Panic set in.

I was a deer caught in the headlights. An imposter about to be unmasked. Blinking several times, I stared at Julian, words failing me. Fortunately, he didn’t look suspicious or angry, only intrigued. My throat ran dry as I endeavoured to speak.

“P-pardon?”

Julian took a step closer, eyes wandering over my features keenly. I knew what he saw: a bookish version of Elodie, her complete opposite with the same face.

“I was wondering if you have a sister?”

Looking past him, Bernice was chatting casually with the woman Julian had come in with. I’d been stacking books, but as soon as I heard his voice, I panicked. How the hell had he found me? I ran back through my memories of the morning. Feeling too nervous to keep up the act, I made my excuses to Suze and left the café before Julian returned from his phone call. He’d gone outside, so he must’ve seen me leaving. Had he followed me?

Why on earth would he follow me?

And to top things off, the woman he came with had asked for the latest Sasha Orlando book.

My book.

My career as an author wasn’t something I advertised, mainly because I was a hermit and too socially phobic to do appearances. My dad and brothers were the only people who knew I was a writer.

I had a pen name, and nobody knew what E.S. Grant looked like. Funnily enough, it seemed to add mystery and increase book sales. And conspiracy theories. Lots of people thought that Sasha was a real person, the books more fact than fiction. If you looked on the internet, you could find speculation galore, which made me wonder if Julian was one of those people.

He’d never told me his profession.

It was very possible that he was a journalist himself, or a blogger out to seek the truth.

Too panicked to think straight, I answered, “Yes, I do have a sister. W-why?”

He took a step forward. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Elodie?”

I took a step back. “Do you know her?”

To Julian, I must’ve sounded edgy and mistrustful. On the inside, I was scrambling for a way to get out of this mess. I knew there were only two viable options: come clean about everything, or, lie and pretend I was Elodie’s sister. Obviously, being me, I took the coward’s route.

I could wriggle my way out of it…eventually. If he came looking for Elodie again, I’d tell him she died in a helicopter crash. Or got struck by lightning. Or was inducted into a religious cult. Fell down a well.

Julian’s eyes danced, as though he were thoroughly amused by the thought of Elodie having a sister who was so unlike her.

“We’re acquainted, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you…Ellen, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh.” I tugged at the sleeve of my shirt. I needed this interaction to end now. “Well, I’ll let Elodie know I bumped into you, but I have to get back to work, so…”

“Julian. Tell her you bumped into Julian.”

“Okay.”

“Are you twins?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Do we look like twins?”

“You could be fraternal twins, but really, the resemblance in your facial features is uncanny.”

“We’re not twins. I’m her younger sister,” I blurted, my deep-seated addiction for making up stories tumbling out. I should just shut up and let him leave, but there was something alluring about Julian. The sparkly light behind his eyes pulled me in.

“Ah, I see. Yes, you do strike me as the younger sister, but funnily, I recall her telling me she only had two brothers.”

Oh crap, I had said that, hadn’t I?

I needed to start keeping better track of my stories. Elodie’s stories. That was the problem with being a dirty deceiver. Eventually, you started to drown under all the lies.

I forced a casual tone. “Right. She doesn’t like to tell people about me. We don’t exactly get along very well.”

“Oh, and why is that?” Julian asked, his lips forming a scandalised pout. “Did you sleep with her teenage boyfriend? You seem like the type.”

His teasing surprised a laugh out of me. “I also stole her signed poster of The Backstreet Boys, so we’re basically enemies for life now.”

His answering smile was beautiful, and I was internally impressed with myself for managing to conduct this conversation without swooning and/or fainting.

“Ems for life, huh? Sounds serious. Now I’m glad I don’t have any siblings.”

“Yep, you’re pretty lucky,” I said, nodding awkwardly.

“Julian, are you coming?” his friend called from where she stood at the front of the shop. I was fairly sure she wasn’t his girlfriend, since he’d been coming on pretty strong with Elodie at Suze’s apartment.

He glanced in her direction then brought his mesmerising gaze back to me. “Looks like I’m wanted. It was great meeting you, Ellen. Try not to sleep with any more of your sister’s boyfriends. Actually, strike that. If I ever manage to convince her to date me, feel free to work your seductive charms.” He waggled his brows and again, I laughed. I knew he wasn’t flirting with me. He was being friendly because he wanted to get with Elodie, my alter ego, and now, fake sister.

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind.”

With one last parting grin, he went and linked his friend’s arm, then left the shop. I slumped back against a bookshelf and tried to catch my breath. The panic that had been racing through my body made me feel like I’d just run a marathon.

But then it transformed into something else, something that zinged through me, a heady rush.

I felt…oddly powerful.

I’d gotten away with it, albeit fumblingly. I’d pulled off a ruse. Mastered some trickery. Convinced Julian I wasn’t some weirdo girl with a complicated and very deeply thought out alter ego. Elodie was a glove that fit perfectly to my hand, but perhaps Ellen wasn’t such a bad actress either. Or maybe my supreme timidity clouded the fact that I was a fake. After all, anyone as awkward as me couldn’t possibly have the confidence to pull off a con.

