by Kara Isaac
“I’m Emelia here. They don’t know about what I used to do. Who I used to be. Any of it.”
Lacey’s eyes boggled. “Are you telling me that you are working at Anita’s charity and they have no idea who you are? Oh my gosh.”
She had like five seconds before Allie came looking for them. “I’ll fill you in later.”
“What do they know?” Lacey whispered back.
“Um . . .” For a second, Emelia couldn’t think of a single thing. “That I love Narnia.” It was the first thing that came to mind. Her cousin gave her an incredulous look.
“Hi!” Allie’s voice came from behind them. “I’m Allie. Emelia’s flatmate.” She approached the two of them, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
Lacey immediately pulled out her most charming smile. “Lacey, Emelia’s cousin. So sorry to drop in on you unannounced like this. I was in London for work and tomorrow’s engagement was canceled so I couldn’t miss the opportunity to come and see M— Emelia.”
Allie offered a friendly smile. “No worries. I’m afraid it will be the couch tonight, but I’m away tomorrow night so you’re welcome to take my room. Come in, come in. I’ve just put a brownie in the oven.”
“Yes, come in.” Emelia realized that in her panic she was being rude. “Just leave your bag by the stairs if you want.” She watched as Lacey parked her travel case and then led her to the living area. She gestured toward the couch. “Grab a seat. Do you want something to drink?”
“I’m good. I’ve got some water.” Lacey grabbed a large bottle out of her purse, then leaned back and unzipped her boots. “Oh, that’s so much better. Those shoes were not made for walking.”
“So, you’re a publicist?” Allie finished setting the timer on the oven and came over to the couches with a mug.
“Yes. I’m just over pitching some follow-up stories from London Fashion Week for a couple of clients.” Lacey levered the boots off her feet using her toes.
“And which side are you cousins on? I’m very jealous. I only have male cousins and we’re not particularly close. It wouldn’t cross their mind to look me up if they were in the city, let alone the same country.”
Lacey’s eyes widened toward Emelia.
Emelia jumped in. “Lacey’s mom is my father’s sister.”
She was saved from any further explanation by Allie’s phone ringing. Allie glanced at the screen and her face softened. Jackson, apparently. “Excuse me for a few minutes. If the timer goes off, can you get the brownie out?”
Emelia almost sagged from relief. “Of course.” The brownie had at least another twenty minutes, so Allie was going to be away for a while. Enough time for Emelia to bring Lacey up to speed.
Allie was already halfway out of the room, phone to her ear. The door closed behind her.
“So, you’re Emelia Mason and you love Narnia.” Lacey took a slug from her water bottle.
“What? I am and I do.”
Her cousin’s gaze flicked over her jeans and cheap sweater. “And why are you dressed like a hobo?”
Emelia checked out her outfit. So it wasn’t exactly the designer fare she used to wear, but it wasn’t that bad. “I gave most of it away.”
Her cousin gagged, a trickle of water dribbling out of her mouth. “You did not.”
“I did.”
“Louis? Jimmy? Valentino? You kept some, right?” Her cousin said their names like they were orphaned children. Not handbags and shoes and gowns.
“Nope.” They were the second thing to go. After her job. After she’d quit—or been fired, depending on who was telling the story—and cleared out her desk, the next stop had been clearing out her wardrobe.
“Not the Birkin.” Her cousin’s tone was almost begging.
“Yup.” That one had been the first to go. The beloved Birkin handbag had been her reward for a year where she’d broken scandals at a ridiculous pace. It was her loudest accuser when the pile of cards she’d constructed her life with came tumbling down.
“You sold them, right? At least made some decent money.”
“I didn’t. But hopefully Goodwill did.” Or not. She didn’t actually care. Sometimes she liked to think they had no idea what she’d left on their doorstep in four huge trash bags. It made her smile to imagine a single mom struggling to make ends meet wandering around Walmart with a Birkin worth ten grand that she’d bought for five bucks.
