Page 6 of Payback

For a Sunday, the dress-code at the Dorchester seemed to be smart-casual. Edward and Blake fitted in wearing the same kind of dark blazers and smart pants as the other men. Feeling slightly disheveled from the boys’ double-teaming in the limo, I stared down at the creases on my ivory, linen sundress, and tamped down the butterflies in my stomach.

Edward’s hand rubbed up and down my back. “Are you alright?”

I gulped a mouthful of air and nodded. It wasn’t like this was a college interview. I was only going to see Mom. And she hadn’t really ignored me for the entire three terms I’d been in Mercia Academy.

Mom sat at the bar, clad in a sleeveless dress, which was cut in the same style as the black Givenchy number Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Except Mom’s was champagne-colored and knee-length. She swept her blonde hair into a chignon, showing off a swan-like neck encased in a triple-strand, pearl choker.

“She looks even more breathtaking in daylight,” murmured Blake. “I see where you get your outstanding beauty.”

A warm glow filled my insides. Mom was the supermodel, but it was nice of him to compliment my looks. “I would have said the same for you if your Mom hadn’t burst in on us with an entourage.”

Edward chuckled. “This sounds like a fun story.”

“It wasn’t,” Blake and I replied at the same time.

“We’ll take a separate table and join you afterward.” As we neared the bar, the warmth of Edward’s hand left the small of my back.

My steps faltered. “Why?”

“You both have a lot to discuss,” said Blake. “We won’t intrude on your reunion.”

Mom stood and swept me into a Chanel Number Five-scented hug. “I worried all night that you would cancel at the last minute like you did that time I returned from Fashion Week and two months ago when I went to Paris.”

I ground my teeth and held my silence. She didn’t know the person at the other end of her texts wasn’t me, and I wanted to ease her into the whole revelation that she’d married a psychopath.

After she exchanged polite greetings with Blake and Edward, one of the waiters guided us to a table set with a pristine white cloth and elegant silverware.

Mom placed her hands on the cloth and glanced across the room. “What happened to Charles? Are you dating one of those two boys instead?”

I rubbed the side of my neck, and a sheepish smile crossed my face. “Both of them, actually.”

Her gray eyes widened. “And they know?”

I nodded.

Her gaze lingered over Blake and Edward, who were currently shooting furtive glances in our direction. The corner of Mom’s lip curled into a smile. She probably thought I’d been going out for ice cream with the boys and exchanging chaste kisses under the magnolia trees or something equally as innocent.

Grandma had been a child of the sixties and had experienced her fair share of men. However, Mom had met too many predators in the modeling scene and only dated with a view to marriage. She’d brought me up with similar values, but they’d crumbled into dust the moment I had met the triumvirate.

When she had finished scrutinizing the boys with her eyes, she leaned back in her seat and raised her brows. “That explains why you never had time to see me.”

“Mom,” I leaned across the table and placed my hand in hers. The pleasant notes of the piano filled the air, contrasting with what I was about to tell her. “Those texts you’ve been receiving weren’t from me.”

“What?” She reached under the table where she had left her purse and placed it on her lap. After unzipping it, she placed her hands into its depths and pulled out her phone. “That’s impossible. You and I have texted nearly every day.”

“Did you ever call?” I asked.

“Yes, but you either didn’t pick up, or the line was so bad, I couldn’t hear a word you said.” She slid the phone across the white tablecloth. “See for yourself.”

I scrolled through the fake texts. Whoever had impersonated me had taken phrases I had used in previous texts to Mom and changed things up a word here and there to suit the situation. The imposter had presented him or herself as someone who had immediately made friends within Mercia Academy and was too busy catching up with subjects such as Latin and Classical Greek to return to New York for the holidays or to meet Mom in London.

The piano paused to a smattering of applause, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Whoever had impersonated me had even taken photos of a bedroom, shopping sprees, stacks of books, parks, and British meals with quippy messages about toad in the hole, cock-a-leekie soup, and spotted dick. The skin around my eyes heated, and my insides felt as though they’d been scraped out by Rudolph’s grasping, wrinkled, liver-spotted hands. This was probably the work of an enthusiastic, young intern.

“I sent you phone calls and texts.” My voice broke. “All this time, I thought you were too caught with in being Mrs. Trommel to bother with me.”

Her jeweled hand reached across the table and covered mine. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but no matter who I marry, you’ll always come first.”