Chapter 1
Morgan: Present Day
Tears fall heavily as I stare down at the photo in front of me. The body is spread out on the floor. Her right leg curves while her left leg is straight. Her arms lie at her side. Her head is turned to the right, and her eyes are closed, as if she’s sleeping. The name Morgan Vaughn is written across the bottom of the photo in black.
“I know this must be hard for you.”
I don’t respond to the detective. Because it’s a stupid statement for him to make. Of course this is hard for me. She was my sister.
Jasen squeezes my hand slightly, offering me comfort while I sniffle and wipe away my tears with a tissue. “Take your time, Monroe.” I turn to face him, and my tearful eyes meet his sympathetic ones. This is the toughest thing I’ve ever had to do. Life as I knew it is over. But despite it all, I have him. Jasen is an amazing man. He’s hardworking, charming, and very handsome with his deep dimples and dark brown eyes. He’s at the height of his career as the owner of one of the top private investigating firms in California. He’s protective, loving, and reliable.
As pathetic as it sounds, I’ve never had a man treat me as well as he does. He’s everything I could ever want in a husband, but he isn’t really my husband. He’s my sister’s husband. He and the detective think it’s me in that photo. But it isn’t. They have no clue that Monroe and I switched places so she could run off with her lover, and that he’s been living with his wife’s twin sister all this time. At first, I didn’t understand why Monroe felt the need to sleep around on Jasen—he worshipped the ground she walked on. She had the perfect life, but she took it for granted. I later found out that she wanted to be free and unattached instead of being confined as a housewife. She wanted to explore her options and see what sex was like outside of the man she had been with since the eleventh grade. Monroe felt the constant urge to feel liberated. But her need to feel liberated came with a cost… her life.
The detective slides the picture back towards him. “How about we do this another time, Mrs. Baker?”
I open my mouth to answer him, but my cell phone rings, interrupting us. I pull my phone out of my purse. It’s the call I’ve been waiting for. “I need to take this,” I announce.
Jasen nods. “You go ahead. I’ll finish up here.”
I grab my bag, step outside, and close the door behind me. I watch Jasen and the detective through the glass window as I answer the call. “Hello.”
“Hi, Monroe?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Danni. I’m calling to inform you that we received your lab results back this morning and it’s confirmed. You’re pregnant. Congratulations!”
Six Weeks Earlier
I glance down at my watch for the third time. He’s now fifteen minutes late. Maybe he’s not coming. I lift my head and scan the group of people in the waiting area. I exhale with frustration when I don’t see him. Where is he? The door opens again, and in walks a tall man, wearing a black peacoat, black gloves, and a red scarf. It must be him, because he looks similar to the picture on Randy’s profile. Randy is the guy I’ve been interacting with on Match.com for the past two weeks. After nightly phone calls and all-day text messages, we decided it was time for us to meet in person. He chose this place. An upscale, authentic Italian restaurant. I was quite impressed when I arrived. So far, he’s checked off all my boxes. Great personality. Check. Sense of humor. Check. Respectful. Check. He’s not into playing games or hooking up. He’s looking for something serious, just like I am. And to top it off, he’s successful. He owns his own technology firm. The host looks in my direction, grabs another menu, and leads him towards my table. As they get closer, I’m blown away. Holy shit! He’s even sexier in person. He smiles at me, and all frustration disappears. I stand to my feet to greet him, but he walks right past me. I turn around just in time to see Mr. Sexy hug the gorgeous brunette waiting for him at the table behind me. I deflate with anger.
“Morgan?”
My head whips around, and I come face-to-face with a man I don’t recognize. He senses my confusion, so he extends his hand. “It’s me, Randy.”
This can’t be Randy. Randy’s height is six foot two. The man standing in front of me matches my height of five foot five. Randy has black hair. This man has brown hair. Randy has a beard. This man is clean-shaven. Randy has abs. Toned shoulders and biceps. I know because I drooled over the pictures he posted of himself at the gym. This man? He’s chubby. With man boobs and a beer belly. In no way, shape, or form am I making fun of his body. Or judging his appearance. But it isn’t fair to mislead a person. I thought the man I was meeting looked… well, nothing like the man standing in front of me.
“I… ahh… I’m sorry I’m late,” he stammers.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I almost left.”
He nods. “Have a seat, and I’ll explain.”
I should not have a seat. I should grab my purse and leave him where he stands. And not only because he had me waiting, but because I’ve been duped. But I have absolutely nothing else to do tonight. So, I have a seat across from Mr. Liar. He smiles nervously.
“I’m so sorry. I literally showered and got dressed two hours early, just so I could make it here on time. But when I was walking out the door, I noticed Gramps was looking a little pale. Turns out he missed his insulin shot and was feeling a little sick.”
“Gramps?”
“Yeah, my grandfather. We live together.”
“You said you live alone,” I remind him.
“Well, technically, I do. He lives with me, not the other way around.”
I nod and allow him to proceed. “Anyway, I had to get him squared away before I could come.”
I realize I’m being too hard on him. It’s admirable for him to take care of his elderly grandfather. It shows he’s responsible. Compassionate. Caring. Qualities I’m attracted to. I nod. “I understand.”
The waitress arrives, and once she takes our orders, he continues to speak. “I guess you’re probably wondering why I don’t look like my profile pictures.”
I grab my glass of water. “It did catch me off guard,” I answer right before taking a sip.
“I’m sorry about that. A friend created my profile and thought it would be funny to post pictures of himself instead of me. I hadn’t gotten around to changing them because I honestly didn’t take the site seriously at first.”
“Sounds like my coworker. She’s the one who created my profile. I had no interest in it, but the one time I logged on, I connected with you.”
“I’m glad. I’ve enjoyed talking to you the past few weeks, and I was looking forward to our date tonight.”
I smile. “So was I.”
The waitress brings us dinner rolls, and we both reach for one. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”
“Thank you.”
There’s an awkward silence as we butter our rolls. We steal glances as we chew and smile nervously as we drink our waters. This describes every date I’ve ever been on. Awkward. Shy. Not knowing what to say. I suck at conversation with the opposite sex. I suck at witty humor and in-depth answers about who I am and what I like to do. I’m fine talking over the phone. We’ve had the most amazing conversations these past two weeks. But now that the moment is here and we’re face-to-face, I’ve got nothing.