15
The early arrival of our parents changes everything.
At least they’ve got their own room. Thank God. But naturally, they want to have breakfast the next morning with us at the hotel’s posh restaurant overlooking the infinity pool. Which would be lovely, if only it were in the realm of possibility.
Ginny and I can’t be seen together. Trading places is risky enough when no one realizes there are two of us. If either Ginny or I get outed as an identical twin, our chances of getting caught would skyrocket. Also, Ginny being Ginny, she refuses to leave the room until her face is completely back to normal.
So I’m the lucky one who gets to explain to Dad and Susan why we only need a table for three at breakfast instead of four. Awesome. I hope and pray they’re serving mimosas. It’s the only thing keeping me going at this point.
When I get to the restaurant, my father and stepmom are already seated, because being early for everything is apparently their new hobby. They could have taken up golf or joined a book club, but no. This is what they went with instead.
It’s not that I don’t love spending time with them. I do. I love it a lot. I just prefer hanging out with my family when I’m not cheating in a national beauty pageant by pretending to be my sister.
“Hi.” I sit down and flash them a full-wattage, Ginnyesque smile. Our table is at the edge of the resort’s cabana, shaded by a large patio umbrella and swaying palm trees. “It’s so gorgeous out here. Gin . . . Charlotte and I have been eating mostly room service. We haven’t had much of a chance to see the rest of this place.”
“Good morning, honey.” Dad smiles, then looks past me as if my twin is going to materialize out of thin air. “Where’s your sister?”
“She’s not up to coming down for breakfast. I think she still feels a little self-conscious about her allergy situation.” I wave a hand at my face by way of explanation.
My father’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t sound like Charlotte.”
“What do you mean?” I know I shouldn’t ask, and the prickle at the back of my neck tells me I probably won’t like the answer, but he and Susan are looking at me, waiting for me to say something.
He shrugs. “You know. Charlotte doesn’t normally care much about her appearance.”
Oh. We’re going there.
I suppress the urge to ask him to elaborate. My dad thinks I don’t care how I look? That’s hurtful.
I care. I just care a normal amount instead of a beauty pageant amount. Granted, I usually don’t wear makeup. And as Ginny so lovingly pointed out, my go-to hairstyle is a ponytail. But I do brush it before I put it up. I’m not a total mess, am I?
Susan chimes in, agreeing with him. “Exactly. Looks aren’t really high on her priority list.”
Et tu, Susan?
“She probably just wants to hole up in the room with her head in a book,” Susan adds.
Super. So the whole family thinks I ordinarily look like a train wreck and that I’m a loner. I’m really not. Deep down, I know all my efforts to downplay my appearance and rail against the pageant scene have more to do with missing my mom than anything else. The makeup, tiaras, and fancy clothes remind me of her, and sometimes it’s just easier to not have to see it all so I can forget a little bit.
A server swishes past our table and I silently beg for that mimosa I’ve been dreaming about. A pitcher of them would be nice.
“Well, this is Charlotte’s vacation,” I say in defense of myself.
If you ever want to hear what your family truly thinks of you—and trust me, you don’t—have breakfast with them disguised as your sibling. It’s an eye-opener.
I pick up my menu, and my stomach growls. Once again, I’m starving. Everything listed on the smooth ivory pages sounds delicious. I’m trying to decide between Belgian waffles or an omelet stuffed with everything when my dad clears his throat.
He leans closer and lowers his voice. “Speaking of Charlotte, do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”
Oh goody. We’re not finished talking about me yet. And it definitely seems as if the conversation is about to get even more uncomfortable.
The server comes to take our order, and I think I’m saved from having to answer Dad’s question, but he still has an expectant glint in his eyes after she leaves.
I’m not off the hook.
And tragically, there’s still no mimosa sitting in front of me.
“I don’t think Charlotte’s ready to date quite yet.” I force myself to meet his gaze and do my best to pretend we’re talking about someone else—some pathetic, wounded girl who isn’t me.
“I still don’t understand what went wrong between her and Adam. She seemed so happy.” Susan sighs. “Do you have any idea? She never explained it to us.”
Of course I didn’t. I was too raw. Too humiliated. “I don’t know the specifics. But she made it clear he wasn’t the right man for her.”
My father snorted. “It would’ve been nice if she’d figured that out a little sooner.”
I reach for my water glass. It trembles slightly in my hand, and I take a sip.