Her cousin let out a strangled cry, then spent a few seconds breathing deeply, blond head in her hands. No doubt trying to find her Zen, or center her chakras, or whatever was the latest fad in such things.
Eventually Lacey lifted her head. “So, you’re dressed like you shop at Target and your new friends know nothing about Mia Caldwell. Nothing about your life before you got here. That’s how you got the charity job. By hiding your entire past.”
Emelia let the first part of her comment slide. “No. And only little bits and pieces.”
“I get wanting distance from everything that happened, Meels.” Her cousin switched to her childhood nickname. “But divorcing yourself completely? That seems a bit unnecessary. And, dare I say, unhealthy. Not to mention it has the potential to blow back on you so bad if someone discovers the truth.”
She had to make her cousin understand. Get through how critical it was that Lacey didn’t blow this for her. “It was totally necessary. They wouldn’t have hired me if they knew. And I need to do this, I need to try and make something right. It’s only for a few more months. I’m not Mia anymore. I don’t want to be related to her. If I could wipe my brain of her existence entirely, I would. She’s finished. Over.” She didn’t even try to keep the desperation out of her voice.
Her cousin contemplated her with a troubled gaze. “You can’t just delete years of your life.”
“Maybe not. But I sure can try.”
Thirty-Two
PETER STARED AT HIS PHONE as he pulled up in front of Allie and Emelia’s house. The text had just arrived a few seconds earlier.
Surprise visit from cousin. She’s coming with. Try not to ogle.
What on earth was that supposed to mean?
Jogging up the front path, he rapped on the door. Within a few seconds, he heard footsteps and the door was thrown open.
He held up his phone. “Wh—” The words froze in his mouth as he realized it wasn’t Emelia standing in front of him but a tall, willowy blonde. A very attractive one.
She peered at his screen. “ ‘Try not to ogle.’ Oh, isn’t she classy.” She thrust out a hand. “You must be Peter. I’m Lacey. Said cousin and gatecrasher. I would say I’ve heard all about you, but I’ll be honest, all I know is that you and she are involved in planning this high-society ball.”
Peter managed to find his voice. “Peter Carlisle. And that pretty much covers all the basics.”
Lacey studied him. “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
“I used to do some rowing.” Just saying it felt like something jammed in his throat.
“Hmmmm.” She appeared unconvinced. “Maybe.”
Well, she certainly couldn’t be mistaking him for Victor and his paparazzi-attention-seeking ways. One of the many benefits of looking nothing like his brother.
“I wish I could say I know more about you too, but, honestly . . .” He pocketed the incriminating screen. “That message is all I’ve got.” It reinforced how little he knew about Emelia’s background. Had she ever mentioned a cousin before?
“So, what’s the plan for the day?” Lacey asked just as Emelia appeared at the top of the stairs.
“We’re heading to my family’s estate to take some measurements for some of the fit-out for the ball. We’re planning to hold it there.”
Lacey raised an eyebrow. “Gosh, that sounds very fancy. Are you like a duke or something?”
Might as well tell her. It would be obvious as soon as they got to the house anyway. “I’m not. But my—”
“Okay, we’re good. Let’s go.” His sentence was cut off by E
melia, who was almost tripping down the stairs in her haste to get to the bottom. Tension radiated off her whole body, a sharp contrast to Lacey’s relaxed demeanor. Odd. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Lacey gave Emelia a scrutinizing look as she picked up a bottle of water from the hall table.
Emelia didn’t seem to notice as she picked her bag up off the floor and pulled some keys out. They all stepped outside as Emelia closed the door.
Lacey turned to him. “Did you say your surname is Carlisle?”
“I did.” Was it his imagination or did Emelia freeze for a second mid–key turn?
“Not related to Victor Carlisle at all?”
Peter tensed. “He’s my brother.”
Something crossed Lacey’s face. Like pieces of a jigsaw were falling into place. Don’t tell me she somehow had the misfortune to meet Victor when he was in the States last year.
