The Decoy Girlfriend(26)

Freya takes a deep breath, the kind that unclogs the words from her throat and gives them life. “I’m sorry for falsely impersonating you. It wasn’t intentional. I mean, it didn’t start that way. It was just a case of mistaken identity the first time. And after . . . it was just a bit of fun when I needed it. And I tried not to need it.”

She throws a glance Mandi’s way; her face is impassive, but Freya can tell she’s listening.

So Freya keeps going. “But my mom had just—” No, Freya refuses to use her death as an excuse. “I was going through kind of a bad time. I was only thinking about myself. And eventually it became easier to re-create on purpose what first happened by accident.”

Mandi looks sympathetic, but Freya doesn’t know how real it is. Whether even Mandi’s friendly charm is an act. The Los Angeles Times didn’t call her a “silver-tongued silver-screen sylph” for nothing, after all.

“Mandi, I want you to know, I have never—not once—said ‘I am Mandi Roy.’ I know you’re living your best life and have probably never felt this way, but I just wanted to temporarily step out of mine. It was never about the swag or defrauding anyone. I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“Okay,” Mandi says slowly, and Freya doesn’t have the first clue what part of her explanation she’s acknowledging, but Mandi looks contemplative now. Henry’s cozied up at her feet, and the actress weaves her hand into his mop of fur, scratching his head until his pink tongue lolls out.

The silence is oppressive, and Freya does her best not to fidget. She respects that Mandi wants to sit with this, but if she could say something before Freya stress vomits, that would be amazing.

“It just occurred to me that I don’t even know your name,” says Mandi.

“Freya Lal.”

“Can I see your ID?” There’s no hint of recognition on Mandi’s face.

“Sure.” She hands over her driver’s license and tries not to flinch when Mandi’s iPhone’s camera shutter takes an extra-loud click.

“No offense,” says Mandi, not sounding at all apologetic. “Had to be sure it’s your real name.”

Freya blinks. It hadn’t occurred to her to lie. About this.

“Listen, Freya. You might know what it’s like to pull off being me for a couple of hours. Maybe even a whole night. But you have no idea what it’s like to actually be me. What you do is like . . .” Mandi casts around for the right words. “You’re playing Cinderella. When the clock runs out, you get to be you again.”

Her whole life is a fairy tale, and she’s calling Freya Cinderella?

“So,” Mandi says coolly, still on her phone. She taps at the screen before saying, “You’ve probably figured that I’m not going to turn you in. But you are going to pay me back.”

The ominous words shoot goose bumps down Freya’s arms. “I don’t have—”

“I don’t want money,” Mandi bites out. “No, Freya, you’re going to pay me back in time. Every second you stole from me over the past few years. You’re going to play the role of a lifetime.” She steeples her fingers together. “Shall we say it adds up to around four weeks?”

“I’m sorry?” Freya doesn’t know whether she’s apologizing for what she’s done or for not having the first inkling of a clue what Mandi’s talking about now.

But honestly? Both.

Mandi’s triumphant smirk speaks volumes: You’re not sorry yet, but you will be.

The tingles are running rampant over Freya now, and they have very little to do with the arctic air-conditioning or Hen’s unblinking bull’s-eye stare, like she’s a human-size chicken nugget he wants to dip in slobber sauce.

Mandi elegantly crosses her legs. “I need to get away from my life for a while. How would you like to be me for the next four weeks, until the Banshee movie premiere?”

That’s a trick question if ever Freya’s heard one. Sure, playing pretend for one night is fun, but she knee-jerk knows for a fact that she has zero desire to fake it for a whole month.

Besides, it’s one thing being mistaken by a bouncer or hostess who she sees for all of two minutes! Rubbing shoulders with the elite in Mandi’s circle is a new, undiscovered circle of hell—there’s no way she could get anything past the people who pretend for a living.

Freya’s mouth goes dry. Including Taft, Mandi’s boyfriend, and the whole reason the pictures went viral in the first place.

Mandi must obviously be kidding. Ha ha. Good one, Mandi. Almost had me.

Freya has to deescalate. Handle this smart. Show no fear, but back away from the situation in a nonthreatening manner. Mandi’s just an actress. She’s no scarier than a grizzly in Gucci. Actually, scratch that—the imagery is a bit scary.

Be brave, Freya.

So, naturally, a hysterical How is this happening? giggle slips out. “Uh . . .”

Sir Henry eyes her. At least Freya thinks he does. It’s kind of hard to tell.

Her tongue feels like sandpaper, and it takes forever for her lips to unstick. “You can’t be serious. There’s no way I could pull it off.”

“Have some confidence in yourself, Freya. You already have.”

Acrid shame bubbles in her gut. Sure, at this point Mandi is probably the one character Freya knows the best, but now that she’s met her, Mandi isn’t a character anymore. She never was.