Can't Help Falling (27 page)

“Don't be silly!” Allie tucked a stray piece of auburn hair behind her ear. “If she doesn't mind taking the couch tonight, she can have my bed tomorrow while I'm in Cambridge.”

“Thanks.
That would be great.” As much as Emelia loved her cousin, she wasn't offering to share her bed. She needed her personal space while she slept.

“What's she doing in London?” Allie asked the question as they exited the offices, Emelia locking the door behind her as the last staff member leaving for the weekend.

“No idea. She's a publicist. Mainly books and movies. Does a lot of jet-setting.” She should warn Allie what was coming at her. “She looks like Malibu Barbie and she plays on it, but she's one of the smartest people that I know. Any chance I can borrow your car to pick her up?”

Allie's face fell. “Oh, I'm sorry. It's in getting some work done. We were going to pick it up in the morning before dropping me at the station.”

“Of course. Sorry, slipped my mind. I'll call Lacey and give her an address and she can just catch a cab.”

“Well, if she's related to you, I'm sure I'll love her. I'm looking forward to learning all sorts of things about Emelia before Oxford.”

Allie said the words lightheartedly, but they had the force of a brick. Lacey knew all about Mia, and she had no idea of the lengths to which Emelia had gone to cover her tracks in Oxford. All it would take was one wrong sentence over the next two days and everything she had worked so hard to leave behind would be undone.

She had to get to her before Allie did.

B
y the time seven thirty rolled around, Emelia was almost hyperventilating. She was sure she'd also developed a nervous twitch, not that Allie appeared to have noticed.

“I think
I might grab a cab and go meet Lacey at the station. Just to make sure she doesn't get lost or anything.”

Lacey would have laughed in her face if she'd overheard. For a start, someone mute and blind could still manage to find a cab at the train station and hand over Allie's address. Secondly, her cousin had once driven in Italy without a map and knowing no Italian and successfully navigated to find their destination. But it was the best Emelia could come up with since Allie's car was out of commission.

“Okay. By the time you're back, the brownie will be done.” Allie didn't look remotely suspicious of Emelia's transparent ruse, which took some tension out of her shoulders. Her roommate added a handful of chocolate chunks to the mix, gave it a stir, and then started transferring the dark brown batter to a tin.

“Okay, great. I'll just give them a call now and get them to pick me up—” Emelia was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the door.

Emelia jammed her phone into her pocket, marched through the hall to the front door, prepared to tell whoever was selling or proselytizing on the other side she wasn't interested.

Unlocking the door, she pulled it open and promptly felt all the air leak from her lungs. There stood her cousin in all her blond, long-legged, trendy glory.

“Surprise!” Lacey flung her hands up in the air. “I caught an earlier train.”

Emelia just stared at her, openmouthed, no sound coming out.

“Are you going to let me in?” Lacey pushed the door open wider with a perfectly manicured finger as she spoke and hefted a small travel case behind her. Her slender legs were encased in black leather boots up to her knees. Emelia could tell with one
glance they probably cost more than she earned in a week. She closed the door behind Lacey with a thump.

“Is that your cousin?” Allie's voice came from the kitchen.

“Um, yes. She took an early train.” Emelia tried to force her voice to come out normally, but she obviously didn't manage entirely because Lacey quirked an inquiring eyebrow at her.

Her palms were damp. She wiped them down the front of her jeans. All it would take was one sentence from her cousin and the life she'd built here would be over. She swallowed, her mouth dry.

“Lace, that's Allie, my roommate.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “She doesn't know anything about Mia.”

Her cousin's brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm Emelia here. They don't know about what I used to do. Who I used to be. Any of it.”

Lacey's eyes boggled. “Are you telling me that you are working at Anita's charity and they have no idea who you are? Oh my gosh.”

She had like five seconds before Allie came looking for them. “I'll fill you in later.”

“What do they know?” Lacey whispered back.

“Um . . .” For a second, Emelia couldn't think of a single thing. “That I love Narnia.” It was the first thing that came to mind. Her cousin gave her an incredulous look.

