17
By the time I return to our hotel room, the resort is no longer bathed in moonlight. The sun is rising over the misty pink horizon, making the swan boats in the lake look as if they’re floating on flames rather than water.
I have no idea what time it is. My phone is back in the room, along with the rest of my possessions. But the hotel staff is already setting up for breakfast on the outdoor patio where I had brunch with my parents yesterday, and the emerald lawn that lies beyond the palm trees is dotted with golfers.
I’ve been out all night.
How is that possible? It feels as though I just walked out of the ballroom and into Gray’s arms.
A lot has happened since then, and the memory of the majority of it makes me blush pinker than the train of the chiffon dress that trails behind me on the lush green grass. There were sweet moments too. Hours, actually . . . hours in which Gray held me close and we talked about anything and everything and I laughed until my cheeks hurt.
Gray still doesn’t know the truth about who I am. But he knows all about my mom, and he knows that I was engaged a year ago and I called off the wedding after my fiancé admitted he had feelings for my sister. He knows the names of all my favorite books, and I know his. He loves John Steinbeck and Ursula Le Guin, and when he was in sixth-grade English class, he broke down in tears reading Where the Red Fern Grows. I know that he drove his sister to all her chemotherapy appointments and he was there, holding her hand, when she died. I know little things too, like how he hates avocados and that if he were on death row and had to choose his final meal, it would be a bowl of ramen from a little place in Tokyo where he always goes when he’s in Japan for the World Science and Technology Conference.
We’ve exchanged more than kisses, and after I left him, I’m holding on tight to everything he’s told me, every kiss, every quickened breath. I’m brimming with memories, and I don’t need to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the hotel’s glass double doors to know that I look like a woman who’s been thoroughly ravished.
But I do, and what I see gives me pause. Yes, I’m clearly a pageant girl on a walk of shame. My fancy updo is nothing but a memory, my eyeliner is smudged into dark half-moons beneath my eyes and my silver shoes dangle from my fingertips while I tiptoe on bare feet. But beyond the obvious, I see something else. There’s fire in my eyes and my lips are bee-stung, swollen with kisses. I look like a poem—something penned by Wordsworth, all dancing daffodils and smokeless air.
I look like a woman in love.
Maybe I am, I think as I slip into the hotel and pad toward the stairwell. I must be, because for once the idea doesn’t frighten me. Even though right here, right now, it should. It should scare the life out of me.
Once I’m upstairs and standing outside of the room Ginny and I have been sharing for the past week, I realize I’ve lost my key. It might be in the ballroom, where later today, the onstage-question portion of the pageant will determine the finalists. Or it could be in a swan boat, discarded along with my inhibitions and any sense of self-preservation I once possessed. Either way, I’m locked out, so I take a deep breath and knock on the door.
Time to face the music.
I’m not sure what exactly awaits me on the other side of the door, but I’m prepared for drama. Worry, anger, tears—these are all very real possibilities. Ginny had been furious with me for staying too long at the party the other night, but this is a whole new level of abandon. I deserve whatever I’ve got coming to me. If Ginny had stayed out all night without giving me a heads-up, I’d definitely be upset.
But the door swings open to reveal a sight I am in no way prepared for.
“Hey.” Ginny sweeps me with her gaze, and her reaction to my disheveled appearance is nothing more than a flippant shrug. “Come on in. I’m busy getting ready.”
I don’t need to ask my twin what she’s getting ready for, because her plans are obvious. She’s shed her ubiquitous terry cloth robe and slipper socks and is now dressed in one of the evening gowns I tried on the night before. It’s the red one—the Jessica Rabbit gown—but instead of looking like an over-the-top Halloween costume like it did when I tried it on, it looks flipping amazing.
Ginny’s waist is smaller than I’ve ever seen it. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but she somehow seems to be both thinner than I am and curvier at the same time. My mind goes instantly to a place where I never allow it to wander—straight to the bikini photos on her Instagram. The ones Adam bookmarked so he could pore over them again and again.
I swallow hard. There’s obviously something far more important happening right now than my humiliating relationship flashbacks. My twin is in pageant mode.
“Um.” My pulse pounds so hard, I feel as if I’m choking on my heartbeat. “What’s going on?”
“This.” Ginny turns away from the mirror and waves a slender hand at her face. “I’m better! Not all the way back to normal, but close enough. God, just in the nick of time. Great effort, by the way. But I’ve got it from here. I know how to win.”