Either way, in my somewhat uneventful life, this gave me a thrill.

When I arrived home that evening, I ran my hand along the familiar hallway wall, painted in a mural of climbing roses. Something I haven’t mentioned yet, my house was sort of unique, or well, visually striking was probably a better description. It was my haven, the place where I spent most of my time, and I’d put a lot of effort into making it special. Sometimes it felt more like a work of art in progress than a house.

My kitchen was a jungle of lovingly cared for potted plants, with Rainbow’s and Skittles’ antique birdcage the focal point. Behind it, I’d painted a mural of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, so that it spanned out around their cage in all its soft pink glory. Painting was a hobby I indulged in whenever I wasn’t writing.

When I was about eleven, I discovered the joy of writing fiction. I also loved to draw, so I’d create illustrations to accompany my stories. It was how I released all my unspent, creative energy. My stories no longer required pictures, so now my house was my canvas.

My brother, Nick, said my paintings were an outward expression of my inner self. My other brother, Cameron, said all the colours gave him a headache.

I told you he was the cranky one.

Anyway, Nick liked to psycho-analyse people. Some folks in our hometown called him the Shrink Barista, though he wasn’t exactly qualified. He dropped out of his Psycho-therapy degree in year two and now worked in a coffee shop full-time. His take on me was that since I was so socially phobic, I channelled all my unused social energy into art. I tended to agree with him, since up until the age of five I had what they termed ‘selective mutism’. I would only speak around a select group of people. In my case, that was my immediate family. With anyone else, I was completely silent.

At school, my teachers tried to lure me out of my shell by giving me special treatment, letting me sit right by their desk or draw pictures while the other kids did maths. My memories of that time were hazy, but somewhere between the age of five and six, I started talking. I was still unbearably shy, but I was no longer totally mute. My dad thinks my mutism was a form of post-traumatic stress from Mum dying. But I was only two when she passed and even now I barely remembered her.

Others (Nick) thought it was anxiety. That social situations made me so anxious as a kid I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was more inclined to believe this theory, since I still suffered from the dreaded social phobia. However, I wasn’t nearly as bad as I used to be. Ever since I created Elodie, I was coming on in leaps and bounds.

She freed me from the oppression of choking every time I had to talk to an unfamiliar human being.

Cases in point, Julian and Suze.

Before Elodie, I never would’ve had the courage to befriend a woman like Suze. Nor would I be ballsy enough to lie to a man like Julian.

Was it ethical? No. But it was helping me, so I had to convince myself the pros outweighed the cons.

I heated up some leftover stir-fry for dinner and opened my email. My agent, Daniel, had sent another message with requests to book public appearances, but there was no way I could do a book signing. Not unless I went as Elodie, and she looked so much like my character, Sasha, that it would only back up the theories she was a real person.

Still…

The idea set my deceptive, black heart aflutter. To be Elodie and revel in the adoration of hundreds of fans would be a thrill ride like no other. Maybe I could…

I clicked on ‘reply’ and started to type.

[email protected] to [email protected]

RE: Book Signing Offer (I’m not above begging)

Let me think about it.

P.S. I’m making no promises.

His response came minutes later.

[email protected] to [email protected]

RE: RE: Book Signing Offer (I’m not above begging)

Anything I can do to convince you? A holiday in the Caribbean? A case of Dom Perignon? Foot rub? Just say the word and it’s done. I did say I wasn’t above begging ;-)

I chuckled. I was fond of Daniel, even though we’d never met in person. We spoke on the phone every once in a while, and aside from Bernice and Felicity, he was the one other human connection I’d made here in London. Some days I felt so down, so lonely, especially when I went a full day or two without talking to another human being. The fact that I could pick up the phone and talk to Daniel was a big relief.

[email protected] to [email protected]

No bribery needed. Just…give me time.

I closed out my email, made short work of my dinner, then opened my newest manuscript. I was only two chapters into the latest Sasha novel, but it was an important one because it was to be the last in the series. It was bittersweet, and although I adored this world and the characters I’d created, I knew it was time to say goodbye. I already had several ideas for a new series, but for now, I was going to enjoy taking Sasha on one final adventure.

Two days later, I was a few hours into my shift at the bookshop when the bell over the door rang, signalling someone’s entrance. I sat by the counter, reading the Agony Aunt section of a celebrity gossip magazine. I enjoyed the stories because they were always so ludicrous and clearly made up. It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only out there who enjoyed weaving fantasies.

I glanced up to check who entered, and my breath caught when I saw Julian. What was he doing here again?

“H-hello,” I greeted, palms growing sweaty. “Can I help you?”

He wore that lazy, sparkly-eyed smile that seemed to be his signature. “Reading magazines during your shift, eh? I should report you to Bernice.”

He was joking, but he wasn’t too far off the mark. Bernice was a firm believer that if people were going to read, it should be literature, not trashy gossip.

