No way in hell were they going to get her tears.

She did not cry.

‘That’s…’ Claire grinned. ‘That’s actually pretty smart.’

‘It takes more than blonde hair and a well-developed chest to stay at the top in television,’ Simone pointed out. Then, regarding her thoughtfully, she went on, ‘So the street kids get the money, the spotlight on their plight, the television company get the ratings. What are you getting out of it, Belle?’

‘Me?’

‘You could have stayed at home, squeezing your viewers heartstrings, but you wanted to come yourself. You must have had a reason.’

‘Apart from getting myself all over the newspapers looking like this?’

‘You don’t need publicity.’

‘Everyone needs publicity,’ she said, but her laughter had a hollow ring and neither of her two companions joined in. ‘No, well, maybe I just wanted to feel good about myself. Isn’t that why everyone does this kind of stunt?’

‘If that’s the plan,’ Claire said, lying back on her bedroll with a groan, ‘it isn’t working. All I feel is sore.’

‘Maybe the feeling good part kicks in later,’ Belle replied sympathetically.

She knew she hadn’t been the only one who’d gone through a three-ring circus to get here. No matter how much she hated it, she understood that even when the redtops had people digging in your dustbin for dirt they could use, it wasn’t personal.

For Claire, though, a pampered princess with a token job working in her father’s empire, the sniggering criticism had been just that. Deeply personal.

What the hell; they’d shown them. With a determined attempt at brightness, Belle continued, ‘In the meantime I’ve lost weight, improved my muscle tone, gained some blisters…’

‘No.’

She gave up on the distraction of her newly-defined calf muscles and caught something-a bleakness to Simone’s expression that was new.

‘What have you got out of this?’ she demanded. ‘Seriously.’