Fauxmance Read online

  Why was it that we humans always wanted the person that didn’t want us in return?

  I wandered past Rose, going further down the aisle, then turned a corner to head into the next one.

  I paused, because a woman knelt on the floor, arranging books on one of the lower shelves. She had long curly brown hair and her hand went to her chest like I’d startled her, which I probably had since the shop was so quiet back here.

  “Oh, excuse me,” I said with a smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Her hair curtained most of her face, alongside a pair of thick, tortoiseshell glasses. She blinked several times then murmured, “No worries,” before shifting out of the way so I could get by in the narrow space.

  “Tight squeeze in here, isn’t it,” I commented, and she nodded shyly without reply.

  I continued on to explore the rest of the shop. It really was a quaint little place, an oasis of quiet, nestled amid the hustle and bustle of the city.

  But no Elodie in sight.

  When I returned to Rose, she had three paperbacks under her arm and was considering a fourth. I enjoyed reading, but my best friend went through novels at a record-breaking speed.

  We approached the lady at the till and Rose handed over her purchases. “You don’t happen to have the newest Sasha Orlando book in stock by any chance?” she asked.

  “Not at present,” the woman replied. “That one doesn’t release until the weekend, but we’ll definitely have it then if you want to pop back on Saturday.”

  “Oh yes, I will,” Rose enthused. “I’ve been dying for it to come out. I thought maybe you might have a few early copies available.”

  The woman rubbed her chin, seemingly charmed by Rose brazenly trying to snag a copy of a book that hadn’t released yet. “I don’t think the delivery has arrived but let me just check with Ellen. She usually handles stock intake.” She left her stool and went to call out to the woman I’d bumped into at the back of the shop. “Ellen! The new Sasha Orlando book. Has the shipment arrived yet?”

  There was a pause, a clearing of a throat and then an oh so quiet, “No, it doesn’t arrive until Friday.”

  The woman gave Rose an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

  She gave a sheepish look in return. “No worries! I was being cheeky asking anyway. I’ll just have to wait like everybody else.”

  “My partner, Felicity, loves that series, too. She gets really excited when a new book comes out.”

  “It’s the best,” Rose agreed.

  “Might I ask a question?” I interrupted, unable to help myself.

  The woman’s attention came to me. “Of course. Were you looking for a particular book?”

  I shook my head. “No, actually, I was wondering if you have an employee here named Elodie? Red hair? She might be the owner.”

  She frowned. “Afraid not. My name’s Bernice and I’m the owner here. It’s just Ellen and I, and Felicity pitches in from time to time.”

  Rose shot me a questioning look. She knew all about Elodie but was obviously confused by me thinking she worked here.

  “Oh, I must be mistaken. Perhaps I was thinking of another place.”

  If this woman owned the shop and had never heard of Elodie, then how the hell did she have a key? Too many questions filled my head. A loud clatter sounded from the back, jolting me from my thoughts. I turned to see the shy woman, Ellen, had dropped a stack of books. Looking frazzled, she hurried to pick them back up. She tucked her thick hair behind her ear and I got my first proper view of her face.

  Elodie!

  She looked exactly like her, except her eyes and hair were brown and she was significantly shorter. I left Rose to continue chatting with Bernice and walked down the aisle. When she saw me approach, she froze, her doe eyes widening.

  “Hello again,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you happen to have a sister?”

  Chapter Four

  Ellen

  Panic set in.

  I was a deer caught in the headlights. An imposter about to be unmasked. Blinking several times, I stared at Julian, words failing me. Fortunately, he didn’t look suspicious or angry, only intrigued. My throat ran dry as I endeavoured to speak.

  “P-pardon?”

  Julian took a step closer, eyes wandering over my features keenly. I knew what he saw: a bookish version of Elodie, her complete opposite with the same face.

  “I was wondering if you have a sister?”

  Looking past him, Bernice was chatting casually with the woman Julian had come in with. I’d been stacking books, but as soon as I heard his voice, I panicked. How the hell had he found me? I ran back through my memories of the morning. Feeling too nervous to keep up the act, I made my excuses to Suze and left the café before Julian returned from his phone call. He’d gone outside, so he must’ve seen me leaving. Had he followed me?

  Why on earth would he follow me?

  And to top things off, the woman he came with had asked for the latest Sasha Orlando book.

  My book.

  My career as an author wasn’t something I advertised, mainly because I was a hermit and too socially phobic to do appearances. My dad and brothers were the only people who knew I was a writer.

  I had a pen name, and nobody knew what E.S. Grant looked like. Funnily enough, it seemed to add mystery and increase book sales. And conspiracy theories. Lots of people thought that Sasha was a real person, the books more fact than fiction. If you looked on the internet, you could find speculation galore, which made me wonder if Julian was one of those people.

  He’d never told me his profession.

  It was very possible that he was a journalist himself, or a blogger out to seek the truth.

  Too panicked to think straight, I answered, “Yes, I do have a sister. W-why?”

  He took a step forward. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Elodie?”

  I took a step back. “Do you know her?”

