Candy looked nothing like the other women  in her family. She was by far the tallest, and she had her father’s looks and height.  He was a very good-looking man, had played football at Yale, was six foot four, and  he had blond hair like hers when he was young. Jim Adams was turning sixty in December.  Neither one of her parents looked their age. They were still a striking couple. Like  Candy’s sister Tammy, her mother was a redhead. Her sister Annie’s hair was chestnut  brown with coppery auburn highlights, and her sister Sabrina’s hair was almost jet  black. They had one of every color, their father liked to tease them. And in their  youth, they had looked like the old Breck ads, eastern, patrician, distinguished,  and handsome. The four girls had been beautiful as children, and often caused comment,  and still did when they went out together, even with their mother. Because of her  height, weight, fame, and profession, Candy always got the most attention, but the  others were lovely too.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e They finished lunch at L’Avenue. Matt ate a pink \u003ci\u003emacaron\u003c\/i\u003e with raspberry sauce on it, while Candy grimaced and said it was too sweet, and drank  a cup of black \u003ci\u003ecafé filter\u003c\/i\u003e, allowing herself one tiny square of chocolate as a treat,  which was rare. The driver took them to the Arc de Triomphe after lunch. They had  a trailer for her there, parked on the Avenue Foch, behind the Arc de Triomphe, and  after a short time she emerged in a startlingly beautiful red evening gown, trailing  a sable wrap behind her. She looked absolutely breathtaking, as two policemen helped  her cross through the traffic to where Matt and his crew were waiting for her under  the huge French flag flying from the Arc de Triomphe. Matt beamed as he saw her coming.  Candy was truly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and possibly in the world.#1 New York Times bestseller","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300279570661,"sku":"NP9780440243267","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440243267.jpg?v=1767736694","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/sisters-isbn-9780440243267","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}