Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Bronwyn?
I open the door, and she stares for a minute at me in Declan’s shirt.
“What? It’s just a T-shirt. You act like you’ve never seen me in an oversized tee.”
“Right,” she says with an eye roll. “You have got to see this.”
I walk over to the couch. Does she see the little belly I’m sporting under the oversized tee? I hope not.
“Okay, come on, show me what you’ve got. You told me you suspected something was off with her socials, right? You’ve been stalking her since you found out Declan was engaged.”
I nod, shameless. “Well, take a look at this,” Bronwyn says, pulling out a veritable spreadsheet that would make any stalker proud: pictures, socials, everything.
“I am so proud right now.”
Bronwyn beams. “Take a look at this right here.” She pulls out a picture of a woman at the beach. “This is Valentina, right? What do you notice about her?”
“She’s beautiful and Italian and has excellent genes but questionable taste in bikinis,” I say with a frown.
“She has a cowlick,” Bronwyn says as she zooms in and shows me something. “Look, right there.”
“For crying out loud, Bronwyn, who cares if she has a cowlick? I guess her mother didn’t train her hair when she was a baby or something.”
“I didn’t even know that was a thing, but whatever, that’s not what I’m talking about, Bridget. You can’t just get rid of a cowlick. It’s something that’s there no matter what you do.”
“Are you serious? Okay, so what’s the purpose of this conversation?”
“Take a look at this.” She shows me a picture from the engagement party.
Declan and Valentina are very far away. Every single picture she posed for, she made sure that she was far away from the camera.
“She said she liked full-body pictures, no close-ups, remember? And look. No cowlick.” I squint. I can’t really see anything.
“There’s no cowlick, but there’s more,” Bronwyn says, and she points out more details.
“Look. One eye is a tiny bit lower than the other, and like… her ears sit differently.”
“Hmm. Strange.”
“We need to invite her out somewhere, just you and me. We need to talk to her alone.”
“Oh no. I am not doing that.” I shake my head. Bronwyn doesn’t know the truth yet, and if she did…
“Look, I don’t care what we do, but we have to see her up close.”
“Listen, here’s the thing. People present themselves on social media as these models, but in real life, they’re not. Filters and all that.”
“Well, that’s just the thing. What are the chances that the real-life Valentina is actually more attractive than the online version?”
Unlikely.
“The face doesn’t quite match, and now this account’s gone quiet. She has the little blue checkmark, verified.” Bronwyn pulls up her phone, taps on the socials, and it pops right up. “Look at this.”
I squint at the phone. “What’s that, a tag or something?”
“Yes. Her friend tagged her.” She gives me a knowing look.
“I don’t understand the significance of your look right now.”
“In Bali. Yesterday.” It probably slipped through the radar of whoever is running this.
“Well, she’s not in Bali; she’s here. That’s my point.”
“That woman,” Bronwyn says, pointing in the vague direction of Ballyhock, “the one who’s supposedly marrying Declan.” She looks at me. “That’s not the real Valentina.”
“What?”
“Will you believe me now? We have to prove it, and I think we need to get Erin involved.”
I nod. I think so too. Then we’d be dealing with the exact science of research, and there’s no one better for the job.
“Right, then, I’m going home.”
“We need to bring this to Cavin,” I say.
Bronwyn shakes her head. “Look, I tried. He said it's”—she pauses to make air quotes—“confirmation bias. That we don't like her, so we're looking for reasons.” She pauses. “He's not wrong that we don't like her. But he's wrong about the rest of it.”
She's right, and nobody's going to believe us until we have something they can't dismiss. Which means we need more. “Mam is a bit out of it since Da went to the hospital, and I want to make sure she’s eating and going to bed and such.”
“How is he?”
“Better,” she says with a smile. “Thanks to you.”
She gives me a huge hug before shutting the door.
“Hey,” I whisper at the closed door after she leaves. “I’m pregnant, Auntie Bronwyn.”
I collapse on the bed, my eyes heavy.
When my phone buzzes with a text, I look at it with one lazy eye, thinking it’ll probably be him, offering me another crumb when I want the whole goddamn meal.
But it’s not him. It’s Erin.
Erin: I have something to tell you. Tomorrow, at the McCarthys?
Chapter Thirty
DECLAN
I hear Cavin's car on the gravel before I see it, and it's not a good sign. Cavin didn't call ahead. He didn't text. It's one of those things I've always privately found a little funny about him, the way he always checks in. But this time, the absence of a call means the courtesy has run out.