Susan fills the dead air by reminding me that the wedding invitations had already been sent out when I called everything off. We’d spent weeks returning gifts and writing apology notes. She says all of this as if I hadn’t been there, as if I hadn’t been forced to write the words I’m sorry over and over again when Adam was the one who should have been apologizing.
But no.
The decision to cancel the wedding was mine, and that made me the bad guy. Setting the record straight wasn’t an option. Ginny would have been crushed if she’d known she had any part of my breakup. I couldn’t put her through that. I’d been heartbroken enough for the both of us.
“Charlotte doesn’t like talking about all of this,” I say. “So it hasn’t really come up lately.”
“Of course it hasn’t. We just worry about her sometimes.” Susan gives my hand a pat. “That’s why we’re asking you about it instead of her. The poor dear.”
Poor dear?
My mimosa finally arrives and I grab hold of it like Hermione Granger reaching for a book of spells.
I’d like to blame the alcohol for what comes out of my mouth next, but since I’ve only taken a sip—more like a gulp, really—I can’t. My words are deliberate, and I’m completely sober. “Actually, she is sort of seeing someone.”
Dad drops his fork. Susan’s eyes go comically wide.
I take a furious sip of my drink. Is it really so hard to believe that I have a secret boyfriend?
My father retrieves his rogue cutlery and narrows his gaze. “I don’t understand. Why hasn’t she said anything?”
“Maybe it’s someone we know,” Susan suggests. Her hand flutters to her chest. “Oh, is it Adam? Are they back together?”
I nearly gag. “Gross. No.”
Dad frowns. “Who then?”
“Someone much better than Adam. More attractive in every possible way. Kinder. Smarter. Unbelievably charming.” I let out a wistful sigh, because yes, I’m thinking about my clandestine meetings with a certain dreamy pageant judge. “It’s a secret, though. So you can’t say anything about it. Not a word. Charlotte would kill me if she knew I’d mentioned it.”
“If he’s so perfect, why is he a secret?” Dad says flatly.
He doesn’t believe me. Of course he doesn’t, because we’re talking about me. The poor dear. I could probably tell him that Ginny had seven secret boyfriends—a different one for every day of the week—and he’d believe me in a heartbeat.
I grit my teeth. “It’s new. She doesn’t want to rush things.”
Also, he’s not technically her secret boyfriend.
It’s clearly wishful thinking. Gray sent me champagne and we kissed. Once. He’s definitely a secret, but the boyfriend part is iffy at best . . .
And there’s still the inconvenient truth of my actual identity.
Who am I kidding? Gray definitely isn’t my secret boyfriend. He can’t be. I’d have to be an idiot to even speak to him again. The smartest thing to do would be to stay as far away from him as possible.
But that’s impossible. Literally. Because when I look up from my empty mimosa glass, he’s standing right there.
I blink, convinced I’m hallucinating.
“Miss Texas.” He smiles. “Good morning.”
My stomach flips. My heart hammers in my chest. Everything about this encounter seems real. Just in case, I glance at Dad and Susan. Both of their gazes are fixed on Gray.
It’s really him. And we’re really speaking. Right here, out in the open.
“Good morning.” I smile back.
“Hello.” He offers his hand to my father. “I’m Gray Beckham, one of the pageant judges.”
Dad stands and shakes Gray’s hand. “Henry Gorman. Nice to meet you. I’m Ginny’s father, and this is my wife, Susan.”
Susan stands, and it feels really strange to be the only one still seated, so I stand too. My hand brushes against Gray’s as I rise to my feet, sending a cascade of goose bumps up and down my arm.
“It’s nice of you to come and support your daughter,” he says.
It takes every bit of willpower I can muster not to look at him. Because if I do, I’ll probably grin like a love-struck teenager and everyone will know that I’ve got feelings for him. And no one can know that, least of all Gray.
But he’s not looking at me either, and it feels deliberate. Necessary, even. The fact that our eyes don’t meet seems far more meaningful than any actual eye contact.
“We wouldn’t miss it.” Susan smiles.
Dad nods. “We’re very proud.”
“We know we can’t attend the rest of the preliminaries, but we thought it would be nice to come a little early because Ginny’s . . .”
I lurch forward, stumbling toward Susan as if I’m about to strangle her, or more accurately, clamp my hand over her mouth. She’s about to mention Ginny’s twin. Me. And Gray can’t know that I exist.
