The Twin Switch
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Barbara Dunlop
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15.6K
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13
One
If I could choose my own sister, it would be Brooklyn.
She made me laugh.
Better still, she made me think. And when things went bad, which they often did, she’d lie down beside me on my blue silk comforter and listen for hours. She knew when the fix was ice cream and when it was tequila.
She was smart, too. She got straight A’s right from elementary school.
Me, I was more of a B-plus person. But I was a pretty good listener. And I could twist a mean French braid, which Brooklyn liked.
She had long blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. She tanned, too. We both tanned.
Since we were little kids, we’d spent our summers at the beach on Lake Washington. First it was the swings and the jungle gym. A little older, we’d race to the floater in the middle of the swimming area, dive off, then dry on our towels in the sun. Older still, we hung out at the snack bar, batting our lashes at cute boys and getting them to buy us milkshakes.
I didn’t get to choose my own sister. But it was happening, anyway.
In just two weeks, Brooklyn was marrying my big brother, James.
“I can see the Golden Gate Bridge,” Sophie Crush said from the front seat of the cab.
I was in the middle of the back seat squished between Brooklyn and Nat Remington. That’s what happened when you insisted on taking a hybrid from the airport.
“Do you think we’ll have views from our rooms?” Nat asked.
“I want a view of the spa,” Brooklyn said. “From inside the spa, I mean.”
“You heard the bride,” I said.
I flexed my shoulders in anticipation of a deep stone massage. I’d had one once before. It had been a little slice of Heaven that I was dying to repeat.
“Pedicures,” Sophie said.
“Facials,” Nat said.
“I want to sit in the sauna,” Brooklyn said.
“I feel my pores opening up already,” I said.
The sauna sounded like a great idea. So did a facial. I was the maid of honor, and I was determined to look my best.
Unlike some brides—more selfish brides—Brooklyn had chosen gorgeous bridesmaid dresses. They were airy and knee length with strapless sweetheart necklines and fitted bodices of azure-blue chiffon that faded to pale sky at the hemline.
My auburn hair was tricky but, happily, the colors worked. Because for a single twenty-six-year-old, a wedding was a really good place to meet new guys.
I was at a disadvantage this time since half the guests would be my own relatives. Plus I’d met nearly all of Brooklyn’s friends and family over the years. Still, she might have an undiscovered hot second cousin or two in the right age range. A woman could never discount an opportunity.
The cab pulled to a halt beside a rotating glass door and miles of windows that looked into the lobby. Stylized gold lettering spelled out The Archway Hotel and Spa on a marble pillar.
Three men in crisp steel-gray short-sleeved jackets simultaneously opened our doors.
“Welcome to the Archway,” one of them said to Brooklyn, his gaze lingering on her sea-breeze eyes before moving past her to me.
His smile was friendly. He was cute, but I wasn’t about to get interested.
Not that I have anything against valets. He could be putting himself through grad school for all I knew. Or maybe he liked living near the beach and having flexible hours.
Brooklyn moved past him, and he held out his hand to me.
I took it.
It was strong, slightly calloused, definitely tanned. Maybe he was a surfer.
I’m not a snob about professions. I’m a high school math teacher, and that isn’t the most prestigious job. I’m open to meeting people from all walks of life.
He did have really gorgeous hazel eyes, and a strong chin, and a bright white smile.
I came to my feet and he let go of my hand, taking a step back.
“We’ll take care of the bags,” he said, his gaze holding mine a little longer than normal.
It took me a second to realize he was waiting for a tip.
I almost laughed at myself. He wasn’t flirting with me—at least not with any romantic intent. He did this with everyone who arrived at the hotel. It was probably how he paid for his surfboard.
I rustled through my purse for a five and handed it over.
It was a splurging kind of a weekend, I reminded myself. You only got the perfect sister-in-law once in your life.
Two bellhops wheeled our luggage into the lobby and we followed.
“We could go see some male exotic dancers,” Nat said.
Brooklyn winced. “Pass.”
I smiled. I knew Nat was joking. If Sophie had suggested it, I might have taken her seriously.
“Don’t be too hasty,” Sophie said. “After all, what do you think James is doing with the guys right now?”
“You think James is watching male exotic dancers?” Brooklyn asked as we made our way past the fountain to the check-in desk.
“Female,” Sophie said.
There was no lineup. In fact, there were three attendants available. Nice.
