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Bishop would notice the look in my eyes if he was here, but he’s not.
I glance into the hallway, and swing the door closed for good measure before I creep over to Scarlett’s purse and swiftly tip it upside down over the table.
“Oops,” I murmur as I put the purse back where it was and start to pick through its contents.
Some stuff is basic and tells me nothing. Gig ticket stubs. Oh, look, they’re all for Chaos Burning, what a surprise! A scarf. Red lipstick after red lipstick. How many shades of red are there, exactly? I toss all that stuff back inside. It’s not until I’m moving her phone that the bottle of pills roll to the edge of the table, and basically right into my hand.
It’s a prescription bottle, for suppressants.
Not that surprising considering she turned out to be an Omega, but still.
“Oh, shit!” I blink at the name on the bottle, and I read it over again in case my brain was glitching.
Nope. I read it right the first time.
Sapphire Faris.
It’s possible that Scarlett is a nickname, or a stage name, I guess, but it would be weird to change your name when it’s already pretty cool.
I yank my phone out of my back pocket and google search the name Sapphire Faris.
I don’t get a lot of hits, but there is a prominent by-line for a women’s magazine.
It states that she’s a current contributor.
“This is insane,” I mutter as the kitchen door creaks open.
I look up and give Bishop a sheepish smile. “It’s exactly what it looks like, but hear me out …”
Chapter sixty-two
Bishop
I take the bottle of suppressants out of Rueben’s hand while he rambles on about a writer named Sapphire Faris. He says he got other hits, and I turn the bottle over in my hands, wondering if this is why she seemed so different these past few days.
I’m reluctant to buy into a theory that support’s Gus’s insistence that Scarlett isn’t our mate, but that’s mostly because it probably means we’ve been chasing the wrong woman for the past three years, and there’s no way Scarlett’s identical twin sister is going to be happy that her true mates mixed her up with her twin.
“Wow,” Rueben says, shaking his head. “If this isn’t confirmation, I don’t know what is.”
He shows me a high school class picture that’s zoomed in on two blonde girls at the end, one who’s front and centre, looking like a star in the making, the other who’s hanging back shyly with a tight smile on her face.
“Oh my God,” I mutter.
“We have a twin situation,” Rueben says, laughing as he takes his phone back. “How cool is that?”
“I wouldn’t say it was cool,” I tell him. “We just spent three years focused on getting the popular twin to notice us, meanwhile her quiet sister was in another place putting up with a shitty boyfriend and God knows what else …”
No wonder she seemed so upset about her breakup. She probably had a nice normal relationship that went bad, like most people who don’t date rockstars.
“We should definitely get that guy’s name and make him regret hurting her,” Rueben says. “But this makes so much sense. No wonder she didn’t recognize that Chaos Burning song. I’m so glad our mate isn’t a fan of that shit.”
“We don’t know anything about our mate,” I murmur, as I go back over everything that’s happened this week. There are so many out of character moments that it’s hard not to see everything as obvious evidence that Scarlett wasn’t Scarlett. That’s now that we know. It’s easy to see mistakes in hindsight. It’s not so easy to correct them once you realize you’ve made way too many that have hurt the one woman you never would have wanted to hurt.
“We know she’s a writer for a magazine,” Rueben says. “And she doesn’t really seem to like having her picture taken.”
He seems excited about his online search, so I won’t burst his bubble, but I know there’s a good reason why our own fated mate didn’t perfume for us. It happened with Gus because he knew she wasn’t Scarlett. It might have happened with us if we’d been as certain as he was, but since it didn’t …
I have no doubt that we have a long way to go before we can say we’ve been forgiven.
