Body Double (18 page)

The car backed down the driveway and then started forward. The intercom clicked on. “To your house, Mr. Thomas?”

“Yeah, but let’s stop at a drugstore on the way. I’m going to need some melatonin to help me sleep tonight.”

“Jitters, sir?”

Blake narrowed his eyes toward the driver’s seat, though with the privacy screen up, he couldn’t actually see the back of Sean’s head. “No, I’m excited like a kid before Christmas. I’m about to marry the most wonderful woman in the world.”

“Congratulations, sir,” Sean said. “She’s a lovely lady.”

“Speaking of whom, who’s this Andrea woman you mentioned? The one who looks like Sarah?”

Sean cleared his throat. “She was my girlfriend for almost three years. We talked about getting married, but things happened. We broke up.”

Blake lifted his lip at how the jerk minimized what he’d done to her. “Too bad. You haven’t seen her since then?”

“No, I, um, I sort of ditched her. I tried calling, but she wouldn’t answer or return my call. Guess I deserved it.”

Blake forced a laugh. “You
ditched
her? While you were on a date?”

“Ah, no,” Sean said. “Not exactly. I didn’t show up for our wedding.”

“Wow. What kind of asshole are you?”

Sean didn’t answer right away. Hopefully, he was hitting himself upside the head. At last, he muttered, “The worst kind, sir. I wish I could go back in time to undo that.”

If Sean hadn’t jilted Andrea, Blake might not have been getting married the next day. “So what was wrong with her?” Surely the loser had some lame excuse for his behavior.

“Nothing major. She was fun and smart and good in bed.”

Blake’s gut twisted. The last thing he wanted to think about was Andrea in bed with this creep.

“She just quit trying to be pretty, you know? When we first started going out, she’d spend an hour getting her hair and makeup perfect. I guess she got complacent or something. After a couple of years, she would jump out of the shower and be ready to go out in, like, ten minutes, but her hair was always plain, and she hardly ever wore makeup.”

“And her natural beauty wasn’t good enough?”

“I like a lady to look, you know, polished. Feminine. Like she values how others see her. I’m more attracted to the cover model for
Glamour
magazine than for
Homesteading Times
or
Feminazi Today
. Know what I mean?”

Blake’s hackles rose. “My fiancée wasn’t wearing much makeup today. You probably think she didn’t look polished or feminine enough.”

“Oh, n-no, sir. She looked fine. Lovely, in fact. Any guy would—um, think she was pretty. Mr. Thomas. Sir.”

“You apologized, though, right? For jilting her on her freaking wedding day?”

“I couldn’t. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I see.” Coward. She was definitely better off without this loser in her life. A man who didn’t know how to apologize to a woman he’d wronged needed to go back to the sixth grade. Of course, a man who left a woman like Andrea at the altar didn’t deserve her, and Blake was determined to do whatever it took to be worthy of Andrea Lindholm.

Chapter 7

Andrea awoke with a start twice during the night, dreaming that Joe was knocking on the door, cell phone in hand, to tell her Blake wasn’t coming. Each time she awoke, her heart beating hard and her face wet with tears, she saw only darkness outside the windows in Sarah’s bedroom and lay down again, certain she wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep.
He won’t do that to me. He’s not that kind of man.
At last, the alarm on her phone woke her, and she threw back the sheets, excited and nervous but mostly eager to have this day behind her. As she padded to the bathroom, she sent Blake a text message.
Are you up yet?

I’m up, babe. Up and eager to see you walking down the aisle to me
, he replied.

Relieved, she showered and dressed, and then lugged her suitcase downstairs. Though the weather was still warm, she fixed a bowl of oatmeal, knowing it would settle her stomach and stay with her until she got a chance to eat again.

You’re not having second thoughts?
she texted.

No way. I’m like a quarterback on first and goal
, came his reply.

Scotty’s assistant arrived at eight-thirty and took her wedding gown and suitcase, promising to have everything delivered exactly as they’d agreed.

A limousine showed up at nine o’clock with a woman driver. She was dressed just as the other drivers had been, in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, but she also wore a black bolero and a purple bow tie.

Sitting in the back seat, Andrea gazed out the window while her hands twisted nervously in her lap. She resisted the urge to call Blake, but she did send another text mostly to make sure he was still speaking to her. No response would mean no show, just as it had two years earlier.

Her heartbeat quickened, thinking of that horrible day and all those pitying stares from her friends and family, many of whom had traveled to be there for her special day. Blake wouldn’t do that to her. He wasn’t that kind of man. Even if she wasn’t the kind of woman men wanted to marry, he wasn’t actually marrying her. His loyalty was to his mom, and he wouldn’t stand Andrea up if it meant hurting his mom.

To her relief, at least for the moment, Blake replied with a patient reassurance that he would be there.

She put the phone back into her purse with a sigh. She was really doing this, this time with a good man who was fun to be with. And he seemed to like her, not for who she resembled but for who she was. If he’d been more like Sean, always nagging her to put on makeup or a push-up bra or a shorter skirt, the prospect of meeting him at the altar and posing as his new wife would have been much less exciting.

Seeing Sean unexpectedly the day before had rattled her, but Blake had been so sweet and understanding. She wondered how the drive home went. Had he confessed that Sean had been right about her identity, or had he continued to pretend she was Sarah?

Charlotte was already at the hair salon when she arrived and greeted her with a hug. First, they had full-body massages, which helped Andrea relax, and then they had manicures and pedicures, which made her feel pampered. Then the two women sat in adjacent chairs while the stylists dried and styled their hair. Charlotte was great company, and Andrea was glad to have a friend with whom to share the fun stuff as well as the scary. Part of her wished Monica could have been there too, but Andrea needed to concentrate on being Sarah, and her friend’s presence would have been a constant reminder that she wasn’t.