Brooklyn swung her tote bag onto her shoulder. “The guys are watching a doubleheader.”
“Afterward,” Sophie said.
I couldn’t imagine James going to a strip show. He was absolutely not the type.
But Brooklyn got a funny expression on her face, like she thought maybe it was a possibility, even though the idea was ridiculous.
“Are you checking in today?” the woman behind the counter asked us in a chipper voice that said she was delighted to be here to help us.
“We’re the Christie party,” Nat answered, deftly pulling a copy of the reservation from her bag.
Hanging back, I spoke to Brooklyn in an undertone. “You’re not worried about James, are you?”
Brooklyn frowned and gave a noncommittal shrug. Then she moved toward the counter, digging into her bag. “Do you need my credit card?”
“I just need one for check-in,” the woman said. “When you check out, you can split the charges if you like.”
I repositioned myself so that I was beside Brooklyn.
“He’s not going to see a stripper,” I whispered, wondering how she could possibly be worried about James’s behavior.
James, with a master’s degree in economics, who’d landed a job at one of the most conservative consulting firms in Seattle, who only spoke in complete sentences and who guarded his social media accounts as if he had the nuclear launch codes, would not be hanging out at a strip club.
I couldn’t imagine him risking someone snapping his picture in a strip club—even if he did want to see naked women. Which he did not, because there wasn’t a woman in the country more beautiful than Brooklyn.
Brooklyn was a fashion buyer for a chain of Seattle boutiques. But she could have been a movie star or a supermodel. There was nowhere for James to go but down in the looks department.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
She turned her head and smiled. “What could possibly be wrong?”
There was something in her eyes. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Did James do something?” I asked her.
“No.”
“Are you mad at him?”
“No.”
“Then what...?”
“Nothing.” Brooklyn smiled again. “He’s perfect. James is perfect. And I’m going to book a spa appointment.” She reached for the brochure on the countertop.
“I can help with that,” the check-in woman said as she handed Nat’s credit card back to her.
“Something with aromatherapy,” Brooklyn said.
I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced by Brooklyn’s nonchalance, but I thought about hot stones pressed slowly across my oiled back and decided anything else could wait.
Massaged and steamed and showered and dressed, I spotted Sophie sitting at the bar in the lounge. A jazz trio was playing in the corner while candles flickered on the mottled glass tables. The chairs were white leather, and a glass mosaic decorated the wall behind the bar.
I was wearing three-inch heels with my silver cocktail dress, so I was happy to rest my feet by perching next to Sophie.
“What are you drinking?” I asked.
“Vodka martini.”
The bartender arrived, another cute guy. “Can I get you something?”
His smile was friendly, definitely flirtatious. And he was classically handsome, probably thirty or so, with intelligent gray eyes.
I certainly had nothing against bartenders, except when you met them at their work. There they flirted with everybody. Like the valets out front, their shift was made or broken by their tips.
“I’ll take one of those,” I said, pointing to Sophie’s glass.
I smiled at him, but made it brief. I didn’t want to spend the evening chatting with the bartender. I wanted to spend it with my girlfriends.
Across the lounge, a very handsome profile came into my view, distracting me.
Okay, this guy wasn’t a bartender, or a valet, or a public school teacher of any kind—that was for sure.
His perfectly cut suit was draped over a perfectly sculpted body. His haircut was shaggy-neat, that kind where you paid the earth to look like you’d rolled out of bed and had every hair fall naturally into place.
Even as I mentally mocked the style, I liked it.
He turned, and I caught his handsome face full-on. He could have just walked off a magazine cover. He should have walked off a magazine cover with that chiseled chin and those startlingly bright blue eyes.
He caught me staring, but he didn’t smile. I felt heat hit my cheeks, anyway.
And then it was over. He turned and kept walking like our eyes meeting had never happened. And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe he hadn’t been staring at me at all. Maybe it was just the fevered musing that took flight in my head when I saw a good-looking guy lately.
I’d read a statistic last month that said sixty-seven percent of women met their husbands before they graduated from college. So I was already in the bottom thirty-three percent.
When you added that to the twenty-one percent of women who never married at all, my odds looked grim. I had a twelve percent chance of meeting Mr. Right.
Don’t get me started on the fifty percent divorce rate because that left me at six percent. And six percent was truly demoralizing.
“Earth to Layla,” Sophie said.
