by Dani Collins
One hour and seven minutes by car.
Impossible.
For a long time, she sat without any coherent thought in her head. The words I should call Vijay drifted into her head, but faded before she could act on them. She had the sense that Kiran could do some intensive digging, but Kiran would feel compelled to tell Jalil. Oriel didn’t want to cause the older man any further upheavals if she was being delusional.
Was she? The truth seemed as plain as the identical nose on Nina’s face. She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry or check herself into a hospital for possible hallucinations.
When Oriel realized it was the middle of the afternoon in France, she called Max, barely stammering out, “Do you have access to any sort of database that would give you background information on a designer in New York?”
“It’s called gossip, chou. Give me a name and I’ll have all the dirt within the hour.”
She told him, and he called back forty-eight minutes later.
“Well, that was interesting,” Max said cheerfully. “Mademoiselle Nina is an upstart who began working for Kelly Bex a year ago. The party line is that she showed promise, but was ultimately a disappointment. The truth is, she stole a hunky billionaire, Monsieur Reve Weston, from the maven Bex herself. That’s why she was fired, thrown onto the street, told never to darken their doorway again.”
“Not so much a lack of talent, then.”
“Oui. Because she does have talent. This was much harder to pry from one of my nearest and dearest, but he claims to have seen some of her work. He expects it to be, and I quote, ‘priceless when the designer is revealed.’ I’ve looked her up. She looks just like you. Beware, chou. She may try to trade on that.”
“She’s still in New York?”
“No. Apparently, she flew to Paris on Weston’s supersonic jet yesterday. He has a pied-à-terre—which is a monstrous two-story penthouse—on Avenue Montaigne.”
“Merci, Maximus. Tu es mon héros.” She hung up and, with her heart racing out of her chest, called her mother’s assistant. If anyone could charter a flight to Paris within the hour, she could.
* * *
Every time Vijay reached for his phone, he became infuriated by their fight, by his vacillating trust, by the seesaw of wanting to believe her and not wanting to be a fool.
He set aside his phone and closed his eyes, but all he saw was Oriel looking at that other man with the love she had claimed to have for him.
Jealousy was such a lowering emotion. So insecure.
That photograph wouldn’t bother him so much—that was a lie, but he told himself it wouldn’t bother him this badly—if Oriel had owned up to the affair and assured him the relationship was over. Instead, she had denied the association even though she had been in New York after Milan and again after they’d married.
He wanted to ask Kiran to search the online archives for more photos of this bastard billionaire, to see if Oriel had been photographed elsewhere with him, but he was too ashamed. Ashamed of his suspicions, ashamed of what might turn out to be true.
Ashamed that he might have allowed himself to be taken in. Again.
He was trying to believe Oriel’s word—another lie, but not entirely. He wanted to believe her. He did. But there was a piece of himself that couldn’t let go of the past. He had failed to see reality when it had been deliberately obscured from him, so he had learned to keep his eyes open. There was photographic evidence to refute what she claimed.
What else could he think but that she had feelings for someone else? Feelings she wouldn’t admit to?
The mere idea of it scraped out his chest far worse than Wisa’s betrayal. He didn’t want to believe Oriel would do that to him. They were far too close, closer than any relationship he’d ever had.
He loved her. He wouldn’t be this tortured if he didn’t. He loved her and he was anguished at the thought of her with a stranger, but he was being a fool. She was here in India, making a life with him, wearing his ring and having his baby.
What did he care what she had done in the past if she was here with him now? If she wanted another man, she would be with that other man. He shouldn’t push her away with his rotten suspicions. Instead, he should be looking for another explanation.
He glanced at the clock, unwilling to wake Kiran to help him, but in the morning he would ask her to come to Delhi and take over for him. He would go home, make up with his wife, and figure out what the hell was going on.
His phone pinged, and he picked it up to see a text from Oriel.
Her name is Nina Menendez. She’s in Paris. I’m going to see her.
CHAPTER TEN
ORIEL HAD SLEPT a little on the flight. Mostly her mind had been cracked in half by a thought that was even more outlandish than her being the secret daughter of a Bollywood star—that she might be the twin of one.
Vijay had texted her back, asking her to wait for him, saying he would go with her.
I’m in the air. I have my guards. I’m not leaving you, but I have to meet her. She might be my twin. Please trust me to come back. I love you.
There was no response to that, but she really hoped he would trust her. She was devastated by his accusations and didn’t know how they would move forward if she was forever trying to prove herself to him.
Was she running away from him as impetuously as she had married him? A little. She’d been trying so hard to become a part of his world, which was her own world too, she supposed. But she had constructed a life with him because everything she had known about herself had been shattered. Now she might have yet another layer to unpeel, and she didn’t know how to deal with it.
She entered her old flat with a desperate need for a sense of homecoming, the way it had always felt when she had returned from breaks between modeling gigs. Her parents had helped her buy this place when she had begun traveling for modeling, and she had been making the payments since. She had rarely spent more than a few weeks at a time here, but it was hers, and it was where she had always been able to relax and feel like herself.
