The Girl in the Mirror(53)

Only a moment ago, I was thinking this would work. I was looking forward to lying pregnant by the pool, awaiting my riches. Why didn’t I face up to these problems before we got on this damn plane? It would have been so much easier if we had stayed away. So we had to leave the Seychelles because of the blood and the yachties and Inspector Barbé, but couldn’t we have gone somewhere else? Back to Thailand? Hell, right now I would happily jump on a plane to Siberia.

For the rest of the flight, I flip-flop between different strategies. Tell Adam what I told Daniel, that I lost the baby at sea. Fake a miscarriage right now. Book Adam and me a romantic getaway in Fiji, leaving tomorrow. Announce that I want a trial separation.

Then again, if I could fool my mother, and if I could train Adam out of the rough sex and book Tarquin into day care (Is there such a thing as boarding school for toddlers?), then maybe it would all work out.

As the plane begins its final descent, I still haven’t made up my mind what to do. All I know is I must persuade Adam not to tell Annabeth that I’m pregnant. It’s essential to keep my options open and to keep my mother’s prying questions at bay.



We’re making our way through immigration and I’m still trying to decide how to persuade Adam not to tell Annabeth that I’m pregnant. It’s going to be a hard sell. He’s already made a few comments about how badly she needs this good news, and I’m distracted by the sudden thought that somebody might want to fingerprint me—identical twins don’t have identical fingerprints.

Maybe I’ll wait till the last minute to raise the subject so he won’t have time to argue. I’ll say it in the taxi on the way home, perhaps as we pull up to our house.

We get through immigration without catching sight of a fingerprint scanner. Adam carries Tarquin through customs, and we stroll into the arrivals lounge.

I can’t believe who’s here.

“Isn’t this nice of your uncle?” says Annabeth, who is holding a bouquet of white roses. “I told him I couldn’t bear to wait alone at the airport, so he drove me here himself, and look who else came to keep me company.” My mother’s tone is even, but the dismissive way she flicks her hand over her shoulder betrays her indignation. “Wasn’t that so nice of them?”

Arrayed behind Annabeth, all in black like a gothic wedding, is the rest of my family. Colton, Virginia, Vicky, Valerie, Vera, and Francine. What the hell are they doing here, acting like my sister’s death is an excuse for a party? I don’t believe for a second that they came to keep Annabeth company. Was Francine closer to Summer than I realized, or is she here to be nosy?

This is my worst nightmare. I have to be Summer in front of my entire family. I have to be perfect. There are eyes everywhere.

They rush me, surround me, smother me with hugs and kisses. “Oh, Summer, darling Summer, my poor baby!” I can’t even tell who’s saying what, and there’s never been such a clash of perfumes. My half sisters are acting like I’m some kind of tragic queen. Somehow I end up in the death grip of my stepmother. Francine looks dainty in her bolero and pencil skirt, but she’s strong enough to strangle me. I’m sure that’s her hand on my belly, feeling for telltale signs of growth.

“Whoa, steady on!” says Adam. “It’s awesome to see you guys, but be gentle with Summer.”

I turn to him to signal no, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Annabeth.

“Oh, I know, it must have been hideous for you, my darling,” says Francine, pressing her cold cheek against mine.

“It’s been harder than you think,” says Adam. “On top of everything else, Summer’s pregnant.”





15

The Test




Francine is holding me so tightly I swear she is trying to squeeze this baby out of me. The six females around me are all emoting their hearts out, and it’s one hundred percent fake.

My half sisters are screeching for joy. Francine is murmuring sweet nothings in my ear. And my mother is trying to look serene, when I know she wants to turn cartwheels through the airport or crow like a rooster.

Adam was right that Annabeth needed some good news. The baby has driven Iris right out of her head—either that or she’s medicated. She is floating in a glowing cloud. Her embrace is as soft as gossamer, and her eyes are misty like she’s looking at a celestial being.

I can’t believe I thought she would be onto me. No one questions winning the lottery.

This is the best moment of my life. Forget winning a beauty pageant you didn’t deserve, sucking up the adulation while your sister is adorned in humiliating bronze. Nothing beats this.

Francine is dying here. That’ll teach her to turn up where she’s not wanted. She’s crying, covering it up as so-happy-for-you tears. She can’t even form proper sentences and keeps saying, “Happy baby! Happy baby!”

This time, there is no chance my sister’s going to let the cat out of the bag. Never, ever again am I going to be shown up by my twin.

I’m not even a twin anymore. I’m Summer Rose, wife of Adam Romain, mother of the Carmichael heir.

Annabeth is singing, some sort of baby song, a lullaby of pure joy. She takes Tarquin from Adam’s arms and rocks him as if he is a newborn himself.

I’m loving this so much that I hug each of my half sisters three times, forcing more congratulations out of them. As I let go of Virginia, I glance at her hand, but she’s not wearing a ring. She doesn’t want to tip us off to her plans, but I can taste her disappointment. Her smile is way too toothy and fixed. She could at least be grateful that she’s found out in time that she’s out of the running. Her sixteenth birthday is two weeks away. She was a whisker away from a hillbilly-incest marriage.