I gave myself a mental shake. This was a girlfriends’ weekend.
“Did Brooklyn come down already?” I asked, focusing on the here and now.
Brooklyn and I were sharing a room, while Sophie and Nat were staying together one floor up. We had ended up with a view of the bridge, while they looked into the building next door. We’d offered to trade, but nobody seemed to care about the view.
The rooms had enormous soaker tubs, steam showers and beds that felt like you were floating on a cloud. Nothing else much mattered.
“I haven’t seen her yet,” Sophie said.
I glanced around but didn’t see her, either. “I have eight pillows,” I said to Sophie.
“You counted?”
“I counted.”
“Did you take the square root?” she asked, grinning as she bit the olive off her blue plastic skewer.
“If I include the gold throw pillow, the square root is three. I considered applying the quadratic formula, but—”
“Layla.” It was Brooklyn’s happy voice in my ear and I felt her arm go around my shoulders. “I thought you’d never get out of the shower.”
“It’s a great shower.” There was something sensual and indulgent about endless hot water.
“What are you drinking?” Brooklyn sounded overly cheerful.
“Vodka martini,” Sophie said. “You?”
“I had a Sunburst Bramble across the lobby there. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
She wore a short, mauve halter dress with a full skirt that swirled around her toned thighs. Her ankle-high gladiator heels were mottled purple and silver. As always, she looked trendy and stylish.
The bartender seemed to magically appear. “The Sunburst Bramble wasn’t to your taste?” he asked Brooklyn, obviously having overheard her comment. “Would you like me to replace it with something else?”
“Would you?” Brooklyn responded. “That’s so sweet of you.”
He slid a slim, leather-bound cocktail menu in front of her.
“Why don’t you pick,” she said, sliding it back with a swish of her shoulder-length blond hair. “Something sweeter, maybe with strawberries or a little Irish Mist?”
I did a mental eye roll. This was the Brooklyn who’d gotten us free milkshakes at the beach all summer long. Only that Brooklyn hadn’t been engaged to be married.
“How many drinks have you had?” I asked her, wondering if she’d hit the minibar while I was in the shower.
“Just the one. But I’m about to have another.”
I told myself to quit worrying. She was in a good mood, and that was great. This was her weekend, after all. I didn’t know why I was borrowing trouble.
The bartender brought me my drink.
“I’m off to the ladies’,” Brooklyn said. “When my drink comes save it for me.”
I turned my head to call after her. “Will do.”
I saw three different men follow Brooklyn’s progress as she walked to the lobby. It was always that way with her. I wasn’t sure she even noticed anymore.
“I think Nat really wants to see exotic dancers,” Sophie said to me.
I refocused my attention on Sophie. “No way.”
Nat was the most straitlaced of the four of us. She was James, only in female form. She was literally a librarian.
“I think she might be ready to burst out of that shell.”
“That would be entertaining,” I said, thinking it really would.
Nat’s long-term boyfriend had split with her a few months back. I knew she hadn’t dated anyone since. I also knew Henry had been hard on her self-esteem.
Sure, Nat wore glasses. But they were cute glasses, and she had the sweetest spray of freckles across her cheeks. Her brown hair might not be the most exotic of shades, and she wasn’t glam like Brooklyn, but she had the most beautiful smile that lit up her pale blue eyes.
“She’s chatting up a guy right now.” Sophie inclined her head.
I turned to surreptitiously follow Sophie’s gaze.
Sure enough, Nat was at a corner table, head leaned in talking to a guy in a nicely cut suit jacket and an open-collared white shirt. He looked urbane attractive, but more fine-featured than appealed to me. But then I wasn’t Nat.
Something banged above us.
I reflexively ducked as my adrenaline surged.
The room suddenly turned black, garnering audible gasps and a few high-pitched shrieks from the crowd.
It went quiet.
“Whoa.” I blinked to focus.
“What was that?” Sophie asked into the darkness.
“Something broke.”
“It sure did.”
My eyes adjusted, and I could see the candles now, little dots of light on the tables illuminating the faces closest to them. They reflected off the windows. Beyond, across the bay, I could see the lights of ships and sailboats in the distance.
“Nothing but a power failure, folks.” It was the bartender’s hearty voice. “It happens sometimes. Please sit tight and enjoy the ambience. I’m sure the lights will come back on soon.”
“At least we’re not waiting on our drinks,” Sophie said, lifting her glass to take another sip.
