“Not to be all cliché and husbandy and hassle you about being late”—there’s a pause and I can practically see Ethan frowning down at his watch from the other side of the door—“but it’s almost six.”
“I know.” I manage to keep the shouted version of my reply contained to the inside of my head. After Ethan agreed to dinner, I sprinted to the bedroom to try on every article of clothing I brought with me, before texting my sister and Diego in a panic. The room is a disaster, and I’m not sure I’m any more ready to do this now than I was an hour ago. I am a mess.
Ethan’s voice carries through the door again, closer this time. “ ‘I know’ as in I’m almost ready, or ‘I know’ as in I know how to tell time, kindly fuck off?”
Both, if we’re being honest. “The first.”
Ethan knocks. “Okay if I come in my room?”
My room. I open the door and let him in, feeling delighted by the mess I’m leaving behind me.
Ethan steps in. He’s about to meet my boss and spend the next few hours lying his face off, and he’s in black jeans and a Surly Brewery T-shirt. He looks like he’s going out to dinner at Chili’s, not having dinner with the wife’s new boss. His calm exterior only amplifies my panic because of course he’s not worried; he has nothing to lose. The dread in my stomach blooms. Ethan has this, I absolutely do not.
He looks around the room and runs an aggravated hand through his hair. Of course it manages to fall perfectly back into place. “All of this was in one suitcase?”
“I am totally out of my depth here.”
“That’s been my general impression so far. Be more specific.”
I drop onto the bed, kicking aside a hot pink bra and groaning when it snags on the heel of my shoe. “Whenever I tell lies, I get caught. I once told my professor I had to miss class to take care of my sick roommate, and he looked up right as my roommate walked past us in the hallway. He knew her from his Tuesday/Thursday lecture.”
“Your mistake was in going to class at all. Just send an email like a normal liar.”
“Or there was the one time in high school I had my cousin Miguel call in sick for me and pretend to be my dad, but the office called my mom to confirm because my dad had never called in before.”
“Well, that was just poor planning on your part. How is any of this relevant right now?”
“It’s relevant because I’m trying to look like a wife, and have been researching how to lie.”
Reaching for my leg, Ethan wraps a warm palm around my calf and plucks the bra from my shoe. “Okay. Does a wife have a specific look?”
I snatch the lingerie from where it now dangles on the end of his finger. “I don’t know, like Ami?”
His deep laugh echoes through the room. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“Hey. We’re twins.”
“This isn’t about looks,” he says, and the mattress sinks under his weight as he takes a seat at my side. “Ami has this indescribable confidence. It’s how she carries herself. Like no matter what happens, she’s got her shit together enough for the both of you.”
I’m conflicted between being proud of my sister—because, yeah, she does make people feel that way—and vainly curious about what he thinks of me. Vanity and the confrontational side of me that rears its head around Ethan win out. “What impression do I give?”
He looks at my phone, and I’m sure he sees the words How to lie convincingly in the search bar. With a laugh, he shakes his head. “Like you should put your head between your legs and pray.”
I’m about to push him off the bed when he stands, looks meaningfully down at his watch and then back up at me.
Passive-aggressive hint noted. Standing, I give a final look in the mirror and reach for my purse. “Let’s get this over with.”
• • •
AS WE MAKE OUR WAY to the elevator, I’m reminded of the supreme imbalance of the universe; even in unflattering overhead light, Ethan still manages to look good. Somehow the shadows sharpen his features rather than unattractively exaggerating them. Standing in front of the mirrored doors, I note the result is not the same for me.
As if reading my mind, Ethan bumps his hip into mine. “Stop it. You look