Body Double

by Alane Hudson

  “Wow,” Andrea said. “That’s, um...”

  “It’s the least I can do. You’re helping me out of a tight spot here. Also, if you can manage it, I’d like you to stay at my house, or at least spend some time there, and drive my car, especially when you go to meet with the wedding planner and to the rehearsal. I’d raise eyebrows showing up in your Ford.”

  “Got it,” Andrea said with a grin.

  Tracy came in to notarize their signatures on the paperwork. She made twenty-five copies and used her notary seal embosser on each one. “I don’t know if you’ll need all these, but it’s better to have them than not. I’ll keep the original here and make more copies if you need them.”

  “Feel free to wear anything in my closet,” Sarah said, offering Andrea a key ring with two keys on it. “This is my house key and the key to the sedan. If I could bother you for a ride to the airport, that’ll make everything easier. You can park your car in my garage. It’ll be safe and out of sight, and when you need to be you, you’ll have it right there.”

  “Listen,” Andrea said. “I know I signed the non-disclosure agreement, but my best friend is going to get suspicious if I’m suddenly unavailable and run off to Hawaii. Can I tell her?”

  “Does she work for the media?”

  “No, and I’ll make her swear not to tell a soul—even her husband.”

  Sarah hesitated, a doubtful expression on her face. “All right, as long as she agrees not to tell anyone. It’s not fair for me to make your own life difficult while you make mine easier. If you need to tell your folks, that’s okay too—with the same caveat.”

  Charlotte handed her a sheet of paper containing a list of appointments. “Your final dress fitting is tomorrow morning. Thursday, you’ve got an appointment with the wedding planner to walk through the venue and go over the final details, and of course the rehearsal on Friday, and hair and makeup Saturday morning.”

  Sarah said, “You’re going to be busier than a one-legged cat in a sandbox these next few days. I can’t wait to see the photos. You’re going to be lovely.”

  “Oh, my God,” Andrea said. “I forgot about photos. I’m going to be the bride in your wedding album. Your future children are going to see that.”

  “It’s okay,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry about that.”

  Charlotte said, “There’ll be two photographers and a videographer. At the reception, they’ll have a room set up where they’ll shoot a ton of portrait shots of you and Blake, the entire wedding party, and shots with their respective parents.”

  “Your parents,” Andrea wailed, letting her forehead fall into her palm.

  “Try not to think of them as my wedding photos. Just think of it as a practice run for your own wedding and enjoy yourself.”

  Andrea shook her head. She would never get married. Ever. “I doubt I’ll ever get married, but even if I do, my wedding won’t be nearly as lavish as yours.”

  Sarah grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. Being a millionaire will attract a lot of new people into your life. You might be surprised.”

  With their agreement made and the papers signed, Andrea followed Sarah’s white Mercedes coupe to Redwood City and into a neighborhood of luxury homes, some with German cars parked in the driveway. Her own car, the eight-year-old Ford Focus her dad had given her as a graduation present, looked conspicuous here with its sun bleached, green paint and crooked bumper, and she was glad to hide it in Sarah’s garage.

  Sarah gave Andrea a tour of her four-thousand-square-foot home and the three-quarter acre manicured lot around it. While the property might have sold for three hundred thousand dollars or so in her parents’ Phoenix neighborhood, she estimated it was worth closer to two million in Redwood City.

  On a miniature spiral notepad she kept in her purse, Andrea wrote down what Sarah told her about garbage pick-up and where to put the mail after she brought it in, where to find the cache of toilet paper, and what days the housekeeper, lawn maintenance, and pool crews came. She noted which neighbors were snooty and which were nice, how to access the Internet on Sarah’s WiFi network, how to turn on and off the security alarm, and where to find clean towels and sheets for the bed. While Sarah packed, she ran through the final bits of information Andrea would need to live in the house.