“Whoa.” He reaches for me, slipping an arm around my waist and righting me before I crash into my stepmother. “Are you okay?”
“So sorry.” I gesture toward my pageant stilts. “It’s these heels. I’m still not quite used to them, I guess. I’m fine.”
I’m not fine.
That was a close call. Too close. My nerves are all tangled up in knots. But somewhere beneath the swirl of panic, I’m also hyperaware of Gray’s hands on me. His fingertips rest just a second too long on my hip—a second in which I practically melt into a puddle at his feet.
You’re avoiding him now, remember?
Right. That’s the plan. As plans go, it’s a very good one. A smart one. A mandatory one. I’m just not sure I can actually follow through with it.
“Are you steady now?” He crosses his arms, and I pretend it’s his way of stopping himself from touching me again. Judging by the suddenly firm set of his jaw, that might actually be the case.
“Steady as a rock.” Another lie. I’m weak in the knees.
I clear my throat, ready to thank Gray for stopping by and insist that he move along because we shouldn’t monopolize his time. After all, there are forty-nine other contestants who’d probably love to chat him up over brunch.
But before I can say anything, he turns toward my dad and resumes their previous conversation.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying my best to hold it together. I’m on high alert, ready to cause another awkward distraction if the discussion veers anywhere near identical-twins territory.
“I’m sorry the prelims aren’t open to the public, but there are a lot of great things to do around here. The resort has all kinds of amenities, like golf and tennis. Plus there’s the spa.” Gray clears his throat, and his gaze flits toward mine. Just for a second. Just quickly enough for me to know that it was intentional. “The swan boats are lovely. It would be nice to take one out for a paddle around the lake sometime. In the moonlight maybe.”
Gray shifts his weight from one foot to the other. When his arm brushes against mine, he doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
To the outside world, it probably looks like nothing. Just two people standing side by side. But the innocent contact is enough to make my cheeks warm. I feel lovely and floaty, as though I’ve been drinking the champagne he sent to my room last night.
Gray flashes a grin at my parents. “Just a thought.” Then his gaze collides with mine. And holds. “Tonight would be nice.”
I blink.
Am I hearing things, or did he just ask me out on a secret date?
No, surely not. He was merely making small talk with my parents. Wasn’t he?
Of course. That’s exactly what he was doing. And yet . . .
Why do I know that if I show up at the swan boats tonight after the evening gown competition, I’ll find Gray Beckham waiting for me?
My dad nods. “We’ll certainly give that some consideration, although Susan doesn’t swim so we tend to stay away from boats.”
“That’s a shame. I think there’s supposed to be a full moon tonight. It would be lovely.” He glances at me again, and that’s when I’m sure. He’s definitely sending me some sort of secret signal. “Maybe a stroll around the resort instead.”
My father says something in response. I have no idea what it is. The conversation becomes nothing but background noise because my thoughts are screaming things about a secret date, the swan boats, and a full moon. Gray’s words are running through my head in a heavenly, continuous loop.
Tonight would be nice . . .
It would be lovely.
It would be lovely. It would also be dangerous and borderline insane.
I can’t show up at the swan boats. I know that. But I also know that I will, and as much as I’d love to blame this potentially self-destructive act on the mysterious forces of the full moon, it wouldn’t be fair. Nor would it be fair to blame my parents and their humiliating assessment of my plunge into solitude following my breakup with Adam.
The choice is mine, and mine alone. And even though I know I should barricade myself in my hotel room with Ginny, I won’t. Because I want this—more than I’ve wanted anything in such a long time. I want him.
And this little rendezvous he’s hinting at is something I can’t resist, because it’s not an accidental meeting in the stairwell or a chance encounter in the ice closet. It’s not me throwing myself at him again and catching him unaware. Quite the opposite. It’s steeped in intention, which can only mean one thing.
He wants me too.
Maybe there’s a way this won’t end in disaster. It’s possible, isn’t it? It has to be, although I can’t see how. I’m at a crossroads. At some point, I’m going to have to choose between myself and my twin. Between my dreams and hers.
“Nice to meet you both,” Gray says to my dad and Susan, dragging my thoughts back to the present. Before he leaves, he turns toward me. “Best of luck, Miss Texas. I’ll see you later?”
Later, as in onstage in the evening-gown competition? Or later tonight, in a swan boat beneath a moonlit sky?
Either way, my answer is the same.
“You certainly will.”