Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
I’m already in a weird headspace as it is. The last thing I need right now is to get a pile-on from my family. When I make it back to the living room, I settle in and start looking for local groups but get distracted by two ads for thrift shops I see that aren't too far from here.
My phone goes off again, but this time it's Mr. Rise. I get that same sensation of when you're called down to the principal’s office, but I'm pretty sure I haven't done anything wrong. Have I? I guess we will see.
“Morning,” I say when I answer, even if it's pushing toward the afternoon at this point.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Wick. You have guests.” I perk up.
“Wait, like two?” Don't think he's calling Charlie a guest. I'm sure the two of them are more than aware of each other if they both work for Wick.
“Yes, they both claim to be your sisters. A Quinn and Kate.” Well, then. I should have answered the call. Could I have possibly avoided this? Why are they even here? A million questions flutter through my mind. “Mrs. Wick, are you there? I did check their IDs.” I'm sure he did. Not because he's so thorough, but my sisters and I are night and day in the looks department. I have always been the odd one out in every way.
“Yes, sorry.”
“Can I send them up?”
“Is that allowed?” I find myself whispering.
“They are your family, no?”
“Yes, they're my sisters.”
“Then I'll send them up.” He ends the call before I can try and protest.
This wasn't in the plans. Am I supposed to fake being married to them too? I glance around the luxurious condo I'm in, not seeing much of a choice. There’s no way in hell I’m giving them any more fuel to add to the fire when it comes to my life. They already have too many opinions as it is.
I key in the lock code and open the door as they step off the elevator. They're both dressed in a way that no one is going to accuse them of being the help, as I have been numerous times now.
They’re both tall and thin with full, thick blond hair. They could almost be twins, but Quinn’s eyes are green and her chin is more pointed, while Kate’s eyes are deep blue and her lips are now plumper too.
“How did you find me?” I blurt out before they can say a word. They're too busy scanning me from head to toe.
The skeptical expression is written across their pretty faces. They are both in heels with long coats. How they manage that in the snow is impressive. I'd bet anything they have dresses under them. They are always put together, but I find it predictable and boring. They call it fashion, but this isn't Nebraska.
“It's nice to see you too,” Kate says, the older of the two. She often takes the lead for them.
“We had your old address, and we went there. They were kind enough to give us your forwarding address, and here we are,” Quinn fills in.
“And here you are,” I repeat. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but I guess we will see where this goes.
“Are you going to invite us in?” Kate's brows rise, and she gives me the same look my mom did growing up when I was doing something she didn't care for. Unfortunately, that was most things for me. I open the door wide and step back, letting them in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shutting the door behind me.
“We were in the city, so of course we wanted to see our baby sister.” Quinn gives me a sugary-sweet smile that I know is bullshit. There’s no doubt in my mind they have an ulterior motive.
“We'd love to meet this husband too,” Kate adds, making air quotes around the word husband. “Or are you really house-sitting? The live-in maid?” There it is. Their true colors bleeding through.
I don't have a clue what I'm going to tell them. They'll never believe I'm married, but it's not as though I can produce a husband either.
Chapter Sixteen
WICK
The footage from the security cams has me racing to Belle’s. Two strange women appeared in her living room, and from the way she hugged her arms to her sides, they weren’t welcome guests. After yesterday’s shitshow, I wasn’t going to allow her to be ambushed in her own home.
I walk straight in. “Honey, I’m home,” I sing, but no one hears me over the screaming.
There’s a plate of scones on the table along with a teapot, but one blonde is standing, her hands holding up the hem of her shirt. The other blonde is bent over, shaking her finger at a third woman, who is on her knees.
“You’ve always been a worthless screw-up! Can’t even serve tea like a normal human being.”