TROY
“She doesn’t deserve it,” I say, shaking my head slowly as we finish our dinner in the restaurant wagon. I lean back in the seat, remaining calm, because I don’t want Aishe’s sister to feel any tension between my love and me. I drop the napkin to my lap—damask, the girls claim—and lift my cabernet. I fold my lips over the crystal rim for a sip.
“Baby.” Aishe strokes my cheek, and I fight the urge to close my eyes and lean into her touch. “You can be honest, okay? My family’s the epitome of strong feelings. You don’t have to hold anything back just because Sis is here.”
“Sis,” her sister repeats, giggling. “So American-sounding.” She pulls her husband’s hand into her lap. Like they haven’t been married for a decade, he meets her forehead with his own, locking her stare in a two-second smolder before their focus flows back to us.
I blow my cheeks up, hesitant to ruin this beautiful night. There are pink roses on the table. They had the girls ooh-ing when we sat down. A crisp white table cloth, real silverware and porcelain. Candles flicker, causing the girls to appear unearthly.
“Okay,” I say. I’m going to be harsh. I’m going to say my piece. And in the end, I will let her have her way, because ultimately, her happiness is what feeds my own.
“Hailey Pawter did everything in her power to sully you in my eyes. She lied about you. Thwarted the truth. Dressed like you, to the point of borrowing your stuff to look exactly like you. She copied— Okay. Fuck.” Anger rises in me at the thought of it all. It’s been a year, but she could have ruined our lives. “Does your sister know what she almost did that last night?”
Aishe nods wordlessly, and from across the table, her sister bobs her head with the same wide, dark eyes.
“Okay. I won’t go into detail, then.” I puff out a breath, taking a brief sip of my wine to control my anger. “All I’m saying is I see no reason for us to pay her medical bills. That bitch was seconds from destroying us.”
“I don’t think we should call her a bitch anymore,” Aishe murmurs, voice soft despite her correction of me. “She’s sick and needs care.”
“But what about her family?” Sis asks. “Isn’t she the heiress to a surf company?”
“No, she actually isn’t. She said she was the daughter of the owner, but he was just her former obsession,” Aishe says. “When she came to Clown Irruption, she was platinum blonde with pale skin and pastel makeup and clothing. That was how the owner’s wife looked. The guy shut her down fast and got her out before she could cause any damage to his marriage.”
“Wow. What a crazy thing,” Sis says. “So her life was to jump from one identity to the other?”
“Yes, and the prize she was after was someone else’s life. She’s a chameleon. A sick, obsessive one. So why do we want to do this?” I ask again. It’s not that we can’t afford it. I could pay for a decade in that institution with a fraction of my earnings from last year. “I just need to hear why we, of all people, are the ones who should keep her entertained there.”
“Because she was born in a trailer park in South Tucson, Arizona. Her parents are dead, and if she has any other family, they’re not on record. She’s chronically ill. If we don’t pay to keep her in a safe place that gives her the daily care she needs, no one will. And what would happen then?”
“She’ll be on the streets again, coming after us?”
“Or she’ll be going after someone else. Either way, this is good karma, and we can afford it.”
“Let’s vote,” Sis says, sideswiping her husband with a glance. It’s a demand if I ever saw one, and I swear he nods without nodding.
“Really?” I tilt my head, arching my brows with fake incredulity; it’s not the first time the sisters have ganged up on us.
“Great idea. Let’s go!” Aishe exclaims.
“‘Yes’ to keeping Hailey locked up!” Sis jabs her fist above her head.
“I vote yes!” Aishe says with gusto. I roll my eyes.
“I’m sorry, but you’re better off with her locked away, Troy.” Across from me, my supposed brother-in-arms thins his lips at me in apology. Thanks, dude. I should invoice him for this trip after all.