  Driving back to The Lighthouse in a silver Mercedes sedan, Sarah gave her lessons in cultivating a Southern accent. Refined young ladies did not pronounce the letter “R” harshly. “We also put the stress on the first syllable of some words, like police and hotel. Don’t say ‘bless your heart’ unless you mean it. Yankees have misconstrued the true meaning of that lovely expression. Only a true Southerner knows when to use it and when not to. If you say it in the wrong context, someone’s liable to look at you sideways. Don’t ever say ‘shut up.’ It’s ‘hush’ or ‘hush your mouth.’”

  As an actress in high school, Andrea had played Melanie in the school’s production of Gone with the Wind and would have loved those tips back then.

  While Andrea waited for Sarah to finish her business meeting, she chatted with Charlotte and Tracy, practicing her Southern accent, and made friends with Hank the Rottweiler. Though he was big and somewhat scary-looking, he was calm and well mannered. She could understand why nobody would want to take any chances by messing with him—or Tracy.

  On the way to the airport, she practiced her new Southern accent with gentle corrections from Sarah, growing more confident with every mile. Maybe she would be able to pull this off after all.

  She pulled up to the curb near the sign for Sarah’s airline, popped the trunk, and got out.

  Sarah pulled her suitcase out of the trunk and hugged her fiercely, as if they truly were sisters. “Text or call if you have any questions or need some info. I don’t know what my availability will be at any given moment, but I’ll do my best to get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Be careful down there, Sarah.”

  “I will.” Finally, Sarah tugged the diamond ring from her left ring finger, placed it into Andrea’s palm, and then curled Andrea’s fingers around it. “He’s yours for the next two weeks. Try not to get too attached.”

  Andrea promised to do her best, which meant one thing for certain: sleeping with him was out of the question.

  The sounds of silverware clinking on ceramic punctuated the low moan of conversation in Ruby’s Bistro. Andrea scanned the menu for the salad listing. The outrageous prices were printed in a tiny, delicate typeface as if the menu was whispering them in embarrassment.

  “Good evening, Dr. Gentry.” A waitress, dressed in black slacks and a crisp, white shirt and blue bow tie, set a glass of iced pinkish brown liquid in front of Andrea.

  Andrea’s mind went momentarily blank as if it were rebooting. Would Sarah greet her back or just smile? “Good evening. What’s this?”

  The waitress looked perplexed. “Raspberry sun tea. Did you want something different this evening?”

  Sarah would probably have been pleased, but drinking caffeine this late would mess with Andrea’s sleep. There would surely be more instances like this that she would need to be ready for. “I’m trying to cut back. Just water, please.”

  “Right away.” The waitress scurried away, glancing at her before rounding a corner. Did she suspect?

  She decided on the Peking spiced chicken and tangerine salad and set the menu aside. Andrea looked around at the polished walnut and granite decor, the finely draped tables, and perfect lighting. Beneath the hum of conversation, acoustical Sinatra-esque jazz played softly. It was a lovely restaurant, but she felt out of place here surrounded by all the richly dressed diners. Any second, they would notice her and whisper behind their hands about the pretender in their midst.

  She checked her watch again: 7:08. He was late, which didn’t help calm the nervous jump in her muscles. Her palms sweated, and she wiped them off on the cloth napkin in her lap.

  “Sorry I’m late,” a male voice said. It was rich and deep, vibrating in her chest and send
ing a tremor down her spine. Its owner was tall and broad, with dark hair cut short enough to be manageable but too long to hide its tendency to curl. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her right cheek.

  Her skin warmed where his lips had touched her, and she resisted the urge to put her hand over the spot. She’d thought he was handsome in the photo Sarah had shown her, but now... Goodness. No arrangement of colored dots could do him justice. This was a man one had to experience in person. He wasn’t just handsome. His powerful presence attracted the attention of men and women alike. The restaurant quieted as people stopped talking to regard him, and returned to its normal volume once he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.

