Twin Scandals Read online

  Francesca stopped torturing the eggplant. “Are you sure you’re not secretly in love with Ben?”

  “Why would I be in love with Ben? I just slept with him, that’s all.”

  Heads spun. The conversation at nearby tables died. Sophie tried to look as if that kind of statement was no big deal, but she couldn’t stop the hot color that warmed her cheeks.

  Francesca lifted a brow. “Okay, whatever. But don’t you think this is all just a little...obsessive?”

  Sophie dragged her thoughts from Ben. Ben, looking edgily handsome in a suit with his tough jaw and broken nose; Ben, in faded jeans and a wet T-shirt. Ben, naked.

  Ben, the rat.

  “I am not in love with Ben.” She stabbed at another olive. “And I am definitely not obsessed with him.”

  She was over him.

  Any man would have to be brain-dead to date either of the Messena twins.

  By the time Sophie was finished with Ben, he would be eating his words. He would, hopefully, have found some actual manners. And he would have an entirely new appreciation of why no one should ever try to date both of the Messena twins.

  This was about revenge.

  Ten

  Sophie extracted her phone from her handbag as she left the restaurant, found the number of her hairdresser, who also happened to be Francesca’s, and called him. As luck would have it, Rico’s salon—which did regular late nights—was still open.

  When Rico heard what she wanted—the exact same color he had put in Francesca’s hair just days ago, which was called Britney Blonde Bombshell—he was so silent that, for a moment, she thought she’d lost the call.

  She checked her watch. “If it’s too late to come in now, no problem, I’ll just buy some product and do it myself.”

  She heard a swift intake of breath. “You won’t get Britney Blonde Bombshell off a shelf. It’s a professional salon product. Besides, have you ever colored your hair?”

  “I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that question.” She had always been very firm with Rico that she liked her hair exactly as it was, and he was wasting his time talking to her about coloring it or adding any kind of artificial enhancement.

  “Which is why you shouldn’t be allowed to touch a bottle of hair dye. And most definitely not one off a supermarket shelf!”

  Half an hour later she was seated in a comfortable chair while Rico worked his magic with her hair. She had to admit, as layer upon layer of foil went on, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the level of fury that had driven her into the salon in the first place.

  It was a little too late to reflect that, when it came to Ben, she fell into the same trap every time. Her cool, controlled process dissolved and the passionate Messena emotions she normally kept tightly repressed catapulted her into situations like flinging water at Ben, sleeping with Ben and, now, coloring her hair for him.

  Not that she was actually going blond for Ben. The only reason this was happening was to fool him.

  Though the thought that Ben might like her better as a blonde made her go still inside for long, dizzying seconds.

  Rico lowered a hair dryer over her head. “Looking good, babe.”

  The blast of hot air jolted her out of the disorienting feeling that in taking Francesca’s place she was subtly sabotaging herself—that in her heart of hearts the reason she was doing it was because she still wanted Ben—and that this was a devious way to get him back!

  One of Rico’s assistants, a young man with bright blue hair called Antonio, who specialized in doing piercing and tattooing in a back room, handed her a frosted glass of lemonade. Feeling faintly sick because there was no going back now, Sophie sipped the lemonade and wondered at what point she had turned from Sophie to babe. Was it before or after Rico had applied Britney Blonde Bombshell?

  As the color developed, she checked her phone, her annoyance levels skyrocketing when she saw a string of Buffy alerts. Since she couldn’t afford to walk into the situation tomorrow unprepared, she clicked on the latest one. This time, something akin to compassion replaced the tension that usually gripped her when she checked Buffy’s page, because she knew the gorgeous socialite was about to be Ben’s latest discard.

  The page opened. The message B loves B, delicately inked onto the golden tanned flesh of one slim upper arm, leaped out at Sophie, and her compassion died.

  Buffy had gotten herself a tattoo.

  In the grand scheme of things, maybe that didn’t mean so much since Buffy had a number of tattoos. There was the dolphin on her left ankle, Asian writing on her left arm and the edgy, rock-chick pattern just above the base of her spine.

  Feeling weirdly disoriented, because just seconds before she had been sure that Buffy was absolutely not Ben’s type and had temporarily fixated on him because Ben and her father were in business together, she scrolled down a little farther. She found a close-up of the tattoo with a small caption. Apparently, Buffy had gotten the tattoo following a weekend party on her father’s superyacht that Ben had flown in for a couple of weeks previously.

  Cancel the pity party. Now she was just plain mad.

  Buffy had also posted new photos of a charity dinner in New York for a wildlife preserve, which she had attended with Ben the night after he had slept with Sophie.

  Sophie stared at pictures of Buffy clinging to Ben’s arm and Buffy sitting next to him at an exquisitely set table, with a champagne bucket in the shot.

  Now she knew exactly why Ben had been in such a hurry to leave her suite the night they had made love. He had gone directly from her bed to Buffy’s.

  She scrolled farther down to another set of snaps. Apparently, the event had included an auction, and Ben had bid on a number of items, which included a fluffy toy and a pair of extremely expensive diamond earrings. Buffy didn’t have a picture of herself wearing the earrings, just one of the earrings nestled in their box. However, there was a close-up of her cuddling a small fluffy bear.