“Do you know him?” If she was another of Victor’s conquests, what could he do? Take her back to the estate? Introduce her to the parents of the guy who’d no doubt gotten whatever he wanted and then tossed her aside like a toy?
Lacey fiddled with the lid of her water bottle before raising her chin. “Not personally, no. So, Anita Van Rees was your cousin?”
Anita’s name appearing out of nowhere took him by as much surprise as if she’d suddenly punched him. Maybe more. “She was.”
Sympathy shadowed Lacey’s eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Anita had great potential.”
“Did you know her?” It felt like his feet were glued to the porch. He couldn’t have moved if he tried.
“I’m a publicist. Our paths crossed a few times back in the US. Charity events, things like that.” Lacey looked at Emelia. “You never mentioned you were working with Anita’s cousin on this ball.”
“Didn’t I?” Emelia’s words were nonchalant, but not her big round eyes. Her face was ashen. Weirdly, Lacey’s resembled a rolling thunderstorm. Something told him he was chauffeuring an impending storm. He just didn’t know why.
“Have you lost your mind!” Lacey added an expletive at the end of her sentence. Then a couple more in case Emelia had missed the first one. Her cousin had her hands on her hips and was unafraid to get in her face. She was so close, she was almost on Emelia’s toes.
Emelia had spent a car ride, a tour of the estate, and a couple of hours working through ball details with Peter’s mom trying to pretend her cousin wasn’t lasering her with her eyes. But her luck had run out when Lacey had sweetly asked if there was somewhere they could freshen up before lunch and practically frog-marched Emelia to the fancy bathroom they’d been directed to.
Emelia leaned back against the porcelain sink to try to regain some personal space. She wrapped her fingers around the cool rim. “I didn’t know who Peter was. I only found out when he brought me here when we were location hunting.”
Her cousin huffed a breath of incredulity in her face. “C’mon, Meels. You’re smarter than that. You used to be a freaking award-winning reporter. It never crossed your mind to think that Peter Carlisle might be related to the Honorable Victor Carlisle?”
“No. Because I never thought of Victor by his last name. I thought of him as Victor, heir to the Viscount Downley. That’s the title he threw around all over town.”
Lacey ran her hands through her hair, leaving it all tousled, and not in a trendy, sexy way. “I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you.”
“You were fine with me leaving Mia behind last night. You got it!”
“That was before I knew you were having some kind of thing with Anita’s cousin under your new nom de plume!”
“We’re not having a thing.”
“Oh, c’mon. The national grid is about to call and ask for its electricity back. Are you seriously trying to tell me you two haven’t even kissed?” Emelia’s silence had her cousin just staring at her. “Seriously?”
“Just once! And it was a mistake. And we’ve talked about it and it won’t happen again. There’s no thing and there won’t be a thing. That’s all been well established.”
“Why not?” Her cousin finally took a step back, giving Emelia a little room to breathe.
“Because he’s religious.”
Lacey scrunched up her face. “So what? I’ve dated a few religious types. Remember Aaron? He was Jewish. Then Brad. He was a Scientologist. That was a bad move though. Don’t ever date a guy who believes in a drug-free, silent birth.”
“It’s more than just a set of rules for him. Like, it’s a real thing. He won’t date someone who doesn’t believe the same as he does.”
“And you don’t think that’s something you might want to consider?” This from a girl who considered a new Prada bag a spiritual experience.
“Lacey. I’m not getting religion for a guy.” Emelia had done some underhanded things in her life, but she certainly wasn’t going to add faking a belief in God to it. Though she had a sense that even if she tried, Peter would see right through it. It would have to be real or not at all. And, even if she’d wanted to believe, real wasn’t an option. If God even existed, it was for people like Allie and Jackson and Peter. Not people like her.
“I didn’t suggest you do. I’m just saying that, you know, there might be something in it worth considering if it’s that important to him. He’s a great guy. Which brings me back full circle to, have you lost your mind?”