“Hi!” Allie's voice came from behind them. “I'm Allie. Emelia's flatmate.” She approached the two of them, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

Lacey immediately pulled out her most charming smile. “Lacey, Emelia's cousin. So sorry to drop in on you unannounced like this. I was in London for work and tomorrow's
engagement was canceled so I couldn't miss the opportunity to come and see M— Emelia.”

Allie offered a friendly smile. “No worries. I'm afraid it will be the couch tonight, but I'm away tomorrow night so you're welcome to take my room. Come in, come in. I've just put a brownie in the oven.”

“Yes, come in.” Emelia realized that in her panic she was being rude. “Just leave your bag by the stairs if you want.” She watched as Lacey parked her travel case and then led her to the living area. She gestured toward the couch. “Grab a seat. Do you want something to drink?”

“I'm good. I've got some water.” Lacey grabbed a large bottle out of her purse, then leaned back and unzipped her boots. “Oh, that's so much better. Those shoes were not made for walking.”

“So, you're a publicist?” Allie finished setting the timer on the oven and came over to the couches with a mug.

“Yes. I'm just over pitching some follow-up stories from London Fashion Week for a couple of clients.” Lacey levered the boots off her feet using her toes.

“And which side are you cousins on? I'm very jealous. I only have male cousins and we're not particularly close. It wouldn't cross their mind to look me up if they were in the city, let alone the same country.”

Lacey's eyes widened toward Emelia.

Emelia jumped in. “Lacey's mom is my father's sister.”

She was saved from any further explanation by Allie's phone ringing. Allie glanced at the screen and her face softened. Jackson, apparently. “Excuse me for a few minutes. If the timer goes off, can you get the brownie out?”

Emelia almost sagged from relief. “Of course.” The brownie had at least another twenty minutes, so Allie was going to be away for a while. Enough time for Emelia to bring Lacey up to speed.

Allie was already halfway out of the room, phone to her ear. The door closed behind her.

“So, you're Emelia Mason and you love Narnia.” Lacey took a slug from her water bottle.

“What? I am and I do.”

Her cousin's gaze flicked over her jeans and cheap sweater. “And why are you dressed like a hobo?”

Emelia checked out her outfit. So it wasn't exactly the designer fare she used to wear, but it wasn't that bad. “I gave most of it away.”

Her cousin gagged, a trickle of water dribbling out of her mouth. “You did not.”

“I did.”

“Louis? Jimmy? Valentino? You kept some, right?” Her cousin said their names like they were orphaned children. Not handbags and shoes and gowns.

“Nope.” They were the second thing to go. After her job. After she'd quit—or been fired, depending on who was telling the story—and cleared out her desk, the next stop had been clearing out her wardrobe.

“Not the Birkin.” Her cousin's tone was almost begging.

“Yup.” That one had been the first to go. The beloved Birkin handbag had been her reward for a year where she'd broken scandals at a ridiculous pace. It was her loudest accuser when the pile of cards she'd constructed her life with came tumbling down.

“You sold them, right?
At least made some decent money.”

“I didn't. But hopefully Goodwill did.” Or not. She didn't actually care. Sometimes she liked to think they had no idea what she'd left on their doorstep in four huge trash bags. It made her smile to imagine a single mom struggling to make ends meet wandering around Walmart with a Birkin worth ten grand that she'd bought for five bucks.

Her cousin let out a strangled cry, then spent a few seconds breathing deeply, blond head in her hands. No doubt trying to find her Zen, or center her chakras, or whatever was the latest fad in such things.

Eventually Lacey lifted her head. “So, you're dressed like you shop at Target and your new friends know nothing about Mia Caldwell. Nothing about your life before you got here. That's how you got the charity job. By hiding your entire past.”

Emelia let the first part of her comment slide. “No. And only little bits and pieces.”

“I get wanting distance from everything that happened, Meels.” Her cousin switched to her childhood nickname. “But divorcing yourself completely? That seems a bit unnecessary. And, dare I say, unhealthy. Not to mention it has the potential to blow back on you so bad if someone discovers the truth.”