  Sophie stared at the earrings, which had to be at least a carat each, and which were made and donated by Ambrosi, a high-end jeweler that had started out as a Pearl House on the Island of Medinos. Originally owned by the family which had given the Pearl House its name, Ambrosi was famous for its rare pearls. Now a global business, it was equally famous for its diamonds.

  The earrings glittered with a soft fire. They were the kind of earrings a man gave to his wife or his lover: a gift of love and consideration. The kind of gift that, over the two-and-a-half years she had known Ben, had never been given to her.

  With a stab of her finger, she closed the page.

  On Rico’s advice, after he had washed and blow-dried her hair, she had a makeup consultation with the salon’s beautician. Apparently, with the change in hair color the low-key palette she normally used would make her look washed-out and tired. With the clock ticking, just fourteen hours before she needed to meet Ben, she also had her nails done. Since Francesca had gotten her nails done in Rico’s salon, it was easy to get the exact shade of pink Francesca had chosen.

  When the beautician was finished, she stared at herself in the mirror. The fact that she looked exactly like Francesca was something she was used to, just not with blond hair.

  As she pushed to her feet and retrieved her handbag, her new blond locks swirled around her cheeks and her new, long glossy pink nails seemed to glow even brighter under the salon lights. When she extracted her card to pay, she snagged her nail on a zip pocket, making a deep scratch, although she disliked the color so much it was hard to care.

  She noted that she would not make a good spy, because it was a fact that she did not adapt to change well. Ever since she was small, she had liked order and routine and was black-and-white in her tastes. If she liked something, such as her own hair color, she really liked it. If she disliked something, such as Britney Blonde Bombshell, then it was usually a complete a
nd utter no for all time.

  Making a determined effort to look happy for Rico’s sake, and not shell-shocked because she hated her new hair color, she reminded herself that it was just for one day, and paid.

  Before she left the salon, she made a second appointment for the following evening to change her hair back to its original color. Rico, who was clearly used to eccentric clients, made the appointment without blinking.

  Before she left, she also had a word with Antonio, who headed up the tattooing department.

  As she strolled out into the mall, Sophie registered that her stomach felt distinctly hollow. She had skipped lunch and hadn’t really eaten at Alfresco. Before she shopped for clothes, she needed to eat.

  She made a beeline for a late-night street vendor stationed on the corner. Occasionally, when she was working late, she stopped by Big Mike’s on the way home and bought a vegetarian taco and a diet soda. Normally, the transaction was quick and neutral, with minimal eye contact but, apparently, the blond hair changed everything, because now all Big Mike wanted to do was chat.

  He took her money and winked. “Want a little hot sauce with that, babe?”

  With calm deliberation, she dropped her purse into her handbag and fixed him with a level stare. “That would be no and no.”

  Big Mike froze. “I thought you were the other one.”

  The words the sexy, more interesting twin seemed to float in the air.

  Holding the taco slightly away from herself so she wouldn’t get grease on her clothing, Sophie strolled around a corner and back to the parking garage where she had left her car.

  She told herself that she wasn’t upset at Big Mike’s reaction. No, she was glad about it, because it pointed out the flaw in her impersonation of Francesca: their wildly differing personalities.

  Since acting was not her strong point, she would have to devise a strategy that would ensure that she and Ben had virtually no time alone together. The lunch itself would be a breeze, because he would be busy with guests. It was the initial meeting with Ben and the helicopter flight to and from Sail Fish Key that would be the problem.

  She slid into the driver’s seat of her car, locked the doors and sipped her drink, before taking a careful bite of the taco. Phase one of the operation was complete. Now she needed to buy Francesca clothes. She was tempted to drive across town, open up her own boutique and select some things. But she would also need makeup and a small bottle of Francesca’s perfume, which meant she would have to shop elsewhere, anyway.

  After she had finished eating, she drove to a nearby mall. Within minutes she found an upmarket boutique and bought a sheer jungle-print top and a pair of turquoise jeans. Half an hour later, she had shoes and accessories to match, along with a turquoise leather tote. Her final purchases were new makeup, since all of her eye shadows and lipsticks were on the neutral side, and a small vial of Francesca’s favorite perfume. If she was going to carry this off, she needed to smell right.

  By the time she made it back to her apartment, it was close on midnight, but she couldn’t go to bed until she had figured out a way to fill her time alone with Ben so that there was virtually no opportunity for personal interaction.

  The research she had done on Buffy in the salon had given her an idea.

  Ben had bought Buffy gifts, and Sophie was meeting him at the Atraeus Mall so they could head out to Sail Fish Key together. Therefore, shopping seemed the perfect solution.

  Making him buy her the same gifts Buffy had received would not only send a clear message; it would also turn the date into the kind of high-maintenance nightmare that would make Ben run a mile and dissuade him from ever coming near Francesca, or herself, ever again.

  This was not just about her now: it was also about Francesca.

  Before tomorrow was over, Ben would discover that the only person who was brain dead was the guy who tried to date both the Messena twins.