“What do you want me to say to him, Lace? ‘Oh, hey, Peter. Remember that cousin of yours who died? I’m the reporter who drove her to kill herself.’ ”
Lacey paced the small room from one floral wall to the other. “He will find out one day. Karma kind of bites you like that.”
“He’s it, Lace. He and Allie and Jackson are the best friends I have here. They’re the best friends I’ve had in years. If I tell them that, I’ve got nothing. I won’t even have a house to live in.” Even Allie, the nicest person on earth, wouldn’t want anything to do with her if the truth came out.
“What about Victor? Surely you’ll run into him sooner or later. Doesn’t he live around here? He’s Peter’s brother. I need a Xanax or something.” Lacey started digging through her purse.
“I already have.”
Her cousin froze mid-dig. “And?”
“He recognized me but we’ve come to an agreement.” Only because they both held weapons of mutually assured destruction.
Lacey let out a breath with a whoosh. “I’ve seen you play with fire, but this isn’t that. This is a nuclear power plant. How can you do it? How can you be planning all this fund-raising together, with that chemistry the two of you have, and not feel sick keeping this from him?” She pulled a tube of mints from her purse, unraveled it, and shoved one in her mouth.
“It’s not like I made her drink. It’s not like I put the cocaine up her nose. She did all of those things herself. She made her choices, I just exposed them.” It was a line Emelia had used many times to justify her work, and it still rang as hollow as all the others.
Her cousin’s steely face told her she wasn’t buying it either. The crack as she chomped down hard on her mint said all she needed to.
Emelia pushed herself off the basin. “Of course I hate it. I feel horrible about it. Sometimes it swells up inside me until I feel like I might just vomit it out all over him. But I can’t. If I do, he will walk away. Just like everyone else. And then I’m left with nothing. Just like I always am.”
Lacey’s eyes widened as the ugly, honest words hit the air.
Turning around, Emelia twisted the cold tap on full blast. Putting her hands under the water, she splashed some up on her face, trying to gain herself a few seconds.
Pull it together, Emelia.
She leaned against the sink and watched the water swirl down the drain. Grabbing the hand towel, she pressed it against her face.
“What if he’s different?” Lacey’s voice was soft and tentative.
Emelia dropped the towel back on the counter and turned around. “You know how I me
t him, Lace?”
“How?”
“I fell out of a wardrobe in an antiques shop and he caught me. Then he asked me if I was a Susan or a Lucy. How am I supposed to tell that guy I’m the person he probably hates most in the world?” She could already see the loathing in his eyes if she told him.
“I don’t know. But you have to. Because if you don’t, then someway, somehow, he will find out. And there’s no coming back from that.”
“Is that a Dr. Donna thing?” Dr. Donna was a relationship expert and one of Lacey’s most famous clients. Her cousin was a walking record of the woman’s sound bites.
Something flickered in her cousin’s eyes. “No. It’s a Lacey O’Connor thing.” Lacey closed the two-step gap between them and took Emelia’s shoulders, forcing her to look her in the eye. “I may not be into the whole God thing, but even I know the truth always comes out eventually. And that guy out there, he deserves to know the truth. From you.”
Thirty-Three
SHE WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR ANITA’S death. And saving her charity was the closest thing she could think of to atonement. If it weren’t for those two facts, Emelia would have been out. Done. Gone.
Emelia stabbed a piece of cake with her fork. Mashed it between the prongs. She’d tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. That her life as Mia Caldwell was behind her. That Emelia Mason was all that mattered. And Emelia Mason hadn’t done anything wrong. But there wasn’t a single cell in her body that was letting her believe it. Especially since Lacey had called her out.
It was good they had the religion thing between them. She could hide behind that without any difficulty. Her gaze lingered on Peter’s broad back as he stood at the counter of the boutique bakery, ordering another dessert.
His Olympic dreams and decency and faith were far too good for her. She’d been foolish to ever hope there might be a possibility of anything different. But now she’d had a cold dose of reality.
Not even Peter would be able to forgive her for what she’d done. What she’d cost him. His family. There was no God big enough to conquer that.