It was also in a nice, secure building in the same arrondissement as Reve Weston’s. She was only a short distance from him, she realized. A half-dozen blocks from Nina.
Oriel was so worked up, she only spent five minutes in her flat, just long enough to freshen up before she had her security detail drive her to Avenue Montaigne.
The paparazzi had posted photos of the building where “Oriel” was supposedly staying with Reve, so her driver found it very easily. She had one of her men escort her past the photographers, who snapped to attention as she left her car.
In the lobby, the doorman greeted her in English. “Mademoiselle Menendez. I understood you were away with Monsieur Weston.”
For a moment, her heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint. Blood rushed in her ears and she recalled that she hadn’t eaten since before she had landed.
I want Vijay, she thought.
“Elle n’est pas là?” She didn’t realize she was speaking in French until the man grew alert with confusion at her native accent. “I’m Oriel Cuvier. When will they be back?”
He blinked with astonishment. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t say. Would you like to leave a message?”
She left all her contact details, and the paparazzi followed her home. She ignored them. She crawled into bed and noted that Kiran had texted.
I spoke with Vijay. I’m here if you want to talk.
Oriel thanked her and said she needed time to think. Then she called her mother, who was going on stage in Vienna shortly. Estelle was flabbergasted to hear there might have been two babies.
“I don’t know why anyone would do something so hurtful as to separate a pair of twins. Our application would have said we wanted a single baby, but if they had told us you had a sister, we would have taken you both.”
“I
knew you would say that, but I needed to hear it.”
“Can Vijay not help you learn the truth? He seems resourceful. He found you.”
“We had a fight.” She didn’t get into the painful details of his accusations.
“A disagreement or a fight?” Her mother’s tone grew serious.
“We’re having trouble trusting one another. I’m worried we rushed into things.”
“Of course you did, chou. It’s always been your way to move quickly. You walk away just as quickly if something isn’t right. Is that what happened? You’ve discovered he’s not right for you?”
“Marriage isn’t piano lessons,” she said grumpily.
“This is true. But you know yourself, and if you have realized these piano lessons do not make you happy, then leave him. I’ll support you.”
Oriel laughed, but it was more an anguished sob, because her stomach clenched hard with rejection of that suggestion.
“No,” she murmured. “He’s the father of my child.” He was the one. For her, at least. She didn’t know how he felt. “We’ll have to make it work.” She only wished that she knew how.
“And that is also your way,” her mother chided gently. “When you do find what feels right, you commit.”
Oriel’s heart swerved. Her mother was right. She had locked herself into a life with Vijay that would be nearly impossible to unravel. She didn’t want to! But he didn’t love her. Didn’t trust her. She didn’t know how to fix that.
“I’m about to go on, chou. Would you like me to sing for you?”
“It’s been a long time since we’ve done that. Yes, please, Maman. I love you. Break a leg.”
Estelle hadn’t done this since Oriel was very young and missing her when she was away on tour, but she had her assistant keep the line open and prop the phone in a suitable place so Oriel could hear her while she performed.
Oriel fell asleep with her phone on the pillow and tears on her cheeks.
* * *
She awoke with a melancholy knowledge that Paris was no longer her home. She belonged in that other place, the one with a spicy fragrance in the air and sheets of rain falling from the sky. The place where a man stretched naked beside her in the morning and played with her hair when they watched TV in the evening.
Could they have that again? She didn’t know, but not if she was here and he was there.
She texted Vijay.
I’m going to stay and list the flat.
It seemed a neutral enough means to open communication, but he didn’t respond. It was the middle of his workday, though. He had a lot to get done in Delhi.
She called a property agent, then had boxes delivered and began sorting through her personal things. One of her guards was helping her take down a box of keepsakes from the closet shelf when her door buzzer rang, indicating someone was waiting outside.
The paparazzi had been pestering her periodically, so she asked him to leave the box on the kitchen table while he ran down to tell them to shove off.
She absently filled the kettle as she acknowledged that all this culling of her possessions was a time-filler while she contemplated the bigger unknowns in her life. How would she mend her marriage? What would happen when she returned to India?
The knock on the door sent her heart leaping.
It was probably the guard returning, she cautioned herself, but she hurried across the room. Had Vijay come? She didn’t actually want him to come after her. She wanted him to trust her to return to him so they would have a foundation to build on.
She flung open the door with anticipation anyway and confronted a mirror.
Her reflection wore a different outfit, something in denim. Oriel wasn’t taking in superficial details when there was so much else that was exactly her. The wave in her dark hair, her arched eyebrows, the shape of her nose and the flecks of greenish gold in her eyes. The way her jaw hung slack and her mouth worked to find words.
Oriel’s mouth was doing the same. No coherent thoughts were coming to her. Her throat had closed, her chest was tight, and her whole body began to tremble.