I made a concerted effort to look him in the eye. “Do you need something?”

Julian placed both hands on the counter in front of me. “I was wondering if your sister was around?”

“No, Elodie doesn’t really come here much.”

“But I saw her use a key to get in the other day,” he countered.

So, he had followed me. Hmm. My suspicions went into overdrive. Was he a journalist? He didn’t look like one. Then again, I had no idea what he looked like. I’d never met someone like Julian before. I frowned, certain it created a deep indent between my eyebrows.

“She was doing me a favour. I asked if she’d look after the shop while I went to my dentist appointment,” I responded.

“That was very kind of her, especially given you two don’t get along so well,” he mused.

“She owed me one.”

Julian didn’t take his eyes off me and it was unnerving to say the least. A moment of silence fell, and my heart started doing a thrumming anxious beat inside my chest. Imagine the drums from Phil Collins ‘In The Air Tonight’ in super speed.

Julian looked like he was settling in to stay a while, which was the exact opposite of what I wanted him to do, dammit!

“So, Ellen, what does a girl like you enjoy doing in her free time?”

Okay, if my suspicions went into overdrive a minute ago, now they were on red alert. I narrowed my gaze. “Why do you ask?”

Julian shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

I exhaled a heavy sigh. “If you’re looking for a book, you’re welcome to check out our shelves. Other than that, I can’t help you.” I brought my attention back to my magazine, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

But of course, he didn’t. “Actually, come to think of it, there is a book I’m looking for. I gifted my copy of La Dame Aux Camelias to a friend and have been meaning to replace it. It’s a favourite of mine.”

I remembered reading that book in Uni. It was about a French courtesan who ended up dying tragically young. An odd choice to be a favourite book for a man in his thirties. Then again, there was nothing about Julian that struck me as typical.

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have that one in stock.”

“Can you check anyway?”

Pursing my lips, I placed my magazine down, then got up and walked around the counter. Julian smiled as though he’d won the battle to wear me down. I led him over to a shelf, scanning titles as he stood next to me.

“Have you ever seen Black Books?” he asked. “You remind me of the main character.”

Unwittingly, I scowled, because I had seen that show and the character he was referring to was a wine-swilling, cranky old bookshop owner who treated every customer like a burden. I didn’t bother to justify his question with an answer.

“My first assumption was correct. We don’t have it. Sorry about that.”

He pursed his lips. “Too bad. I’ll have to search elsewhere. By the way, I do believe your top is on inside out.”

I followed his gaze as it lowered over me and he was right. Embarrassment filled me.

The stitching on my green T-shirt was on the outside instead of the inside. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. I needed to start getting up earlier, so I had more time to get ready. Last night I’d stayed up until the wee hours writing. The muse had been upon me. Thanks, Muse!

Julian laughed softly. “You hadn’t noticed?”

“I was in a rush this morning,” I mumbled and walked back to the counter.

He glanced at his fancy wristwatch. “It’s almost half past two. You haven’t looked in a mirror all day?”

“It’s not really a priority for me.”

“No? If I had a face as interesting as yours, I’d be looking in the mirror all the time.”

Wariness trickled through me. “What’s your game?”

He gave a puzzled look. “My game?”

“Yes, your game. Why are you here talking to me? If you…” I inhaled a nervous breath. “If you think it’ll win you points with Elodie by cosying up to her sister, then you’re dead wrong. I told you, we don’t get along. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s already seeing someone.”

“Of course, the stripper. She’s mentioned him,” Julian said, studying me even more closely now. “And I’m not here to win points with Elodie. Believe it or not, I pass by this shop most days. I saw you sitting there and came in on a whim. Yes, I like your sister, but I also happen to think you’re adorable.”

Pfft. Whatever. “Sure, you do. What’s your profession?”

My question seemed to give him pause, which only furthered my suspicion that he was a journalist. The fact that La Dame Aux Camelias was his favourite book pointed towards arts journalism. I’d bet my last penny he was a book critic.

“My profession is something I don’t like to advertise.”

“Why?”

“Because if I tell you, you may not wish to get to know me. Usually, if people get to know me first, then discover my profession, they’re more accepting. They’ve already found out for themselves that I’m a good person, and what I do for a living doesn’t cloud their judgement.”

Okay, I had no idea what he was talking about now. “Are you a journalist?”

He affected a confused look. At least, I imagined he was affecting it to throw me off the scent. “Why ever would you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“I’m not a journalist.”

“Sure, you aren’t. Listen, I think you should go now. You’re not going to find any story here.”

Julian opened his mouth to say something when the bell rang, and Bernice walked in to relieve me from my shift. She glanced from Julian to me. “Hello again. Are you back to look for the new Sasha Orlando book for your friend? It’s still two more days before it goes on sale.”

Julian scratched his head. “No, I, uh, was just passing through.” He looked back to me, a conflict on his face. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Ellen. Bernice.”

With that, he left. I played back our conversation in my head, but it only made me more confused than ever.