It was late Friday night and I was enjoying a quiet evening in my apartment when I heard a knock on the door. As I opened the door, I was amazed to find none other than Vanessa Hudgens stood before me, wearing a large pair of sunglasses.
Vanessa Hudgens was my sister, and some would say I was the luckiest brother in the world. The unfortunate truth was that my sister and I didn't get on very well, and six years ago I'd moved to London to get away and pursue a career as an accountant. I was never particularly interested in her showbiz lifestyle, and I felt blessed it was her cursed with all the public attention and not myself. But gradually, she let it go to her head until she became an unbearable diva. I hadn't seen her in over a year, save for in the numerous gossip rags, so this visit took me by surprise.
"Vanessa?" I asked, surprised.
"Andrew," She mumbled, looking down at the ground as she removed her sunglasses.
"To what do I owe this honour, my lady?" I said, sarcastically. Despite our lack of recent contact, I couldn't resist mocking her. I was only two years older than her and she was 24 now, but I had always considered her my little sister and treated her that way.
"Don't be a prick," she said, irritated. "Are you going to invite me in or what?"
"Or what," I smiled.
"You're unbelievable." She barged her way past me into the apartment. My American accent had all but disappeared now, so her accent suddenly seemed out of place.
"Take a seat," I said after she made herself comfortable on my sofa. "But seriously, why are you here? Did your latest boyfriend throw you out?" She was wearing a dark grey hoodie and a pair of shorts, and her hair was messy, suggesting to me that she'd been attempting to avoid paparazzi.
"Well, yeah," she mumbled, staring blankly at the TV.
Since moving to England I'd become a fairly successful senior accountant, earning a comfortable six-figure sum which had enabled me to afford a large apartment in central London. I turned the television off and sat down on a sofa opposite her.
"And a squabble with your boyfriend warrants a 3,000-mile trip to England?" I asked, somewhat suspicious of her real motives. "Don't bullshit me."
"Look, I'm having some trouble back home, what with my boyfriend being a prick and the media following my every move."
Despite falling out with Vanessa, I still maintained contact with our parents, more often than she did, it turned out. I also kept in touch with Stella, our youngest sister, and it was her I regretted moving away from the most.
"And let me guess, you want to stay here, where the paparazzi would never think of looking?" I said, with a hint of bitterness in my voice. After six years I'd finally managed to escape the media constantly asking me about my celebrity sister, and I wasn't too happy about the attention I expected she'd bring with her.
She didn't reply, and instead merely looked at me with a gentle smile. She'd always been manipulative, and could easily choose which emotion she thought would get the best results for her, so I wasn't persuaded by her apparent sadness.
"I shouldn't have even bothered," She quipped after a few moments of silence.
"I didn't force you here."
"Look, I don't have anywhere to stay; I slept in my car last night because I was too scared to come and ask you."
"You're a multi-millionaire, 'Nessa, are you really telling me you couldn't afford a fucking hotel room?"
"Alright, I wasn't scared, I just spent half the night trying to find where you lived," she confessed. "London's a confusing place and I knew the paps would find me if I stayed in a hotel."
"You never were good at telling the truth," Furious, I got up and walked to the kitchen. I pulled two whisky glasses from the cupboard and tipped a few cubes of ice into each one. Pulling a bottle of scotch from the cupboard, I half-filled the glasses and returned to the living area, placing a glass on the coffee table in front of Vanessa.
"Thanks," she half-smiled, taking a sip.
"So how long do you plan on staying here, anyway?" I asked, somewhat calmer now. "Two days? A week? A month?"
"I don't know," she replied quietly. "Until it all dies down, I guess."
I was still suspicious of her real intentions; few of her answers thus far were adding up.
"So let me get this right," I said, taking a sip of my whisky. "You've fallen out with your boyfriend and the paparazzi won't leave you alone. So you fly 3,000 miles to stay indefinitely with the brother you haven't spoken to in over a year without any luggage?"
"My stuff's in the car, and you're my only option," she said desperately. "Mom and Dad aren't interested and I have nobody else. If you really want I can find a hotel to stay in." She moved to stand up, obviously aware I wasn't willing to let her leave.
"Sit down," I said. Despite our disagreements, I could tell she was anxious about the media situation, and I didn't have it in me to force my sister to stay in a hotel in this state. "You can stay here as long as you like, but as long as you're under my roof, you obey my rules, okay?"
"What are your rules?" She questioned.
"I'm in charge," I said. "Don't get in my way when I'm doing work, don't interfere with my stuff, and don't pee on the carpet." I let out a slight smile.
"You're a dick, you know that?" She smiled. I figured that if I was going to let her stay in my apartment, I ought to at least try to get along with her.
"Come on, let's get your stuff." I said, gesturing to her to stand up and follow me. "Where did you park?"
"Just outside, near the bus stop." She replied.
I was incredibly surprised to find she only had three bags with her, she normally travelled with much more luggage, like a true celebrity. I helped her carry her bags from her rental car up to the apartment, where she once again collapsed onto the sofa.
"Is there any reason you're dressed like a tramp?" I asked jokingly. Despite her messy hair and her unflattering oversized hoodie, she still looked good. She was my sister, but that didn't make me blind; I knew she was a beautiful girl, in fact, dare I say it, hot.
"Don't be mean, Andrew," she said. "I'm trying not to be recognised. But if I look so trampy, could you point me to your shower?"
"Sure, the bathroom's just through there," I pointed towards the frosted glass door. "Go on, I'll get you some towels."