She had to make her cousin understand. Get through how critical it was that Lacey didn't blow this for her. “It was totally necessary. They wouldn't have hired me if they knew. And I need to do this, I need to try and make something right. It's only for a few more months. I'm not Mia anymore. I don't want to be related to her. If I could wipe my brain of her existence
entirely, I would. She's finished. Over.” She didn't even try to keep the desperation out of her voice.

Her cousin contemplated her with a troubled gaze. “You can't just delete years of your life.”

“Maybe not. But I sure can try.”

P
ETER STARED AT HIS PHONE
as he pulled up in front of Allie and Emelia's house. The text had just arrived a few seconds earlier.

Surprise visit from cousin. She's coming with. Try not to ogle.

What on earth was that supposed to mean?

Jogging up the front path, he rapped on the door. Within a few seconds, he heard footsteps and the door was thrown open.

He held up his phone. “Wh—” The words froze in his mouth as he realized it wasn't Emelia standing in front of him but a tall, willowy blonde. A very attractive one.

She peered at his screen. “ ‘Try not to ogle.' Oh, isn't she classy.” She thrust out a hand. “You must be Peter. I'm Lacey. Said cousin and gatecrasher. I would say I've heard all about you, but I'll be honest, all I know is that you and she are involved in planning this high-society ball.”

Peter managed to find his voice. “Peter Carlisle. And that pretty much covers all the basics.”

Lacey studied him. “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“I used to do some rowing.” Just saying it felt like something jammed in his throat.

“Hmmmm.” She appeared unconvinced. “Maybe.”

Well, she certainly couldn't be mistaking him for Victor and his paparazzi-attention-seeking ways. One of the many benefits of looking nothing like his brother.

“I wish I could say I know more about you too, but, honestly . . .” He pocketed the incriminating screen. “That message is all I've got.” It reinforced how little he knew about Emelia's background. Had she ever mentioned a cousin before?

“So, what's the plan for the day?” Lacey asked just as Emelia appeared at the top of the stairs.

“We're heading to my family's estate to take some measurements for some of the fit-out for the ball. We're planning to hold it there.”

Lacey raised an eyebrow. “Gosh, that sounds very fancy. Are you like a duke or something?”

Might as well tell her. It would be obvious as soon as they got to the house anyway. “I'm not. But my—”

“Okay, we're good. Let's go.” His sentence was cut off by Emelia, who was almost tripping down the stairs in her haste to get to the bottom. Tension radiated off her whole body, a sharp contrast to Lacey's relaxed demeanor. Odd. And he wasn't the only one who noticed. Lacey gave Emelia a scrutinizing look as she picked up a bottle of water from the hall table.

Emelia didn't seem to notice as she picked her bag up off the floor and pulled some keys out. They all stepped outside as Emelia closed the door.

Lacey turned to him. “Did you say your surname is Carlisle?”

“I did.” Was it his imagination or did Emelia freeze for a second mid–key turn?

“Not related to Victor Carlisle at all?”

Peter tensed. “He's my brother.”

Something crossed Lacey's face. Like pieces of a jigsaw were falling into place.
Don't tell me she somehow had the misfortune to meet Victor when he was in the States last year.

“Do you know him?” If she was another of Victor's conquests, what could he do? Take her back to the estate? Introduce her to the parents of the guy who'd no doubt gotten whatever he wanted and then tossed her aside like a toy?

Lacey fiddled with the lid of her water bottle before raising her chin. “Not personally, no. So, Anita Van Rees was your cousin?”

Anita's name appearing out of nowhere took him by as much surprise as if she'd suddenly punched him. Maybe more. “She was.”

Sympathy shadowed Lacey's eyes. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Anita had great potential.”

“Did you know her?” It felt like his feet were glued to the porch. He couldn't have moved if he tried.

“I'm a publicist. Our paths crossed a few times back in the US. Charity events, things like that.” Lacey looked at Emelia. “You never mentioned you were working with Anita's cousin on this ball.”