There was a rushing sound in her ears, so a man’s voice in the distance barely made sense. “I thought I should bring her up since you went looking for her yesterday. She was going to be mobbed downstairs.”
She and Nina stared at one another for twenty-five years and nineteen weeks and three days and however many hours and minutes and seconds had passed since they had exited the womb they had shared.
Oriel didn’t know how she knew that to be fact, but it was. This was her sister.
They took a step at the same time, hugging themselves back together again.
* * *
A whistling kettle broke them apart.
A different man’s voice said, “I’ll get that. You two sit down.”
He nudged them inside and closed the door, then snagged a box of tissues from a table and held it between them.
That’s when Oriel realized fat tears were dripping off her cheeks. She took a few of the tissues and sniffled, beginning to mop up. She watched her sister—her twin—do the same. They were both gasping and shaking in the same way.
They both smiled through all of it as they moved to the couch and sat. Still neither spoke. Each time one of them tried, each time they looked at the other, they welled up again. Oriel knew exactly how Nina felt. Her heart was too big for her chest. Her emotions were so expansive, her shoulders ached. There was a lump in her throat too sharp to swallow.
After a few minutes, Reve came back with two cups and set them on the table. Oriel couldn’t have said what was in them, but Nina looked at him with naked love that she blinked away when he raised his gaze.
Oriel felt that agony of unrequited love inside herself, too. Amid this upheaval, her heart throbbed with want for Vijay. He wouldn’t be able to do anything, but she wanted him here anyway, sharing this monumental moment with her.
She wanted him to squeeze her shoulder the way Reve did Nina’s as he asked, “Do we need introductions? I’m Reve. This is Nina. I presume you’re Oriel unless there’s a third one?”
“Mon Dieu, can you imagine?” Oriel laughed into her handful of damp tissues.
“There’s not,” Nina said. “There are only two of us.” She looked around, and Reve came from the door, where she had dropped her bag. She smiled her thanks at him again with that same glimmer of adoring love. “Reve and I were in Luxembourg, trying to find some answers about... Well, everything. Me. I didn’t actually know my parents weren’t my birth parents until you were making headlines and people started calling me by your name. I thought you’d think I was a crackpot if I didn’t have some proof that we could be... It’s weird to say it. Twins,” she said with a teary laugh. “We raced back here when Reve’s doorman sent the message that you were here in Paris and had come looking for me.”
“Did you find the clinic? What did you learn?”
“We found some records from the doctor who delivered us.” She sent Reve a look that held a scold, but started digging into her bag. “And we met a woman who was a maid at the house where Lakshmi stayed. I showed her a photo of Lakshmi’s manager. She said it was him, that they claimed to be married, but she said they fought all the time. They spoke in Hindi, but she could tell he wanted her to give up the baby. Lakshmi didn’t want to. She said Lakshmi wrote letters whenever he went out and threw them in the fire when he came home. The maid pulled this out of the grate one day. She wanted to know what was going on, but she didn’t know what to do once she’d read it. Then Lakshmi delivered and they were gone.”
“And she kept it all this time?” Oriel carefully unfolded the paper. It had been folded in four and was scorched where the corners had come together. Only the middle of the page remained, but she’d written in English.
...know we promised we wouldn’t write. I hope your boy is improving
...
...never wish to separate you from him, but want you to know...
...could marry him, but he says the baby will be white...
...midwife assures me all is well, but I sense she’s hiding...
...and when it’s time insists I must give it up...
...know what else to do. I wish you were here to...
“To our father?” Oriel bit her lips to keep them from trembling. It meant so much to know there had been love between them, even if it had been an impossible one. “This is so sad. My heart is absolutely broken for her.”
“Me, too.” Fat tears sat in Nina’s eyes, and her voice cracked. “I don’t think she got to see us or hold us or even know there were two of us.”
They searched each other’s eyes, anguished for the mother they hadn’t known and the memories they had missed making as a family.
“My parents would have taken both of us if they’d been told. They’re actually really excited to meet you,” Oriel said with a small, quavering smile.
“Oh, my gosh, when I tell you how I came to be with my family...” Nina sent the heel of her hand across her cheekbone and glanced at Reve, seemingly at a loss. “We’re going to need something stronger than coffee.”
“We have more paperwork that we want to give to Lakshmi’s family, too,” Reve said.
“It’s okay,” Oriel said, waving Nina off from reaching into her bag again. “That can wait a few minutes. I want to know everything about you. I already know you’re a fashion designer.”
“And you’re a model. It’s like we’re twins.”
They laughed in a way that was eerily similar and that might have made them dissolve into fresh tears, but an abrupt knock on the door had them both twisting to look at it.
Reve ambled over.
“Ah,” he said as he saw who was behind it. “The husband.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WASN’T VIJAY’S worst nightmare, precisely, but he really wasn’t thrilled when a man—the man—opened the door of his wife’s flat.