The Duplicate Bride

by Ginny Baird

  Her pulse whipped into overdrive when she realized what Jackie was insinuating. “Jackie, no. I can’t do it. There’s no way—”

  “But sweetie. You already are—and that’s on you. Besides, it’s only another day.”

  Only another day, Hope repeated in her head, reflecting that a mere twenty-four hours didn’t seem that long in the course of a lifetime. The lifetime of happiness she could help deliver to her sister by ingratiating herself—as her twin—with Brent and his family.

  Even to her, this sounded a little messed up, but Hope hung on to the fact that her motives were good. She sighed in resignation. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Act natural. Be yourself. Only, not as you…as me.”

  This hole that the two of them were digging just seemed to keep getting deeper. Was it possible to explain things to Brent and his mom if she confessed she was actually Hope and not Jackie? What about Grandmother Margaret? The revelation would only prove her suspicions right.

  “This is starting to get complicated.”

  “It shouldn’t be too, too bad,” Jackie assured her. “Starting tomorrow, there will be lots of activities to keep you busy, including the cocktail party for arriving family before dinner.

  “Then Tuesday, there’s the morning meeting with the wedding coordinator. I won’t be able to make it in time for that. Later that day, there’s the ladies’ tea and croquet party,” she mused. “And the men will be sailing. So, that should give you a nice long break from Brent until I show up to relieve you, hopefully by three o’clock.”

  Hope’s mind tripped back through the itinerary, her thoughts snagging on one detail. “Tuesday morning I’m meeting with the wedding coordinator?”

  “Yes, Eleanor Bell.”

  “What am I supposed to do there?”

  “Just look at her schedule and say everything looks great. I already gave my input earlier, and Meredith helped me with suggestions.”

  Hope drew in a breath, starting to feel calmer about the situation. “Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad. It will just be me and her, then?”

  “And Elsa, of course. Mom insisted on being there, too. Grandmother Margaret also elbowed her way in.”

  Hope groaned. “Nice.”

  “You’re the best for doing this. The very best.”

  “Not really. I was kind of ambushed,” Hope said. “And you know that thing you said about Grandmother Margaret giving you the eye?”

  “No. She did that again?”

  “In spades.”

  “And yet, she baked us banana bread. Hmm.”

  Hope eyed the suspicious baked goods. “Precisely why I am going to wait and let you eat it.”

  “Funny. You know I don’t eat carbs.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

  “Well…?” Jackie inquired with unmasked interest. “What did you think?”

  “Of?”

  “My groom-to-be.”

  “He, um…seems really nice.”

  “Smoking hot, too, right?”

  Hope’s face warmed. “I didn’t particularly notice.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” her sister said. “Given the circumstances.”

  “Oh, um,” Hope said, just now thinking of it. “There’s one little thing. You’re going to have to cut your hair.”

  “What?”

  “Brent commented on my haircut. He likes it.”

  “I hadn’t even considered that. Are you still wearing it like you did at Debbie’s wedding?”

  “Yeah. I can text you a photo if that would help.”

  “Okay, great. I was going to get my hair done before coming up there, anyway, and I’ve already moved my appointment—twice.”

  “So, see you Tuesday?”

  “The day after tomorrow. Totally promise. I’ll shoot you a text when I’m on the way.”

  …

  Hope strode toward the main house, gathering her courage. The itinerary seemed easy enough, but maybe she should just tell everyone the truth. The longer she kept this up, the harder it would be. What if she slipped up? What if they figured out she wasn’t Jackie and decided to call off the wedding because of Jackie’s lying sister? The one who already almost ran over the groom’s mom? Jackie would never let Hope live that down.

  “Well, hello,” a man’s voice boomed from beside the firepit situated on the patio. The middle-aged guy with salt-and-pepper hair resembled Brent, but his smile-creased eyes were lighter.

  He set down the bundle of twigs and logs he’d gathered on the stone patio and dusted his hands on his jeans.

  “You must be Jackie,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s so great to meet you.” His collared button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, and its crisp white color matched his bright grin. “Parker Albright,” he said, clasping one of his hands over both of theirs as they shook hands. “Welcome home.”

  Hope blinked. “Pardon?”

  Parker released his grip. “Brent tells us you grew up in Blue Hill, at least in part.”

  She tried to paste on a friendly smile but worried that it looked fake. “That’s right. My sister and I lived here with our mom during our junior year of high school.”

  “Ava, yes. Elsa and I look forward to meeting her tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure she’s excited to meet you, too.”

  “You’ve already met Elsa, I hear.”

  If by “met” he means “nearly ran her over.” “Yes. She’s great.”

  His eyes twinkled in a kind way, like he was on her side. “And Grandmother Margaret.” He motioned Hope forward. “Come on, let me show you up to the house. Elsa left lemonade in the kitchen for you and Brent.”

  Parker led her up some brick steps to the enormous covered back porch. Square white columns supported the roof above it, and strategically placed rocking chairs tilted lazily in the breeze. There was even a porch swing at the far end, and planters filled with ferns and flowers were everywhere.

