My Double Life

by Janette Rallison

CHAPTER 13

  During the last week of April, I went out on another five- day tour of short concerts. Maren had underestimated how many jobs I’d be able to do for Kari when she first offered me the job. Kari's popularity was on the rise, and everyone wanted her at their events. At that point, I had a staggering $68,000 in my bank account. Kari’s casino debts would have been nearly paid off with the revenue I’d brought in, except that Maren had to use a lot of the earnings to pay off credit cards and back taxes.

  I offered to buy my mom a new car, but she refused to take my money. Which was perhaps why I couldn't bring myself to spend much of it. For all my angst over being poor, now that I had money, the only things I wanted to buy were things for her.

  When I flew back into LA, things got more complicated. I had known that since Kari’s face had healed she’d be out in the public again, but still I hadn't expected to see her on the front of Us Weekly holding hands with Michael. The caption read: Back together again!

  Grant put a copy of the magazine in my lap when he picked me up from one of my shopping trips, then looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  I stared into his ruggedly handsome face. I could have told him everything. I should have. Instead I shrugged and said, “Must be an old picture."

  And he believed me. Just like that, the subject dropped—I hoped for good. After all, Kari and Michael dating again wasn’t that interesting of a story. It had already happened enough times. Besides, the paparazzi couldn't take many new pictures of Kari with Michael. Not while she was tucked out of sight working on her album and practicing for her mega concert.

  Two days later, when I went over to Grant's house, he handed me a copy of the National Enquirer. I looked at the sidebar caption that read Kari and Michael are reunited! and my mouth went dry.

  I managed a shrug as I handed it back to him. “I beat out reality shows and alien abductions for the cover. Cool.”

  He didn't smile. Instead he tilted his chin down. "How come the press keeps reporting that you're back with Michael?”

  I forced a smile. "Well, the National Enquirer isn’t known for its accuracy. Which reminds me—how are your plans of world domination coming along?”

  I tried to slide into a hug and kiss him, but he put his hands on my shoulders and kept me at arm’s length. His blue eyes clouded with suspicion. "You’re not seeing both of us, are you?"

  "No,” I said, but his eyes still had an edge to them.

  It suddenly became hard to look at him. I stared at the lettering on his T-shirt, at his neck, at the curve of his shoulder. And even then I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against my heart.

  So this was it. I had to tell him the truth now.

  I let my arms drop away from him, then folded them across my chest so they didn't shake. "Here's the thing. I'm sorry I didn’t tell you this before, but I’m not who you think I am. I’m not Kari Kingsley. I’m actually her . . . um . . .” How could I put this? "I’m her half sister from West Virginia that nobody knows about.”

  He rolled his eyes. "Very funny.”

  "No, really. She's seeing Michael, and I'm seeing you, and we just happen to look identical. Well, it's not completely coincidence—she had a nose job to look more like me.”

  "Okay, okay. You made your point. I’ll believe you the first time.” He leaned in and kissed me, and I considered what to do next. Telling him the truth had not gone how I expected. Although standing in his arms and kissing him was much better than the reaction I had anticipated.

  Finally he stepped away from me, but he kept hold of my hand while we walked into his living room. His house wasn't nearly as big or as ostentatious as Kari’s, and he'd barely decorated it. The living room mostly consisted of a couch, big-screen TV, and a black baby grand piano.

  We sat down on his couch, still holding hands. I hoped the subject had passed. I just needed to ride it out for another two weeks until my father's concert, then I’d tell Grant everything.

  Grant put his arm around my shoulder and lazily ran his fingers through the ends of my hair. “We should think about going public with our relationship."

  “Why?"

  "Because then my band won't think I’m making up stuff about dating you, and I won’t have family members dropping by and giving me magazines to keep me updated on my girlfriend's love life."

  The sound of the word girlfriend on his lips stunned me for several seconds, and I just gazed at him.

  “I know we won't have a minute of peace when the paparazzi find out we’re a couple,” he said, "but they’re going to know about it sooner or later."

  "Let's have it be later.”

  He kept running his fingers through my hair. "It would be good publicity for your next album. You and I splashed on magazine covers in every grocery store and newsstand in America.”

  My breath caught in my throat. If the paparazzi found out that I—that Kari—was seeing Grant when she was supposed to be dating Michael, my face really could be plastered on magazine covers around the country. And if that happened, would people who knew Kari be able to tell I was an imposter? Would people in my hometown recognize me?

  Grant leaned away from me, a sudden smile on his lips. "I hadn’t planned on giving this to you now, but I think I will.” He stood up, walked over to the piano, and came back with a few sheets of music paper. "I was going to wait until I had it finished. I still need to work on a few rough spots, but you'll get the main idea."

  He handed me the sheets. It was a song he’d composed entitled "Give First Impressions a Second Chance."

  The notes he’d penciled onto the paper meant nothing to me—I couldn’t sight-read—but I could tell the lyrics were divided into parts. He'd written a duet for us to sing. The complete panic I felt was counterbalanced by the nice things he said. The refrain repeated in the chorus said: If I'd believed that stuff was true, I would have missed out on loving you.

  He loved me? Was that just catchy lyrics, or did he mean it?

  "Do you like it?” he asked.

  "I love it."

  A smile broke across his face, lighting up his features. "I was hoping you'd say that. Let's practice it right now.”

  He took my hand, trying to pull me toward the piano, but I stayed firmly seated on the couch. "Not right now.” The second I sang anything to him, he'd realize I didn’t have Kari's voice. I racked my brain to come up with a good excuse to turn him down. "I never mix business with pleasure, or work with dating, or singing with sitting with my boyfriend on the couch."

  Boyfriend. I liked how that felt to say, and he didn’t flinch when I said it. Boyfriend. Grant Delray was my boy¬friend. I wanted to say it twelve more times just to taste the words in my mouth.

  "I don’t have the same policy," he said, and without taking his gaze off my eyes, he sang the first verse of our song. If there were any rough spots, like he’d claimed, I couldn’t tell. I only heard his hypnotically beautiful voice surrounding me. At that moment I wanted nothing more in the world than to sing with him.

  I would find a way to make our duet work somehow— some excuse, some explanation for the change in my voice. He leaned over and his lips found mine, and neither of us said anything for several minutes.