Chapter 2Her Lookalike Lover My Secret Daughter

Brooke leaped to her feet, practically vibrating with forced cheer. "Okay, wow! Let's... let's keep playing! Come on, guys, it's rare we all get together. Let's not kill the vibe!"

She grabbed an empty vodka bottle from the table, rolling it between her palms. "Next round! Nobody be a buzzkill!"

She spun the bottle. It clattered against the glass table, slowing down until the neck pointed dead center at Cameron.

"Truth or dare?" Brooke asked, breathless.

Cameron glanced at Valerie, then shot a hesitant look at me. He bit his lower lip. "Dare."

Brooke pulled a slip of paper from the bowl. She cleared her throat.

"Share a chocolate pretzel stick with someone of the opposite sex. You have to eat it until your lips are less than half an inch apart!"

The booth erupted into immediate, rowdy cheering.

Cameron’s face flushed a deep, becoming red. He turned to Valerie, his eyes swimming with a perfectly calculated mix of helplessness and quiet anticipation.

Valerie, however, was still staring at me. Unblinking.

I broke eye contact, picked up my glass of club soda, and took a slow sip.

Three, maybe four seconds ticked by. Then, I heard Valerie let out an irritated, dismissive click of her tongue.

A plastic wrapper tore open.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her place one end of a chocolate-coated stick between her teeth. She turned her body, leaning heavily into Cameron’s space.

The catcalls and whistles from their friends grew louder.

I set my glass down. My eyes traced the shrinking distance between them.

Valerie held the biscuit in her mouth, leaning further in. Cameron's face was flushed, his head tilted back slightly, his eyelashes fluttering like a baby bird waiting to be fed.

The stick got shorter. And shorter.

When they reached that final half-inch, Valerie didn't stop.

Cameron let out a soft, muffled gasp as her mouth crushed against his.

The VIP room went absolutely feral. People were clapping, howling, and Brooke even whipped out her iPhone to start recording.

"Holy shit, Val is going for it!"

"Look at Cam, he's melting!"

"It's been almost a minute, damn!"

I sat there, watching their performance with the detached clinical interest of an outsider.

Valerie’s hand slid to the back of Cameron’s neck, pulling him deeper into her. Cameron melted against her, his fingers bunching the fabric of her silk blouse like it was a life preserver in a stormy sea.

One minute and three seconds.

I picked up the highball glass in front of me and stood up.

Nobody noticed. All their attention was glued to the center of the booth, where the two of them were completely lost in each other.

I stepped around the low table and walked right up to them.

Cameron opened his eyes first. His pupils dilated in sheer panic.

Before he could even flinch, I threw the entire glass of ice water directly into his face.

"Ah—!"

The freezing liquid splashed over his delicate features, ice cubes bouncing off his cheekbones, water plastering his perfectly styled hair to his forehead.

Valerie shoved him away instantly. Water dripped from her chin, a massive dark stain spreading across the front of her expensive silk blouse.

The screaming in the booth stopped. Complete, suffocating silence.

Cameron curled into Valerie’s side, trembling violently. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes. He looked incredibly pathetic. He bit his lip, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn't dare say a word.

Valerie looked up at me.

The strange thing was, there was no rage in her eyes. Instead, there was a twisted sense of relief.

"Valerie," I said, my voice sounding completely steady, almost foreign to my own ears. "We’re getting a divorce."

I turned on my heel and walked toward the door.

"Nate, wait!"

Brooke was the first to scramble up, throwing herself in my path. The rest of the group stood up in a panicked wave.

"Nate, don't do this," Brooke pleaded, holding her arms out. "It's just a stupid game! Val's had too much to drink, please don't take it seriously!"

"Yeah, come on, man," one of the guys chimed in. "We're all friends here. People get a little wild, it's normal. You storming out just makes you look insecure."

"Exactly. It's just Cam. We've known him forever. It's not like he's a stranger."

I looked at Brooke and smiled. "I hope, when you get married, your husband finds a female friend he can aggressively make out with in public."

Brooke froze, the color draining from her face.

"And the rest of you," I said, sweeping my gaze over the room. "I wish you all partners who have a 'best friend' they can just passionately kiss during party games. You deserve exactly what you're defending."

The smug expressions in the room evaporated.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Nathan?" one of them snapped. "Brooke is trying to help your marriage and you're cursing us?"

I didn't bother replying. I pushed Brooke’s arm aside and walked out the door.

Rapid footsteps echoed behind me.

"Nathan!"

Valerie’s hand clamped down on my wrist. Her grip was brutal, her nails digging into my skin.

She yanked me around. In the dim, moody lighting of the club hallway, half her face was cast in shadow, making her expression unreadable.

"Let go of me, Val," I said.

She didn't.

"Nathan," she said, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. "I am going to ask you one last time. The kid. Is it real?"

I was exhausted. Bone-deep tired.

Was I speaking a different language, or were they all just incapable of basic comprehension?

"She is real. I can show you the DNA test whenever you want," I cut in.

Valerie let out a bitter, jagged laugh. "People fake DNA tests all the time."

Looking at her, a strange sense of dark amusement washed over me.

Six years of marriage, and in her eyes, I was still just a man desperate enough to invent a secret child to make her jealous. To provoke her. To beg for her attention.

"Believe whatever you want," I said, wrenching my arm out of her grasp. "We're getting a divorce either way."

This time, she didn't follow me.

As the elevator doors slid shut, the last thing I saw was Valerie standing alone in the dark hallway, one hand buried in her damp hair, pulling at the roots.

The elevator descended.

I leaned my head against the cool metal wall, my mind drifting back to our wedding day, six years ago.

When we exchanged vows, Valerie had held my hands, her eyes bright with tears, promising she would protect my heart for the rest of our lives.

Sitting in the front row, my father-in-law had been weeping like a baby. Later at the reception, Arthur had pulled me aside, gripping my shoulder. Nate, son, he’d said, if my Valerie ever breaks your heart, you tell me. I’ll break her legs.

Back then, I really believed I was marrying for love.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was Arthur.

I stared at the caller ID for several long seconds before swiping to answer.

"Nate, my boy," Arthur’s warm, gravelly voice echoed through the speaker. "It's the weekend tomorrow. You and Val coming over for dinner? I’m slow-roasting a brisket, and I picked up that maple pecan pie from the bakery you love."

I closed my eyes, the cold elevator wall grounding me.

"Arthur," I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I have some things to take care of tomorrow. I don't think I can make it."

"Sunday, then? You can't be busy the whole weekend!"

"I have plans Sunday, too."

"Nate..." Arthur’s voice dropped, turning cautious. "Did you and Val have a fight?"

I didn't answer.

The elevator reached the lobby with a soft ding, the doors sliding open to the chaotic noise of the street.

"No, Arthur," I said, walking out into the night. "Work is just really crazy right now."

There was a long stretch of static on the line before Arthur let out a heavy sigh.

"Nate, listen to me. I know my girl can be reckless sometimes, but she loves you. She really does. Whatever it is, talk it out. Don't let it fester."

The night breeze hit my face, sharp and cold.

"Arthur," I interrupted him gently. "I really have to go. Goodnight."

I hung up before he could say another word.

Standing on the curb, I watched the blur of headlights rushing past.

My phone vibrated again.

A voice message on iMessage from Mia’s teacher.

I held the phone to my ear. A sweet, high-pitched voice flooded the speaker. "Daddy! Are you coming to the parent-teacher thing tomorrow? My teacher said we could bring our paintings, and I painted you!"

I listened to it twice.

Then I typed back: I'll be there.