  “I tried to call, but I kept getting voice mail,” he said as he settled into his seat. He took her left hand in his and stroked across her knuckles with his thumb. His hand, huge and warm, wasn’t rough like that of a construction worker but wasn’t soft like a woman’s, either. “Is something wrong with your...” His gaze dropped to her hand, while his thumb paused on her bare ring finger. “You took off your engagement ring,” he said with a scowl. “I was afraid of this.”

  She’d decided not to wear the ring until he agreed to Sarah’s plan. If he didn’t go along with it, she would return the ring to Sarah unworn. Andrea opened her mouth to explain.

  “Sarah, wait. Before you call it off, give me a minute. I know it’s rarely anyone’s plan to marry for anything other than love, but—”

  The waitress arrived with her ice water and another for Blake and set them on the table. “Good evening, Mr. Thomas. Can I bring you a menu?”

  “No,” he said, returning his gaze to Andrea. “I know what I want.”

  Andrea drew in a small gasp. Her mind knew that Sarah was the true object of his boldly spoken desire, but her body only knew what he was telling it—that he wanted her. His hazel eyes sparkled, and he winked at her, igniting her insides. Now was not the time for her body to respond to him that way, but gracious, his allure was captivating. Did he do this to every woman who met him? Was the waitress standing there, flooding her panties? He seemed not to notice the way other women cast glances his way or openly stared at him. His gaze never left her face, didn’t roam the room seeking prettier women to gawk at the way Sean always used to.

  Of course, Blake had only been dating Sarah a few months. After a couple of years, his eyes would start to wander and he might even whistle or mutter a curse under his breath while admiring every woman in the room except the one he was with and then tell her to get over it because men were men and women made themselves attractive for a reason and how could she call that cheating when he never even touched them?

  “Dr. Gentry?”

  She flinched, realizing Blake and the waitress were staring at her, waiting for some response. “Yes?”

  “What can I bring for you?”

  “Oh. I’ll have the Asian Chicken Salad, no croutons.” She remembered to practice her Southern accent for the waitress’s benefit.

  “Very well. And hold the almonds?” When Andrea blinked up at her in confusion, she said, “You do have an almond allergy, right? Or did I get that wrong too?”

  Andrea smiled, impressed the woman remembered Sarah’s food allergies. Though she’d have preferred to get the almonds, she had to play her part. “You got that right. Thanks.”

  Blake ordered a grilled chicken sandwich.

  “Salad instead of fries?”

  “You got it.”

  The waitress took their menus. “Thank you. They’ll be out shortly.”

  When she was gone, Blake’s attention on Andrea intensified once more. She was immediately drawn in by him, by his earnest, hazel eyes that looked at her so pleadingly. His angular jaw was darkened by the day’s stubble, but his handsome face was otherwise unblemished except by one tiny scar above his right eye that gave the eyebrow a slightly quizzical arch. “Blake—”

  “Please,” he said. “Just hear me out. We both have our reasons for agreeing to this arrangement, and I understand perfectly well why you might be having second thoughts. You saw a side of me on Sunday that not many people ever see. It can be scary. I get that.”

  What? Sarah hadn’t mentioned this Sunday incident. Had he yelled at her? Threatened her? Why wouldn’t Sarah have warned her this man could be volatile? She swallowed hard and tried to pull her hand back. “I don’t—”

  “Wait, sweetheart, please.” He held her hand more tightly but not painfully. “I’m not done. I can’t promise that it’ll never happen again, but you never have to fear me. Never. Sarah, I may not be the guy you dreamed of marrying, but I’m loyal.” His eyes were warm and caring, his words and tone sincere.

  Andrea felt confused and lost. He’d just warned her that he had a scary streak, but her gut said she could trust him.

  “As your husband, I’ll protect you, I’ll take care of you, and I’ll stand by you. I don’t ask for much. Just... show up on Saturday. We can make this work if we give it a chance. I’ll make an amazing father to our children.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, so moved was she by his plea and commitment. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to be the object of such devotion—to have a man beg her to show up instead of ditching her on her wedding day. Here, sitting across from her, holding her hand, was a man who would do anything for the ones he loved. And he was about to marry a lesbian.

