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If those women keep gossiping much longer, I’m going to have to come back another time to start talking with one of them. I inch toward them, pretending to be interested in the rows of ugly clothing along the way. Who wears this stuff? It’s hideous.
As I near them, more of their conversation becomes clear. They’re talking about some PTA thing. It sounds like they’re planning some event for the high school. Given their excited tones, I’d have thought they were discussing something big, like the Super Bowl. If women like them even care about football. They probably only pay attention if their kids are playing or cheering.
Is this entire town a yawn fest? If it is I’ll get used to it, if that’s what it takes to get the money and life I’m after. If I have to singlehandedly turn this town around, I’ll do it. But that’ll clearly have to wait until I have cash and credibility. Right now, I can’t even have a conversation with the three duller-than-paint-drying women a few feet away. I don’t know enough about any of them to risk saying something that will give me away as the fraud that I am.
I duck behind a tall display of sexy panties and bras—finally, something I’d actually wear in this place—and listen to them babble on about some PTA meeting. Something about a handsome new single dad in town.
Maybe these old biddies aren’t as dreary as I first gave them credit for. They aren’t friendship material, but they could actually be interesting after all. I’d love to hear more about the new guy.
But would Angelina?
My shoulders sag at the realization. No, she wouldn’t care. As far as I can tell from all my online stalking, she still has stars in her eyes for that loaded husband of hers. Not that I can blame her. I’d be the same way if I had a sugar daddy buying me whatever I wanted.
I stay behind the overpriced underwear and listen to them drone on about everything from the new vice principal to the petition to keep Walmart out of town. It’s all I can do to stay awake, but I do manage to pick up a few details that could be useful later on.
It isn’t much, but it’s progress. A few more eavesdropping sessions like this, and I’ll be able to jump into a conversation and convince my twin’s friends that I’m her.
But for the time being, I need to air out my clothes and figure out my next step.
When I return to the van, I change my clothes and stick them in a plastic bag until I can wash them. I don’t want my temporary home reeking of the boutique.
My eyelids grow heavier by the moment, so I decide to get some coffee. I have to be careful with what little funds I do have, but after listening to all that talk about high school dances and football games, I need some caffeine. Stat.
I drive around, looking for a coffee stand. Surely a dreary place like this has one on every other corner to keep people from falling asleep at the wheel. A few blocks later, I’m about to give up when a café catches my attention.
Perfect. I can sit and people-watch. The more I can learn about the locals, the better. I’ve already spent enough time learning about Angie to make my eyes bleed, but I’m going to need to get to know her friends to come off as genuine when putting on my performances. Plus, caffeine. I’m seriously going to die soon if I don’t get any.
I hurry out of the van, fling open the coffee shop door, then freeze in horror. The door swings and hits me, but I barely register the pain.
Peter London is sipping from a white paper cup not twenty feet from me.
He smiles and waves me over.
ChapterThirty-One
My heart feels like a jackhammer as I stand in line, waiting to order my coffee. I can feel Peter’s gaze burning a hole in my back.
This is bad. Horrifically bad. He probably knows I’m not his wife. The fact that I’m not wearing the same thing she left the house in shouts the truth from the rooftops. How am I supposed to explain that? Give some lame excuse as to why I needed to change clothes? What if he knows she doesn’t have this outfit? I literally know nothing about their relationship, aside from the version they share on social media—and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know those stories are half-truths at best.
I’m going to blow my cover before I’ve even begun. I can’t believe this. How stupid could I be? I should’ve been more careful. If I’d just looked inside before racing in like an idiot, I could’ve avoided this whole mess.
Now I’m going back to square one before I’ve made any progress.
Stop! I’m being ridiculous. Peterwavedat me. He didn’t give any indication of thinking I’m a fraud.
I’ve got this. I’m smart and savvy. I have more charisma in my pinky than most people in this town have in their whole bodies.
By the time I get to the front of the line, I’m standing tall and offer the cashier a genuine smile when I order my latte with extra flavored syrup and whipped cream. I don’t usually order fancy coffee, but when I do, I go all out.
“Nice.” She gives me an approving look. “Stepping out of your norm. Do you want anything else?”
Before I can answer, someone wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to spin around and punch him in the teeth. And it’s a good thing I didn’t, because it’s Peter with his paws all over me. I recover quickly and smile sweetly at him.
He hands the cashier a credit card and asks about her mother.
“She’s finally out of the hospital.” She lets out a long sigh. “I was beginning to think they would never release her.”