“I wonder if Brooklyn will be able to find us.” I looked around, but I couldn’t see much of anything beyond the candlelight.
“Hey, guys.” Nat appeared and hopped up on the stool next to Sophie.
“What happened to your man?” Sophie asked.
“When the lights went out, he squealed like a little girl.”
“That’s disappointing,” I said.
Sometimes I wondered if there were any good men left in the world. I had a list of qualities. I mean, it wasn’t a long list, mostly to do with integrity and temperament. But squealing like a little girl was definitely not on it.
“So not the type to rescue you from a bear,” Sophie said to Nat. She sounded disappointed.
There was laughter in Nat’s voice. “Who needs rescuing from a bear?”
“I might go camping,” Sophie said.
“You?” Nat asked.
Five-star restaurant manager, downtown high-rise-dwelling Sophie was definitely not the outdoor type.
“Well, maybe you,” Sophie said.
Nat had been known to spend time outside—at least in her rooftop garden.
“Then that’s definitely not my guy.” Nat took a two-second gaze back over her shoulder.
I realized then, that after a mere five minutes I’d wondered if Nat’s guy would be the guy. It could have been a really romantic story—Nat meeting the love of her life while spending a girls’ weekend in San Francisco celebrating Brooklyn’s wedding.
We were all single. Well, Brooklyn wouldn’t be single for long. But Sophie, Nat and me hadn’t had a lot of luck meeting men.
Good guys were hard to find. I could list the flaws in each of my dates from the past six months: too loud, too nerdy, too intellectual, too moody.
I knew how it sounded. And I realized perfectly well what I was doing with that list. If I focused on the guys, I didn’t have to explore the possibility that it was me—which, of course, deep down, I knew it was.
I’d love to live in denial. And I would if I could figure out a way that I didn’t know denial was denial.
So far, I hadn’t been able to make that work.
“Where’s Brooklyn?” Nat asked.
“Ladies’ room,” I said.
Sophie craned her neck to gaze across the dim room. “She should be back by now. I hope she’s not stuck in an elevator.”
“I’m going to go look for her.” I slid off my bar stool.
“You’ll get lost, too,” Nat said. “Or you’ll trip and break your ankle.”
I remembered my black-and-gold sling-back stilettos. They were stylish, but not the most stable footwear in my closet. Nat made a good point.
Instead, I retrieved my phone from my purse and shot Brooklyn a text.
I climbed back up and took a sip of my drink.
We all stared at my phone for a few minutes, but Brooklyn didn’t text back.
“Stuck on an elevator,” Nat said in conclusion.
“Or in an ambulance,” Sophie said. “I bet she was rushing to get back to us in the dark, and it all went bad.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I said. “There are five hundred people coming to her wedding.”
“And it’s a long way up the aisle at St. Fidelis’s,” Nat said. “What if she broke her leg?”
“She didn’t break her leg,” I said and then realized I was tempting fate. “I mean, I hope she didn’t break her leg.”
Brooklyn with a broken leg would be an unmitigated disaster.
It was thirty minutes before the lights came on. When they did, conversation around us spiked for a moment, and there was a smattering of applause.
The bartender went back to work, and the waitresses began circulating around the room. Brooklyn still hadn’t returned from the ladies’ room, and I looked at the lobby entrance, trying to spot her.
“There she is,” Sophie said.
“Where?” I asked, disappointed in my powers of observation.
“Left side of the lobby. Talking to a guy.”
I leaned in for a better angle, but I still couldn’t see her.
“It looks like she got more support from random men than I did,” Nat said.
“He’s hot,” Sophie said.
I got down from the bar stool so I could see more of the lobby.
“Whoa,” both Sophie and Nat said in unison.
“What?”
I saw a broad hand on Brooklyn’s shoulder, and I could almost feel the touch myself. The rest of the man was blocked from view by the lounge wall.
She smiled, and then the hand disappeared.
I surged forward, but whoever he was walked away too fast.
“Seriously?” Sophie said. “The three of us are all single, and she ends up with him in the blackout?”
“Fate is cruel,” Nat said.
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Hot,” Sophie said.
“Tall,” Nat said.
“Tall and hot,” Sophie said.
“Thanks for that specific detail,” I said.
Brooklyn was coming toward us.
“Who was that?” Nat called to her.
“Can I meet him?” Sophie asked.