  “What can I do to get you to put that ring back on your finger?” His fingers stroked her knuckles again. Before she could think to form a response, he peered at her through narrowed eyes and asked, “Are you wearing blue contacts?” Then his eyes flew wide, and his mouth fell open. He dropped her hand, took Andrea by the chin, and turned her head gently to the left. “Oh, shit.” His face turned a deep shade of burgundy. “You’re not Sarah.”

  Chapter 4

  Oh, crap! Andrea’s mind raced. He’d made her. Of course he would. Sarah was dumb to think her own fiancé wouldn’t know her from a stranger. This wasn’t how Andrea had envisioned the conversation going. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Blake sat there a moment, gaping at her from across the table. “It’s uncanny how much you resemble my fiancée. And I’ve barged in on your dinner. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m an idiot. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  “Because you kept shushing me.”

  “I am an idiot. I’m so sorry.” He stood, looking around at the other diners. “I’m supposed to meet my fiancée here, and you look enough like her to... Well, obviously I’ve made a complete fool of myself.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “She’s not here,” he said, and then looked down at her with a perplexed tilt of his head.

  “Believe me, I would notice another woman who looked enough like me to fool her fiancé. Please,” Andrea said, gesturing to his chair. “Your dinner’s on its way. Won’t you join me?” She couldn’t let him simply walk away without explaining why she was there. She held out her hand. “Andrea Lindholm.”

  Lowering himself back into the chair, he shook it warmly, his hand engulfing hers completely. “Blake Thomas. You could be twins separated at birth. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight,” she said. “According to my birth certificate.”

  “Sarah’s a year older.”

  A small chime came from his direction, and he leaned to the side and withdrew his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ve already met my rudeness quota for the month, but I’ve got to find Sarah.” He showed her the phone in his palm. “Her phone’s been off, and I just got notification that it’s back online. Please excuse me. I’ll only be a moment.” Blake stood and walked toward the restrooms. Andrea’s gaze followed the line of his broad shoulders narrowing to his slim waist and the sculpted butt of an athlete.

  She had to warn Sarah not to answer his call. She quickly sent a text message: Haven’t told him yet.

  Though he was out of sight, he wasn’t out of earshot. “Sarah, I’ve left three messages. Call me. I’
m getting worried.”

  Andrea used her napkin to polish her top front teeth, and then licked her lips and sucked them hard between her teeth to pinken them. If she stood any chance of convincing him of Sarah’s scheme, she’d need to be appealing.

  As Blake returned to the table, he studied the phone, pushing buttons with his thumb, and took his seat. “Voice mail again. I’m starting to worry she’s been in an accident. She’s never late. Let’s see if she has GPS turned on.” He slid into his seat, his attention still fixed on the phone.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Andrea said. She took a deep breath. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “What the hell?” He gaped at the device, tapped it with his index finger, and then looked up at Andrea with a scowl.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s in Mexico.” He slammed the phone onto the table. “How could she just up and go to Mexico four days before our wedding? And without saying a word?”

  The pain in his face speared Andrea’s heart. She’d been in his shoes, ready to marry someone who would ultimately stand her up. She reached over and touched his hand consolingly. “I’m sorry. There’s a good explanation for that.”

  “Damn it. Why wouldn’t she tell me she wanted to call the whole thing off instead of up and running away?”

  Andrea’s point exactly. Sean could have leveled with her before the day of the wedding if he had doubts.

  “I had a sinking feeling when she called this afternoon that she wasn’t going to go through with it.”

  Guilt twisted in her belly. Tell him, she told herself. “You misunderstand—”

  “I don’t blame her,” he said, shaking his head. “She wasn’t in love with me. She was only marrying me because her father was holding money over her head. I shouldn’t be burdening you with all that. I’m sorry. You have a way about you, did you know that? You’re easy to talk to. I’ll bet you hear a lot of strangers’ personal problems.”