Twin Expectations. Kara Lennox
college! Besides, the minute anyone sees me, they’ll know I’m not you. I don’t look like I swallowed a cantaloupe.”
Bridget looked more animated than she had all day. “I’m not implying we should perpetrate a hoax. Just go to the party, introduce yourself to Geraldine Statler, and explain that you’re my proxy. I guarantee she’ll welcome you with open arms. She’s very nice.” Bridget gathered up the clothes she’d tried on, shouldered her purse and headed for the cash register.
“Uh-uh, no way. I’m not going near those Statler people ever again.” At the same time, Liz felt a little thrill at the idea of seeing Eric Statler up close once more. Ever since their ill-fated meeting at the Oilman’s Ball, she’d devoured every news story she could find. She’d even gone to the Statler Enterprises Web site to gawk over pictures of Eric like an infatuated teenager.
“Chicken,” Bridget murmured under her breath as she paid for her purchases.
“I am not. It’s just…what kind of costume do you have?”
“I was planning to dig out my old Queen Elizabeth costume from when I was in that play in college, remember?”
“Hey, that’s a great idea. All those yards of fabric will completely camouflage your stomach.”
“Not my stomach,” Bridget said, giving Liz’s hair a playful tweak. “Yours.”
Liz shook her head, even as she tried to picture herself decked out like a queen. “No way. I don’t want to have to explain to Nick Raines why I’m not you.”
“Nick won’t come anywhere near you. He can hardly stand to be around me as it is.”
Liz saw the hurt in Bridget’s eyes and felt a pang of pity for her sister. Bridget had never been able to hide her feelings very well, and it was obvious from the way she talked about Nick that she had a thing for him, despite her protestations. Unfortunately, the guy was apparently a closed-minded jerk.
“I’ll try on the costume,” Liz finally said. “Just for fun, though. I’m not going to any party.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Liz found herself swathed in the most ridiculous brocade gown. The thing squashed her breasts so that they nearly spilled out of the stiff square neckline, and the skirt was so heavy she could barely walk. No wonder women were repressed back in the fifteenth century. They couldn’t move.
Liz had been right about one thing. She could be ready to deliver a full-term baby under all that fabric and no one would know it.
She’d put a red rinse on her hair for a touch of authenticity. Then she’d added some pale makeup and painted on heavily arched brows. Even people who knew her wouldn’t recognize her.
“Remember, introduce yourself to Geraldine Statler first,” Bridget said, pressing the invitation into Liz’s hand. “You won’t have to do much more than say hi to her. She’ll be much too busy for a long gabfest. I heard Nick is going dressed as a highwayman, so you can steer clear of him.”
“I don’t suppose you know what sort of costume Eric Statler will be wearing? He’s the one I need to avoid.”
Bridget shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”
“I can’t believe you talked me into this. If you hadn’t hit me with, ‘The baby needs to rest…”’
“You’ll have a blast. There are bound to be loads of eligible bachelors there. We’re talking about the future father of my niece or nephew. I want you to choose wisely, and a larger sample of men can’t hurt.”
“Yeah, like I had a say in the father of your baby.”
Bridget narrowed her eyes. “At least my baby’s father won’t be around to make my life miserable. What if Ted got you pregnant, then wanted to stick around? What if he wanted to marry you? Or, even worse, what if he sued you for custody?”
Liz’s stomach took a sudden lurch. “Gee, I hadn’t thought of that. If Ted got me pregnant, I could never tell him.”
Bridget started hyperventilating. “Elizabeth Ann Van Zandt, you cannot steal a man’s sperm without his consent. Whoever you pick as your ‘donor,’ you have to tell him about it. How would you like it if someone stole one of your eggs and made a baby without telling you? DNA is private property—”
“Okay, okay, put a hold on the rant. I wasn’t really planning to get pregnant without telling the guy, whoever he might turn out to be. I just haven’t gotten that far. I have to find a good candidate first. Then I’ll come up with a strategy.”
“This isn’t a game, Liz. These are lives we’re playing with. Don’t do it lightly. Please.”
Liz was taken aback by her sister’s vehemence. Bridget had become much more emotional since her pregnancy, and Liz knew hormones were at least partly to blame. But something else was afoot.
“Bridget,” she said, broaching the subject as cautiously as she knew how, “you’re not regretting your pregnancy, are you?”
Bridget’s face went all soft. “No, of course not. I love this baby so much it hurts, and I can’t wait till I can hold him or her in my arms. But knowing that I’ve committed this kid to live without a father…I just want you to be fully aware of all the consequences, not just the good ones. Don’t lose sight of the big picture.”
Liz gave Bridget a careful hug so as not to smear her makeup or ruin her hair. “Don’t worry—I won’t.”
A horn tooted outside. Liz hadn’t wanted to drive wearing the costume, so she’d called a cab. “Wish me good hunting,” she said as she grabbed her tiny evening bag and whisked out the door.
FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE, Liz felt completely out of place at a party. She didn’t know a soul here at this huge, gaudy mansion. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered her, but her ghastly performance at the Oilman’s Ball was still fresh on her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was something embarrassing that would reflect badly on Bridget, who had shown extraordinary confidence in her by allowing her to come here at all.
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