“You don’t get to call dibs,” Nat said.
“Dibs,” Sophie said.
Brooklyn was smiling and shaking her head as she drew closer. Her cheeks were flushed, and there was an odd brightness to her eyes.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The power went off,” she said.
“Did you get his name?” Sophie asked.
Brooklyn shook her head. “Can’t help you with that.”
“He squeezed your shoulder,” I said.
From my vantage point, the touch seemed intimate. That tanned, strong hand squeezing down on Brooklyn’s shoulder had sent a shiver up my own spine.
I tried to imagine how James would feel about someone touching Brooklyn that way. He wouldn’t like it. Of that, I was sure.
“He was saying goodbye,” Brooklyn said.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sophie asked me.
“Who squeezes a strange woman’s shoulder?” I asked.
“Who doesn’t?” Sophie returned.
“It’s not like he kissed me,” Brooklyn said.
For some reason, her words didn’t make me feel any better.
“He can kiss me,” Sophie said.
It suddenly occurred to me that Brooklyn might already know the man. That would explain the touch.
But if that was true, why wasn’t she saying so? Was the guy an old boyfriend? Not that she could have an old boyfriend without me knowing. It was impossible.
“We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation,” Nat said.
“Was my drink ever served?” Brooklyn asked.
“I think it got lost in the excitement,” Sophie said.
As if on cue, the bartender arrived. “I think you’ll like this one. I call it an icy wave.”
The drink was in a tall glass, blue green in color, with lots of crushed ice and a strawberry garnish.
“Thank you,” Brooklyn said to him.
He waited while she took a sip.
I waited impatiently to ask her another question.
“It’s good,” she said.
The bartender beamed.
Before I could speak up, shaggy-neat-hair guy walked back into the lounge. The sight of him sent a jolt of electricity across my chest. I sucked in a breath.
He seemed to hear me, or maybe he just felt me staring, because he turned, and we locked gazes. This time there was no mistaking it.
His mouth crooked into a half smile. I couldn’t tell if he was greeting me or mocking me. It could be that my lust was obvious to him even at this distance.
No, not lust, I told myself. Lust made my reaction sound salacious.
This was interest, no more, no less. And there was nothing wrong with being interested in a good-looking guy across the bar.
“We have a reservation in the Moonside Room,” Nat said, interrupting my musings.
I forced myself to break the gaze.
And I was absurdly proud of breaking off the look first this time. I found myself smiling in satisfaction. I had to resist the urge to check shaggy-neat-hair guy’s reaction to my shift in attention.
“I can have your drink brought up to the restaurant for you,” the bartender said to Brooklyn.
No mention of my drink, or Sophie’s. But then that was the way of the world.
“Thank you so much.” Brooklyn flashed her friendly blue eyes.
“Not a problem.”
I could tell the bartender thought he had a shot—despite the big diamond ring on Brooklyn’s left hand. She had a knack for that—for doing nothing in a way that ever so subtly led men on.
Sophie was very pretty. Nat was girl-next-door cute. But none of us could hold a candle to Brooklyn’s allure. Men tripped over their own feet when she was in the room. She invariably got us great tables and great service from earnest waiters and maître d’s.
Mostly I just took the perks without bothering to be jealous of Brooklyn.
“Through the lobby?” she asked the bartender.
“Straight across to the gold elevator. It will take you to the fifty-eighth floor. Mandy can show you.” He beckoned one of the waitresses.
“Just in case we can’t read the sign,” Nat whispered to me.
“Just in case he misunderstood the diamond ring,” I whispered back.
“Men have no consciences.”
“Luckily for James, Brooklyn does.”
My best friend, and an only child with two distant, busy parents, Brooklyn had spent countless weekends and holidays with my big extended family. She’d had a crush on James since we were old enough to know what a crush was. He’d finally invited her to the junior prom, and there’d been no going back.
Their relationship made such perfect sense for everyone, including me. I’d been testing the term sister-in-law inside my head for months now. I couldn’t wait to use it in real life.
As we walked to the elevator, I looked around for shaggy-neat-hair guy.
He wasn’t in the bar, and he wasn’t in the lobby.
Ah, well. There was always tomorrow.
The sauna and spa lounge were coed. He could be a spa guy.
Or maybe I’d check out the exercise room. He definitely looked like the weight-training type. And I could see him on an elliptical machine...or rowing.
I could definitely picture him rowing.
