Page 60 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
It’s the most sincere expression of appreciation I’ve gotten all week, and I can’t help but get a little misty-eyed. I blink furiously before Dad or Susan grow suspicious again.
Keeping them in the dark is going to be impossible. We areterribleat this. I’m too much like myself for them to keep believing I’m Ginny. And Ginny is just too much, period.
Why haven’t they figured it out yet? Especially Dad. I always thought I was his favorite. When I was a little girl and I’d spend hours tucked into the corner of his office witha book, he sometimes called me his mini me. How is it possible that he no longer knows who I am?
Is this what it was like with Adam? Did he see me at all, or did he simply prefer my twin? I’m not sure which option is less excruciating.
There’s a knock at the door, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I know I should be glad that our ruse has gone undiscovered, but I can’t help but feel a little unsettled. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m right here. And my own father doesn’t even see me.
“Who could that be?” Ginny tenses, poised to run and hide in case the person responsible for the knock is somehow related to the Miss American Treasure pageant.
I almost hope it’s the pageant director herself, just because I’d love to hear my sister explain to our parents why she needs to cower behind the shower curtain.
“I have no idea. Let me check.” I push myself off the bed and head for the door. Buttercup rouses from her sleep and trots after me.
Ginny’s not sticking around. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
She dashes out of sight while Dad and Susan linger, oblivious to the drama unfolding around them.
Why does it feel like things are getting crazier by the minute around here?
Probably because they are.
I open the door a crack. To my extreme delight, the person standing on our threshold doesn’t have a thing to do with the pageant. It’s a room service waiter, and he’s holding a fancy looking bottle of champagne. Veuve Clicquot, with a sleek orange label.
“Ginny Gorman?” he says.
“Um...” Who am I again? I swear I’m beginning to lose track. “Yes, that’s me.”
“This is for you.” He hands me the bottle, along with a small white envelope. “Special delivery.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you.” At this particular moment in time, alcohol seems like either a fantastic idea or a really terrible one. Either way, I definitely plan on indulging. I’lltake my chances.
“How many glasses do you require?”
I hold up four fingers with my free hand. “Four, please.”
“Let me get that for you, sweetheart.” My dad takes the bottle and hands me a few dollars to tip the waiter.
I trade the bills for four slender champagne flutes. Buttercup watches the transaction with rapt interest.
“Thank you, again,” I say.
“My pleasure. Enjoy.” The waiter glances at my tiara, smiles, and then disappears down the hall.
I shut the door, then swing around to face my parents. “Wow, champagne. Thanks so much, y’all.”
Dad and Susan exchange a glance.
“It’s not from us,” Susan says.
“Oh.” I shrug. “It must be a gift from the pageant for winning the talent competition.”
Ginny emerges from the bathroom, slinking among us like a cat burglar. She should really work on her subtlety since she’s so keen on living a double life.
“It was room service,” I say, just as Dad pops the cork.
Ginny gives a little start at the noise.
