Page 63 of Masquerade

He rolled his shoulders and took another sip of his now warm beer. Setting it aside, he returned to the computer to dig further back in time.

The twins were at their parents’ side in the next set of photos, and his gaze narrowed in on Kate. Even as adolescents, they’d cultivated tiny differences in appearance. Anna’s hair was streaked a lurid purple, although their clothes were similar and fashionable. Cameras were kind to them, and photojournalists sought them out at events. He found a new cache of archival photos and scrolled back and forth between shots.

Kate didn’t want to be there. Not in any of the shots. Like a deer caught in headlights. She didn’t like being the centre of attention. Didn’t like being in the orbit of people who were the centre of attention. There were shots where the sisters were older, where they’d deliberately sabotaged the photos. A raised drink or arm to block a shot, one twin turning to the other. Was their avoidance driven by desperation after the incident with the overzealous paparazzi? Or had they been ambushed once too often about their father’s philandering and their “happy family life”?

She wasn’t shy. He’d seen her mix easily with strangers in the last few days. People gravitated to her, sensing she was genuinely interested in them and their lives. She wasn’t intimidated by power or money. Although she’d closed in on herself, like a flower furling its petals, at the first meeting with his colleagues at Clelland’s. She chose to withdraw.

A new tranche of photos appeared on the screen. Kate—taken a few years ago, her hair shoulder length and slightly tumbled, her eyes alight with humour. No glasses, no shapeless, colourless skirts and sweaters, and they provided a different answer to her need for a bolthole, possibly even to explain her presence on the billboard.

* * *

Closing the front door, Kate rested her back against it. “Oh! Grow a backbone!”

“It’s part of the standard human model, honey.” Anna leaned against the doorjamb from the living room into the hall. “Unlike the optional extras, such as brains or the ability to sing or play league baseball.”

“I didn’t get those either.”

“The Ms. Grumpy Turner look is becoming clearer to me”—Anna intoned, gazing dreamily towards the ceiling—“flaming red hair, jet-black eyes and matching nail polish.”

“Jet-black eyes are a myth.” Kate dumped her bag at her bedroom door and continued down the hall.

“Grumpy.” Anna pushed off the doorjamb. “I thought you’d stop overnight at the cottage.”

“Why?”

“Ummm. Because there’s storm and tempest, Maybelline, and the roads are dangerous.” Anna pointed a finger at her. “You’re falling for him!”

“I’m not.” Kate grabbed a small towel from the linen press in the hall and started rubbing her damp hair. “What if I am? It’s not one of the seven deadly sins.”

“If you check your facts, you’ll find that a fourth century Egyptian monk called lust a sin.” For a desperate period in their teens, Anna had experimented with deadly sins.

“I told Liam I didn’t have the key.” Kate walked past her sister to flop onto the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Lying is definitely a sin and explains your grumpiness. You are not a good liar. A missing key is a pathetic excuse.” Anna dropped beside her. “The Quinn boys lived in the country as kids. I bet he didn’t believe you. It’s also not worthy of your creative skills.”

“He understood I don’t invite visitors there.” Kate understood she’d offended him.

“Now you’re sounding weird. What were you saying?” Anna probed with forensic skill.

“Ibarelyknow him.” Kate was sounding weird even to herself.

“I’m assuming you’re not talking in the biblical sense here.”

“How do you do that?” Kate’s hands fisted in her hair. “Mum never knew, but you always knew if I’d so much as kissed a boy.”

“It’s a twin thing.” Her sister nudged her shoulder. “Only, this time I was fishing.”

“As soon as I opened the door he’d know everything. The bookshelves are packed with my romance library—novels and books on craft. My desk is littered with drafts. I left the sample jacket posters for my first book spread out on the kitchen table.” Her excuses were worse than pathetic. He bought romance, he read romance and his voice had been whiskey-warm and wicked when he’d read excerpts from Robert’sThe Searchto her in bed.

“You’ve done the horizontal tango, and he doesn’t know you write romance?” Anna gave a long, low whistle. “A one-night stand is not in your DNA, sister. Neither is keeping secrets if you want more than a furtive affair.”

“I need to know him better.” Although that was a cowardly cop-out.

“Sounds like you got to know a lot in the last five days.”

“He gave me a pass key to his apartment.” An act of monumental trust after Selina’s betrayal; after Kate’s refusal to stop at the cottage.

Anna’s eyebrows lifted into her fringe. “Looks like he’s prepared to share more than you are.”

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