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A blockbuster movie that her uncle, Blair’s dad, had produced was being shown on the enormous flat screen on the living room when she stepped out of the bathroom. It was muted. Lexie glanced at the coffee table, and her blood went cold just as Blair materialized from the doorway of one of the bedrooms, carrying a shopping bag, grinning widely. She saw Lexie staring fixedly at the tabloid magazine on the table.
“Can you believe it? Peter Wainwright in a freak sailing accident. What a waste. And he was so hot. Wasn’t he at Stefan’s coronation?”
“Yes. He was,” Lexie replied woodenly. Blair had been too young back then to remember, but it was just a matter of time before the press did. Stefan, in typical overprotective brother mode, or at least that was what she thought he was in since he never cared to explain anything to her and expected her to follow him automatically, wanted to be a few steps ahead. He was hoping that the media had short-term memory, but just in case they didn’t, he had decided to bring her along on the trip to be able to keep an eye on her.
News of the accident had been everywhere. She knew Theia had been carefully screening the newspapers delivered to her suite every morning before she had had a chance to read them. No guessing from whose orders it came from. Stefan and probably even Theia, who had a streak of insubordination unbeknownst to the Prince, felt it would be too upsetting. It was, but not for the reasons they all thought. She jerked in surprise at the thud of the paper bag as Blair let go of her mysterious package.
Lexie gave an unladylike shriek when Blair, after saying “ta da” like an amateur magician in a kiddie party, pulled out two wigs. For a second, Lexie couldn’t process what they were and acted viscerally to the amount of hair in Blair’s hands. Lexie’s little scream caused Blair to drop the wigs.
“God, I’m sorry,” Lexie apologized, clutching her chest as her heart raced, feeling like a ninny. She was on edge.
“Shit! You almost gave me a heart attack.” Blair picked up the hairpieces on the floor. “What was that all about?”
“Nerves,” Lexie replied a few seconds later when her heart rate had slowed down.
Blair flopped on the couch beside her. “Honey,” she said quietly, “you’re wound up tighter than a socialite experiencing withdrawal symptoms from going off carbs. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Did she really? She was twenty-five, five years older than Blair, but she felt stunted in the real world department. Brought up by a rigid grandmother and an overprotective older brother, Lexie’s only “exposure” to the outside world consisted of trips to the U.S. for summer vacations when her mother even remembered her presence. Colleen Gallagher was a world-renowned Broadway singer/actress with an Irish background. Her being baptized as a Catholic was the only thing her nonna approved about her mother, and that was quickly withheld when the old termagant found out Colleen Gallagher hadn’t gone to Mass in more than twenty years.
Seeing the magazine article was an omen. The whole incident with Peter was a reminder that the past was dead, and though it was only one night in Las Vegas, she would seize it and suck out all the marrow she could get out of it.
Lexie determinedly dropped the curtain on her unwanted wayward thoughts. It was time to take the bully by the horns. Or was it bull? She steeled her spine and looked Blair directly in the eye. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”
Blair grinned, making her appear younger under her heavily made up face. “That’s my girl.” She threw a wig on Lexie’s lap. “Since this is a covert operation, we need to be in disguise.”
Lexie gingerly touched the long, straight strands of hair. “Seriously? A redhead?” A few days in the States and already she was starting to sound like Blair. Anyone without an eye cataract would spot that her hair was a fake.
“Hey, I had to work with what was available,” Blair said in defense. “Will you just relax? You are never, ever photographed with your hair down so you’ll be unrecognizable even wearing a red wig.You’ll look totes adorbs, like Julia Roberts minus the skanky outfit. Oh wait, she had a blonde wig in the film. Anyhoo, don’t tell Dad. He hasn’t gotten over turning down the script for Pretty Woman yet. He gets a bad case of hyperacidity whenever anyone mentions the movie.”