I wait for her to acknowledge the fact that I’m still wearing my gown from the night before or that I’ve been out all night . . . or even that I’ve lost my key to the room.
She doesn’t. She just turns back toward the mirror and resumes curling her eyelashes.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. My role in this pageant was just a walk-on, and now it’s ended. I’m no longer needed. So what difference does it make where I’ve been or who I might have been with.
Ginny shoots me another glance in the mirror. “What are you doing? Take that dress off. I thought you’d be practically ripping it off to get back into your nerdy T-shirts and boyfriend jeans.”
She’s right. I should be relieved. I never wanted any of this to begin with, and I knew better than to think that I’d be the one with a glittering tiara on her head when all was said and done.
But I’m not. My knees wobble, and I have the strangest sensation that my body is on the verge of collapsing in on itself. I take a deep inhale, and I have to concentrate hard on the simple act of breathing in and out.
I’m familiar with this feeling. I’m sorry to say I know it well.
Humiliation.
I wrap my arms around myself and stare at my twin’s flawless reflection. Her makeup is perfect, and her hair hangs in a glossy curtain down her back. Even though she just said her face isn’t “all the way back to normal,” I see no trace whatsoever of the swelling she’s been battling all week. She’s a vision.
And then my gaze shifts ever so slightly to the left, and I see myself standing in the background. I no longer look like the wild, romantic goddess I fancied myself just moments ago. I’m a mess. My gown has held up surprisingly well, but Ginny’s fits her like a glove. We’re twins. Identical in every way. But we look like before and after photos of the same person. And just like always, I’m cast in the role of before.
Ginny glances over her shoulder at me as she dabs her lips with gloss. “Take off the sash, would you? I’m going to need it.”
That’s what does it. Those words, which she’s so carelessly tossed out, are the final straw. My sister still hasn’t asked where I’ve been. She hasn’t even thanked me for getting her this far. Instead of gratitude, I’m being ordered to take off the sash.
An eerie calm comes over me as the heat of my humiliation cools into rage. Wordlessly, I slip the Miss Texas sash over my head. Then I carry it with me as I cross toward the vanity. Ginny turns and holds out her palms, clearly expecting me to hand it over. Instead, I reach behind her to pick up the tiny scissors she uses to trim her false eyelashes to the proper dimensions.
Then I cut the sash right down the middle.
Ginny lets out a horrific gasp as the Miss half falls to the floor. I hand her the part that says Texas and she takes it as if in a daze.
When I stomp toward the closet for my suitcase, I spot Buttercup watching me. Her eyes are even bigger and rounder than they usually are. I’ve managed to shock even the dog.
“What have you done?” Ginny says in a wooden voice. Then again—louder, with more than a touch of hysteria. “What have you done?”
I toss my suitcase onto the bed, undo the zipper, and flop it open. Buttercup immediately scrambles inside, which takes the edge off my fury. The little Frenchie sleeps on my bed instead of Ginny’s, and now she’s trying to stow away in my luggage.
I decide I’m taking her home with me. I don’t care what Ginny has to say about it. Besides, my rap sheet is pretty long now. I’ve impersonated my sister and cheated in a national pageant. I may as well add dognapping to my list of crimes.
“Hey.” Ginny pokes me in the center of my back with such force that I nearly fall face-first onto the bed. “I asked you a question.”
I spin around. “You want to know what I’ve done? Fine. I’ll tell you. First, I let you talk me into impersonating you in this pageant. I let you make me over so I looked like you. I changed everything about myself so I could help you achieve your dream. I got you to the finals, and now you’re acting like it’s nothing.”
I also slept with one of the judges, but now probably isn’t the time to bring up that little tidbit.
She lifts a brow. “I’m not in the finals yet. The onstage questions are this afternoon, remember?”
Seriously?
“Whatever. I also took care of your dog all week, so guess what? She’s my dog now.”
Ginny looks at Buttercup and then back at me. “What in the world has gotten into you?”
“Listen to yourself. Do you have any idea how self-centered you sound?” I cross my arms. “I’ve been out all night, and you haven’t said a word about it. Did you even notice?”
“All night?” For the first time since my return, she looks at me. Really looks. “I thought you just stayed out really late and got in after I went to bed. I assumed you were off celebrating with the other girls and then darted out again this morning.”