Charlotte opted for a beehive-like up-do, and Andrea went for rings curling all the way down her back. With enough hair spray, it would stay curled at least until evening. Maybe longer, she thought when she touched the stiff curls. Though her hair didn’t feel soft, it looked terrific. It wasn’t like Blake would be running his hands through it at the wedding anyway, so it didn’t matter that it was stiff.

After she paid for the two styles with Sarah’s card, the two of them climbed carefully into the waiting limousine, managing neither to mess up their hair nor ruin their freshly polished nails.

Andrea dug her cell phone out of her purse, hoping Blake had called. The clock display said eleven-thirty, and the messages showed three texts and a voice message. She checked the texts first.

Blake:
Hey babe, just checking in. You okay?

Sarah:
How’s everything going?

Sarah:
Heard from Blake. He says all’s well. Good luck!

She sent them both replies, assuring them she was fine and everything was going well. To Sarah, she wrote that the mani-pedi was heavenly, and she felt amazing.

Then she checked the voice message.

“Hi Andrea,” said Sean’s familiar voice. “I know it’s been a while. Bet you didn’t think you’d ever hear from me again, huh?”

Her heart fell into her stomach so hard, she thought she would hurl.

“The funniest thing happened yesterday,” he went on. “I could swear I saw you at this fancy country club, but apparently you have an identical twin. Maybe we can get coffee or something and I’ll tell you about it. Call me.”

Andrea fumbled for the button on her phone to delete the message. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t press the key fast enough.
Delete, damn it. Delete.
“Cripes,” she said under her breath. Without bothering to turn off the phone’s LED screen, she flung it into her purse like it was a dead rat.

“Is everything all right?” Charlotte asked. “What’s wrong?”

“My ex-fiancé called me. First he drives me and Blake home from the rehearsal, and now he invites me to have coffee. I do
not
need this.”

“That limo driver was your ex?” Charlotte asked. She reached over and took Andrea’s hand consolingly in both of hers. “Listen, Andrea, what he did to you was downright hateful, but you know Blake won’t do that, right?”

Andrea nodded. “I know. The wound was more raw than I thought. I wish he’d never resurfaced in my life. Everything about him reminds me of that awful day.”

Charlotte squeezed her hands. “No. He’s not in your life. Not if you don’t let him in. You’re about to fake-marry a wonderful guy and go on a fabulous vacation with him and get paid a million bucks and I’m jealous as hell. That loser Sean doesn’t deserve another tear, not a single thought. He lost out, but you know what else he did?”

Andrea looked up, glad she didn’t have her makeup on yet. “What?”

“He made it possible for you to fake-marry
Blake Freaking Thomas
.”

Andrea couldn’t help but laugh. Charlotte’s excitement was infectious. “You’re right. Sean’s a loser. I don’t care what he’s up to. I never want to hear from him again.”

“Speaking of the wedding, maybe you should give me Blake’s ring now, so you don’t forget.”

“Oh, right.” She pulled the velvety box from her purse. “Sarah forgot to buy his ring. I had to run out and get it. I hope he likes it.”

Charlotte opened the box and smiled. “It’s gorgeous. Platinum? I think he’ll love it.”

At least he wouldn’t hate it like he hated the lion’s head, but he might be annoyed with her for exchanging the ring he’d chosen.

When they arrived at the country club, Scotty escorted them to a room with four vanities, a wide full-length mirror, and a curtained changing booth in the corner. Sarah’s wedding gown and Charlotte’s dress had been hung on a portable clothes rack. An Asian woman of about forty, dressed in a beige pant suit, stood when they entered, and Scotty introduced her as Rachel, an aesthetician and makeup artist.

“I’ll do the bride’s makeup first to give it time to set while I do the maid-of-honor’s,” Rachel said. “Then I’ll touch you up before your bridal march.”

“Can you make me a little birthmark on my jaw?” Andrea asked.

“Of course, dear. Whatever you’d like.”

As it turned out, she did more than apply cosmetics. She gave Andrea a miniature facial with exfoliating rubs and creams and this and that, each of which had a specific purpose that Andrea would never remember, but it felt wonderful. She was careful to cover Andrea’s hair with a plastic cap like a shower cap designed to keep her style intact and out of the way. While she worked, Rachel chatted about how many famous people she’d done makeup for before television or public appearances, weddings, award ceremonies, and so on.

As she sat with her face tilted up and her eyes closed, Andrea was glad for the distraction and for the heavenly pampering that, at least for a while, set her at ease enough to keep her knees from bouncing and her hands from wringing.

The door opened, and Scotty stuck his head in. “Okay, it’s time. Charlotte, let’s get you into position. Blake, Joe, and Judge Williamson are ready to walk to the gazebo. Come with me.”

Charlotte leaned over and kissed the air near Andrea’s cheek. “Thanks again for doing this for Sarah. You’re going to do great. Deep breaths. I’ll see you up there.”

Andrea nodded and watched her leave, then stared at the door as it slowly swung shut behind her, leaving Andrea feeling more alone than she’d felt in two years, despite the fact that Rachel was still in the room, packing her supplies. In a few minutes, all eyes would be on her. She’d better not trip. An image came to mind of her sprawling onto her belly on the grass, dirt filling her mouth, feet up in the air, and a shoe being flung overhead. Her gown would be grass-stained, her veil might rip, the guests would gasp in surprise and embarrassment, and just sit there, watching her struggle to her feet, spitting out dirt and blades of grass. If the idea of it wasn’t so mortifying, she would have laughed.