  “This place is gorgeous,” she said as Parker held open one side of the large French doors to let her inside.

  “We enjoy being on the water, especially in summertime.”

  They walked into an opulent room that Parker called the den. Cream-colored walls housed teeming bookshelves, and a sturdy roll-top desk sat in one corner. A dry sink serving as a bar stood in another, and oriental rugs blanketed the hardwood floors.

  The flat-screen TV directly ahead of them had a set of matching loveseats on either side. Brent stood in front of one of them, flipping up its seat cushions and checking underneath.

  He looked up when he heard his dad and Hope enter the den. “Hey there.” Brent paused, steadying a sideways-turned seat cushion in his hands. “You get settled in okay?”

  “Yeah,” Hope answered. “The carriage house is beautiful.”

  Parker excused himself through a side door that led to what looked like a library. “I’ll leave you two to the lemonade,” he said with a grin.

  Based on Jackie’s initial impression of Grandmother Margaret, Hope had guessed Brent’s family would be equally monstrous. She hadn’t expected warmhearted Elsa or Parker.

  She turned her attention back on Brent as he shoved his hands down into the framing of the loveseat, obviously searching for something.

  Her heart lurched when she realized what it was: his phone.

  “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” Concentration furrowed his brow. “I had it yesterday, and I was sitting right, aha.” He reached for something.

  She didn’t think twice. “Wait!”

  One second she was by the French doors, and the next she’d rammed into Brent and flung her arms around him, pinning his upper arms to his solid torso.

  They were muscular arms, too. Unnervingly masculine. And strong.

  So strong, Brent could pro
bably break out of her hold if he wanted to. But he didn’t appear eager to pull away. Mostly, he seemed intrigued—or maybe amused.

  One dark eyebrow arched, and Hope’s pulse fluttered. Not good. Not good at all.

  “Um… What are you doing?”

  She stood there, helplessly looking up at him with her right hand clasping her left wrist, as she held his solid build against her.

  From the corner of her eye, she spied Brent’s cell phone resting on the loveseat frame, where he’d dropped it in surprise. It lay faceup, showcasing a text alert from Jackie.

  Emergency delay…

  Brent tried to see what she was staring at, and Hope yelped. “Brent!”

  “What?”

  “Your phone.” Wrong thing to say, because he turned to glance at it. In one lightning-fast move, Hope released his arms and pressed her palms to his cheeks.

  “Well, hey there,” he said, grinning.

  Wrong result. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

  Hope bit her bottom lip, and her mind spun furiously. His cheeks were stubbled with five o’clock shadow and really sexy feeling. Hope swallowed hard.

  Think. Think. Think.

  “Yes?” He leaned toward her, and Hope’s heart thumped. At least she had his full attention and he wasn’t glancing at his phone. Unlike Hope’s last boyfriend.

  Wait a minute. What was she doing? Making comparisons. Now?

  She snatched his phone from the couch and held it behind her back. “I don’t want you to look at it.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Yeah, why not? “Because,” she said, scrambling for a good reason. “This week is supposed to be about us, remember? Not cyber communications.” She added a play pout for good measure.

  “Wow,” he said, looking her over. “You’ve changed.”

  “It’s our wedd…wedding,” she said, slightly mangling the word. “Shouldn’t we be all about each other?”

  Brent’s eyes danced. “Absolutely. And here I thought it was only me.”

  “Only you?”

  “Who feels this ramped-up attraction between us.” He brought his arms around her and drew her close.

  Hope’s pulse shot through the roof and she nearly dropped his phone. Oh no, I’m feeling it. Maybe a little too much.

  She broke away and beelined to the French doors, swiping open his phone under the guise of looking out over the water.

  There. The message! She quickly hit delete and closed the app.

  She spun back around with a sweet smile on her face. “Maybe I should put this away for safekeeping, hmm?”

  “But what about arrangements? We have family coming in.”

  Boy did they ever, and Hope couldn’t wait for Jackie to get here. “Yes. But until then, this can just be about the two of us together—without interruptions.”

  Brent’s eyebrows knitted together. “What if someone needs to reach us? The violinist or the caterer? The photographer or—”

  “That’s what we hired Elaine for,” she said, congratulating herself for remembering the wedding planner’s name.

  Brent cocked his head. “Eleanor, you mean?”

  Or not. “Yes, her.” Hope had never been great with names. Which was why she gave her students assigned seats—in alphabetical order.

  “What about your sister?”

  “What about her?”

  “Won’t she need to reach you?”

  “Her schedule’s all set,” Hope said with a wave of her hand. “She’ll be here the day after tomorrow.”

  Brent gave her a blank look. “I thought she was coming tomorrow with everyone else?”

  Gah. Think fast… “Stomach flu,” she blurted out.

  “Oh no.”

  “Twenty-four-hour kind. Or maybe food poisoning. She’s not sure.”

  “That’s too bad. I hope she’s better soon.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  He seemed to consider her for a long moment, then sighed. “Okay, then. Fair’s fair,” he said, extending a hand toward her, palm up.