  * * *

  The next morning, after a restless night, she drove into the office—early so that no one she knew would see her—in order to catch up on paperwork and reply to emails. If everything went to plan, she would be able to have the date with Ben and then get back to Rico’s and have her hair color restored before anyone other than Francesca knew she’d had her hair dyed blond.

  A good half an hour before anyone was due to arrive at the office or the boutique, she drove back to her apartment and changed into her bright Francesca clothes. She followed the instructions the beautician at Rico’s had given her the previous evening and made her makeup a lot heavier than usual. She examined herself in the mirror, then slid a stack of pretty bracelets onto one wrist and stepped into the strappy turquoise shoes. After a generous spray of perfume, she checked out the effect in the mirror.

  She looked like Francesca, but something was still wrong. Francesca was vivacious, her features mobile. In comparison, Sophie’s gaze was too direct, her jaw too set, and her face was way too calm.

  Rummaging in a drawer, she found the largest pair of sunglasses she owned and slid them on. The effect was good but, if she was going to fool Ben, she would need to keep them on all the time and avoid making direct eye contact.

  On impulse, she packed a pair of faded blue jeans, a white sweater and sneakers into the bottom of her tote, just in case the weather turned rainy as it seemed to do late afternoons and she didn’t have time to drive home to change before her appointment at Rico’s. She also packed a bottle of water, some protein bars, a bag of her favorite vegetable chips—which sounded revolting but were actually quite nice—and an apple, just in case she did have to miss dinner and go straight to the salon.

  She checked her phone. According to the text Francesca had sent her, lunch was out on the island at the almost completed resort and was a full-on catered party with on-site chefs, a bar and waitstaff. Ben had chartered launches to transport staff. A number of investors and contractors were flying in and the Holts would be arriving by superyacht.

  She checked her watch. It was five after eleven. She was supposed to meet Ben at the street entrance of the ultraexclusive waterfront Atraeus Mall. Her territory, she thought with a purr of satisfaction. Apparently, the helicopter he normally kept on the wild, marshy stretch of coastline where he lived would be waiting on the roof.

  * * *

  They were meant to meet at eleven sharp, which meant she was already late. But eleven was way before they were supposed to get to the lunch. Apparently, Ben needed time alone with her so he could brief her on her role as his fake girlfriend before they flew out to Sail Fish Key.

  As if she was going to be some kind of robot drone who followed orders.

  Sophie replaced her phone in the small, perfectly shaped pocket in her tote. She did not see why she needed a half-hour briefing when she already met the only criteria that counted.

  She was blonde.

  Eleven

  Ben paced the glossy marble atrium of the large and luxurious Atraeus Mall. He checked his watch. But the fact that Sophie’s twin was late wasn’t what was praying on his mind.

  He had made a mistake.

  After an early-morning phone call with Atraeus that included the casually dropped information that Atraeus would be discussing a business partnership with Sophie when she came to New York to attend his opening, that mistake had come home to roost.

  He knew how focused Sophie was on business and success.

  He also knew just how much Atraeus could do to assist her in achieving her business goals. Goals that Ben could easily have helped with, if only he hadn’t been so set against mixing business and relationships. An issue with which Atraeus clearly had no difficulty.

  Yesterday’s kiss replayed in his mind, literally stopping him in his tracks, and suddenly his decision was made. He wanted Sophie. His feelings for her were curiously black-and-white, and they weren’t just sexual. He wanted her, period, despite the money issu
e: despite the risk that she could one day decide that he wasn’t the kind of husband an heiress should marry and walk out on him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the shoppers drifting through the mall, abruptly annoyed at how wimpy that sounded, as if he wasn’t good enough for Sophie, as if he was afraid to take a risk. If he had applied that kind of rationale to business, he would never have come back from near bankruptcy.

  When push came to shove, he thrived on risk and challenge.

  If he was honest, it was one of the key reasons he wanted Sophie. And after two and a half years, his desire hadn’t gone away. If anything it had gotten stronger.

  But if he didn’t claim Sophie now, he was starkly aware that Atraeus would.

  The plan had been to slow things down, to control the relationship. But the thought of Sophie, who had only ever been his, with another man made him go still inside. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  For better or worse, Sophie Messena was his.

  Ben checked his phone in case Francesca had sent him a text canceling the date. When he didn’t see either a call or a text, he decided to call her and cancel the date. Now that he had decided he wanted to move on Sophie quickly, it would be a whole lot cleaner if Francesca did not come with him to Sail Fish Key. Buffy Holt was going to be a nuisance, but he had fended her off for the past few months. He could last another day.

  As the call went through to voice mail, a flash of turquoise turned Ben’s head. Francesca, dressed in ultrabright colors and wearing a large pair of sunglasses walked through the elegant marbled entrance of the mall.

  Ben terminated the call without leaving a message. Gaze narrowed, he watched Francesca stroll toward him. Not with quick, light strides, but with languid, longer steps. The blond hair was confusing, but the smooth walk, with the faint hitch to her stride—as if she was favoring her right side—the tilt to her chin and the instant buzz of arousal warming his loins were dead giveaways. Along with the fact that the woman walking toward him hadn’t answered her phone.