“In my evening gown?” I roll my eyes. I’m right. She has been looking right through me all along. “Tell me, Ginny. What do you see when you look at me? Do you see an actual person? Your twin? Or do you only see a less attractive reflection of yourself?”
It’s harsh. I know it is. But I can’t seem to stop the ugliness from spewing out of my mouth. I’ve been too silent for too long.
“Are you kidding right now? Of course I see you.” She takes a closer look at me and her gaze narrows. Finally. She recognizes my messy state for what it is.
Who is he?
I can see the question shining in her eyes. She desperately wants to ask me, but she knows I won’t tell her. Not mid-rant.
So instead she clears her throat, and in her best pageant-girl, world-peace-loving voice she calmly says, “Thank you for taking my place. I’m more grateful than you know. How can I repay you?”
“Let me keep going.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
But she knows. She just can’t believe it’s what I want.
Neither can I, actually. “Let me continue in the pageant. I started it, I want to finish it.”
For a long, loaded moment, neither of us says a word. I know better than to hope that she’ll agree. I’m not even sure why I want her to.
Yes, you do, a tiny voice whispers inside my head. You’re afraid of disappearing again.
“No.” Ginny shakes her head. Her gaze is as hard as stone. “Anything but that. You know how important this pageant is to me.”
“She was my mother too,” I say. “Besides, you owe me.”
I should stop. I need to stop. The dam has broken and soon I’m going to say something I won’t be able to take back.
“What do you mean, I owe you? What for? The pageant?” Ginny sighs. She doesn’t have a clue.
So after keeping the truth to myself for more than a year, I finally enlighten her.
“For Adam,” I say flatly.
Ginny’s mouth opens and then closes. I watch as she tries to process what I’ve just said. The air between us swirls with ugly truths and secrets, swollen from being held too tightly for far too long.
Slowly, every drop of color drains from Ginny’s face. She shakes her head. Her eyes are full of questions, and I can tell she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but she knows it’s bad.
I want to swallow my words. I never wanted to hurt her. Not like this.
What’s wrong with me?
I thought I had a handle on things. Just last night, everything had seemed so clear. So wonderful. And now . . .
Now my twin is looking at me, and she’s seeing me. Really seeing me, and I’m ashamed.
There’s an awful, aching pain in her voice, and I hate that I’ve put it there. Intellectually, I know it was really Adam’s doing, not mine. But my heart tells me otherwise.
I should have told her long ago. If I had, it wouldn’t have slipped out like this. I wouldn’t have hurled it at her like a weapon. But now I have, and there’s no going back.
“Tell me,” she says again. “Please.”
So I do.
I tell her everything, starting with the sinking feeling I had on the cruise, right on up to the conversation I overheard between Adam and his best man.
“He said he hoped he could ‘trade up.’ ” I drop my gaze. I can’t look her in the eye and say these things. “When his friend asked what he meant, Adam admitted the only reason he wanted to marry me was so he could spend more time with you. He hoped that once you got to know him, you’d fall in love with him and then you two could ride off into the sunset together.” Leaving me behind. Alone. No husband, no twin. Just me.
Ginny looks as though she might gag. She actually has a hard time swallowing before she can speak again. “That’s disgusting. And completely insane. I would never do that to you. Surely you know that.”
“I do, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” I nod.
How am I having this conversation? Why am I not crying? I should be falling apart right now. Instead, I feel hollow. Numb.
“I think deep down, Adam knew it too. But if he married me, he was still getting the next best thing.”
Ginny shakes her head. “Don’t say that. You’re not the next best thing. We’re twins, but we’re also individual people. You deserve better than that.”
Do I?
I think about Gray and the fact that I still haven’t managed to tell him the truth about who I am. The only thing I know with any certainty right now is that he deserves better.
Better than me. That’s a fact.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I don’t understand.” Ginny takes a deep, shuddering inhale. Then she frowns, and asks the one question I fear most. “Why are you telling me this now, after all this time?”
Because sometimes you act as if I am second best.
I can’t say it, and at last I know why . . .
Because I’ve let her treat me that way. I’ve let her do it because I believed it myself.
Not anymore, though. I am no longer Ginny’s substitute. I’m not her shadow, nor am I the runner-up in our own private, twisted version of a beauty pageant. I am my own person. Charlotte Gorman.
I just wish I liked Charlotte as much as I used to.