  To Julian, I must’ve sounded edgy and mistrustful. On the inside, I was scrambling for a way to get out of this mess. I knew there were only two viable options: come clean about everything, or, lie and pretend I was Elodie’s sister. Obviously, being me, I took the coward’s route.

  I could wriggle my way out of it…eventually. If he came looking for Elodie again, I’d tell him she died in a helicopter crash. Or got struck by lightning. Or was inducted into a religious cult. Fell down a well.

  Julian’s eyes danced, as though he were thoroughly amused by the thought of Elodie having a sister who was so unlike her.

  “We’re acquainted, yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you…Ellen, wasn’t it?”

  “Uh huh.” I tugged at the sleeve of my shirt. I needed this interaction to end now. “Well, I’ll let Elodie know I bumped into you, but I have to get back to work, so…”

  “Julian. Tell her you bumped into Julian.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you twins?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Do we look like twins?”

  “You could be fraternal twins, but really, the resemblance in your facial features is uncanny.”

  “We’re not twins. I’m her younger sister,” I blurted, my deep-seated addiction for making up stories tumbling out. I should just shut up and let him leave, but there was something alluring about Julian. The sparkly light behind his eyes pulled me in.

  “Ah, I see. Yes, you do strike me as the younger sister, but funnily, I recall her telling me she only had two brothers.”

  Oh crap, I had said that, hadn’t I?

  I needed to start keeping better track of my stories. Elodie’s stories. That was the problem with being a dirty deceiver. Eventually, you started to drown under all the lies.

  I forced a casual tone. “Right. She doesn’t like to tell people about me. We don’t exactly get along very well.”

  “Oh, and why is that?” Julian asked, his lips forming a scandalised pout. “Did you sleep with her teenage boyfriend? You seem like the type.”

/>   His teasing surprised a laugh out of me. “I also stole her signed poster of The Backstreet Boys, so we’re basically enemies for life now.”

  His answering smile was beautiful, and I was internally impressed with myself for managing to conduct this conversation without swooning and/or fainting.

  “Ems for life, huh? Sounds serious. Now I’m glad I don’t have any siblings.”

  “Yep, you’re pretty lucky,” I said, nodding awkwardly.

  “Julian, are you coming?” his friend called from where she stood at the front of the shop. I was fairly sure she wasn’t his girlfriend, since he’d been coming on pretty strong with Elodie at Suze’s apartment.

  He glanced in her direction then brought his mesmerising gaze back to me. “Looks like I’m wanted. It was great meeting you, Ellen. Try not to sleep with any more of your sister’s boyfriends. Actually, strike that. If I ever manage to convince her to date me, feel free to work your seductive charms.” He waggled his brows and again, I laughed. I knew he wasn’t flirting with me. He was being friendly because he wanted to get with Elodie, my alter ego, and now, fake sister.

  “Right, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  With one last parting grin, he went and linked his friend’s arm, then left the shop. I slumped back against a bookshelf and tried to catch my breath. The panic that had been racing through my body made me feel like I’d just run a marathon.

  But then it transformed into something else, something that zinged through me, a heady rush.

  I felt…oddly powerful.

  I’d gotten away with it, albeit fumblingly. I’d pulled off a ruse. Mastered some trickery. Convinced Julian I wasn’t some weirdo girl with a complicated and very deeply thought out alter ego. Elodie was a glove that fit perfectly to my hand, but perhaps Ellen wasn’t such a bad actress either. Or maybe my supreme timidity clouded the fact that I was a fake. After all, anyone as awkward as me couldn’t possibly have the confidence to pull off a con.

  Either way, in my somewhat uneventful life, this gave me a thrill.

  When I arrived home that evening, I ran my hand along the familiar hallway wall, painted in a mural of climbing roses. Something I haven’t mentioned yet, my house was sort of unique, or well, visually striking was probably a better description. It was my haven, the place where I spent most of my time, and I’d put a lot of effort into making it special. Sometimes it felt more like a work of art in progress than a house.

  My kitchen was a jungle of lovingly cared for potted plants, with Rainbow’s and Skittles’ antique birdcage the focal point. Behind it, I’d painted a mural of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, so that it spanned out around their cage in all its soft pink glory. Painting was a hobby I indulged in whenever I wasn’t writing.

  When I was about eleven, I discovered the joy of writing fiction. I also loved to draw, so I’d create illustrations to accompany my stories. It was how I released all my unspent, creative energy. My stories no longer required pictures, so now my house was my canvas.

  My brother, Nick, said my paintings were an outward expression of my inner self. My other brother, Cameron, said all the colours gave him a headache.

  I told you he was the cranky one.

  Anyway, Nick liked to psycho-analyse people. Some folks in our hometown called him the Shrink Barista, though he wasn’t exactly qualified. He dropped out of his Psycho-therapy degree in year two and now worked in a coffee shop full-time. His take on me was that since I was so socially phobic, I channelled all my unused social energy into art. I tended to agree with him, since up until the age of five I had what they termed ‘selective mutism’. I would only speak around a select group of people. In my case, that was my immediate family. With anyone else, I was completely silent.