  Hope stared down at his open hand and then back into Brent’s eyes, trying not to get lost in their swoony darkness. “Huh?”

  “I love the idea.” One half of his mouth turned up in a grin, and Hope’s stomach flipped. “No cell communications for either of us until Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday?” Hope asked weakly. “What?”

  “You’ll need your cell for your meeting with the wedding planner, but until then…” He wiggled his fingers.

  “Wait—”

  “Nope. No arguments.” His dark eyes twinkled. “It was your idea. This will give us time to really get to know each other. One on one, like we’ve always talked about.”

  Get to know each other? What?

  Panic buzzed in Hope’s brain like some annoying insect. It was so loud she could barely hear herself think. What kind of marriage arrangement had her sister gotten herself into? Clearly a very casual one, if he could be so easily convinced that Hope was her sister.

  Brent stared her down. “Your phone, Jackie. Hand it over.”

  “My phone? No, I couldn’t…can’t… The Martin wedding.” Not to mention keeping in touch with Jackie.

  “Isn’t that what assistants are for?”

  “But, I…er…oh…” Hope stared up at Brent as he waited patiently for her to extract her phone from the back pocket of her slacks.

  She moved as slowly as she could, tugging the device from her hip pocket and taking her sweet time passing it over. That’s when she spied it: a brand-new text from Jackie.

  One more thing—

  Brent plucked the phone out of her fingers.

  “Two can play at this game,” he said, holding it high.

  Hope jumped for it, but he just lifted it higher, which was pretty easy for him to do, since he had a good five inches on her.

  “Brent. Wait,” she called, springing up in the air again and again, until she realized it was useless. Sadly, that was more exercise than she’d gotten in a month, and the entire episode left her winded. “We…really…should discuss this.”

  “We already have.” He grinned and crossed the room to the roll-top desk.

  “You can’t put my phone in there,” she said, aghast. “Your Grandpa Chad might find it. There might be messages…er, photos. Things we wouldn’t want your granddad to see.” Who knew if that was true, but she assumed her sister and Brent had been intimate. They were getting married, after all. Maybe they’d exchanged sexy texts or pictures.

  “Really?” Brent appeared intrigued.

  Or maybe not?

  “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  Her cheeks burned hot. “Oh, um…I don’t.”

  Brent pursed his lips. “Anyway,” he said. “I’m not putting it in the desk.”

  He reached over the top of the piece of furniture and removed a painting of a sailboat from the wall, revealing a concealed safe.

  She watched wide-eyed as Brent deftly worked its big silver dial, turning it to the left, then to the right, then to the left again, until it clicked.

  He swung open the door and deposited Hope’s phone on an interior shelf.

  Other items crowded the safe’s interior—most of them looked like small velvet sacks.

  “Family jewels?” she asked lamely.

  He chuckled. “Yeah.” He motioned with one hand, and Hope understood what he wanted her to do: hand over his cell phone, so he could stash it away with hers.

  “Brent, honestly. Don’t you think—”

  “Fair’s fair. I won’t have mine; you won’t have yours.”

  Don’t panic. It was only until Tuesday, and by then Jackie would be there. She reluctantly handed over Brent’s phone, and he placed it in the safe beside hers.

  Mayb
e she could sneak in here later and get her phone back. But how? She wasn’t any good at safecracking. Besides that, as far as she knew, this whole place was wired. Loaded with hidden security cameras everywhere.

  She scanned the den, feeling paranoid. Also thinking that she needed to stop streaming so many cozy mysteries in her spare time.

  Brent shut the safe, returning the painting of the sailboat to its place above the desk.

  “Now,” he said. “How about that lemonade?”

  Chapter Four

  Brent handed Jackie her drink, sensing that something was off. Something had definitely changed about her; he just couldn’t put his finger on what.

  “Oh, thanks.” They stood in the upscale kitchen, which gleamed with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.

  “This kitchen’s so pretty,” she said, glancing out the large window above the farm-style sink that overlooked the rose garden. “So much natural light.”

  “Yeah.” He sipped from his glass. “It just got updated last year. My brother Derrick helped with that. He’s got a very good eye for detail.”

  “I can’t wait to meet Derrick. I forget, but I know you mentioned it—is he bringing a plus-one?”

  He chuckled. “If Derrick had his way, he’d bring a negative-one.”

  Her eyebrows knitted together. “What?”

  “Long story,” he answered, “but I can sum it up in one word: Olivia.”

  “Ah.” Her face registered understanding. “Ex-girlfriend?”

  “Ex-wife. Big blowup?” He studied her features. “Don’t you remember?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Olivia. Of course.” She took a big gulp of lemonade and set down her glass. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little…preoccupied.”

  “No worries. No one’s going to be saying anything to Derrick about it, anyway. The topic of Olivia is strictly off-limits.”

  “My lips are sealed. I am sorry, though. Sorry about Derrick.”

  “He’s twenty-nine,” he said. “He’s got his whole future to get over it.”

  “Yeah, well…” She lifted her glass toward his, and they clinked them in a toast. “Here’s to that.”