  At school, my teachers tried to lure me out of my shell by giving me special treatment, letting me sit right by their desk or draw pictures while the other kids did maths. My memories of that time were hazy, but somewhere between the age of five and six, I started talking. I was still unbearably shy, but I was no longer totally mute. My dad thinks my mutism was a form of post-traumatic stress from Mum dying. But I was only two when she passed and even now I barely remembered her.

  Others (Nick) thought it was anxiety. That social situations made me so anxious as a kid I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was more inclined to believe this theory, since I still suffered from the dreaded social phobia. However, I wasn’t nearly as bad as I used to be. Ever since I created Elodie, I was coming on in leaps and bounds.

  She freed me from the oppression of choking every time I had to talk to an unfamiliar human being.

  Cases in point, Julian and Suze.

  Before Elodie, I never would’ve had the courage to befriend a woman like Suze. Nor would I be ballsy enough to lie to a man like Julian.

  Was it ethical? No. But it was helping me, so I had to convince myself the pros outweighed the cons.

  I heated up some leftover stir-fry for dinner and opened my email. My agent, Daniel, had sent another message with requests to book public appearances, but there was no way I could do a book signing. Not unless I went as Elodie, and she looked so much like my character, Sasha, that it would only back up the theories she was a real person.

  Still…

  The idea set my deceptive, black heart aflutter. To be Elodie and revel in the adoration of hundreds of fans would be a thrill ride like no other. Maybe I could…

  I clicked on ‘reply’ and started to type.

  [email protected] to [email protected]

  RE: Book Signing Offer (I’m not above begging)

  Let me think about it.

  P.S. I’m making no promises.

  His response came minutes later.

  [email protected] to [email protected]

  RE: RE: Book Signing Offer (I’m not above begging)

  Anything I can do to convince you? A holiday in the Caribbean? A case of Dom Perignon? Foot rub? Just say the word and it’s done. I did say I wasn’t above begging ;-)

  I chuckled. I was fond of Daniel, even though we’d never met in person. We spoke on the phone every once in a while, and aside from Bernice and Felicity, he was the one other human connection I’d made here in London. Some days I felt so down, so lonely, especially when I went a full day or two without talking to another human being. The fact that I could pick up the phone and talk to Daniel was a big relief.

  [email protected] to [email protected]

  No bribery needed. Just…give me time.

  I closed out my email, made short work of my dinner, then opened my newest manuscript. I was only two chapters into the latest Sasha novel, but it was an important one because it was to be the last in the series. It was bittersweet, and although I adored this world and the characters I’d created, I knew it was time to say goodbye. I already had several ideas for a new series, but for now, I was going to enjoy taking Sasha on one final adventure.

  Two days later, I was a few hours into my shift at the bookshop when the bell over the door rang, signalling someone’s entrance. I sat by the counter, reading the Agony Aunt section of a celebrity gossip magazine. I enjoyed the stories because they were always so ludicrous and clearly made up. It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only out there who enjoyed weaving fantasies.

  I glanced up to check who entered, and my breath caught when I saw Julian. What was he doing here again?

  “H-hello,” I greeted, palms growing sweaty. “Can I help you?”

  He wore that lazy, sparkly-eyed smile that seemed to be his signature. “Reading magazines during your shift, eh? I should report you to Bernice.”

  He was joking, but he wasn’t too far off the mark. Bernice was a firm believer that if people were going to read, it should be literature, not trashy gossip.

  I made a concerted effort to look him in the eye. “Do you need something?”

  Julian placed both hands on the counter in front of me. “I was wo
ndering if your sister was around?”

  “No, Elodie doesn’t really come here much.”

  “But I saw her use a key to get in the other day,” he countered.

  So, he had followed me. Hmm. My suspicions went into overdrive. Was he a journalist? He didn’t look like one. Then again, I had no idea what he looked like. I’d never met someone like Julian before. I frowned, certain it created a deep indent between my eyebrows.

  “She was doing me a favour. I asked if she’d look after the shop while I went to my dentist appointment,” I responded.

  “That was very kind of her, especially given you two don’t get along so well,” he mused.

  “She owed me one.”

  Julian didn’t take his eyes off me and it was unnerving to say the least. A moment of silence fell, and my heart started doing a thrumming anxious beat inside my chest. Imagine the drums from Phil Collins ‘In The Air Tonight’ in super speed.

  Julian looked like he was settling in to stay a while, which was the exact opposite of what I wanted him to do, dammit!

  “So, Ellen, what does a girl like you enjoy doing in her free time?”

  Okay, if my suspicions went into overdrive a minute ago, now they were on red alert. I narrowed my gaze. “Why do you ask?”

  Julian shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

  I exhaled a heavy sigh. “If you’re looking for a book, you’re welcome to check out our shelves. Other than that, I can’t help you.” I brought my attention back to my magazine, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

  But of course, he didn’t. “Actually, come to think of it, there is a book I’m looking for. I gifted my copy of La Dame Aux Camelias to a friend and have been meaning to replace it. It’s a favourite of mine.”

  I remembered reading that book in Uni. It was about a French courtesan who ended up dying tragically young. An odd choice to be a favourite book for a man in his thirties. Then again, there was nothing about Julian that struck me as typical.