something wrong. But I don’t see what I could do—or not do—that wouldn’t come back to me.”
While waiting for the pizza to arrive, we tossed around a few ideas. I continued to massage her feet, and she continued to look at me like I’d hung the moon. If I’d only known that a foot rub had this kind of effect on her, then I would’ve purposely lost the bet. This was way better than watching her squirm while finding excuses not to touch my feet.
“Please don’t be mad at me, but I’m not really in the mood for pizza anymore.” The way she regarded me with a furrowed brow and pleading eyes made her look like a child scared of getting in trouble for spilling juice on the carpet. It made me laugh.
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because the only reason you ordered it was because I asked you to.”
“So? It’s just pizza, not a diamond ring.” As soon as I said that, I couldn’t help but glance down at the rock on her left hand. She’d briefly explained it before, shortly after I had discovered the truth about who she was. It was a replica of the one Adam had given her sister when he proposed, which had been made specifically for her since Tiffany refused to let her wear the real one.
Tasha must’ve caught me staring, or maybe she noticed a subconscious thought written across my face, because she quickly flashed the cubic zirconia in front of me and laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that pizza cost more than this piece of plastic.”
“Is that really the same size as Tiffany’s?”
She flattened her hand on her thigh and regarded the shiny stone. “I honestly have no idea; I’ve never seen it in real life, but based on what it looks like in pictures, I’d say so. Not to mention, I doubt they would’ve gotten an imitation ring that didn’t look identical to the original, much like the imitation Tiffany.”
I swept the pad of my thumb over her cheekbone and followed it around her ear, brushing her hair away from her face. “I think you got that a bit backwards, babe. More like you’re the original, and she’s the fraud.”
“No need to go that far, babe. I never said I was a fraud,” she teased, likely trying to avoid the compliment. She didn’t seem to take them very well, always dodging them without making it obvious that’s what she was doing. “Either way, Tiff was born first, so technically, she would be the original.”
“How does that work exactly? Keeping identical twin babies separate, I mean,” I asked right before taking a bite of pizza. Just because she didn’t want it anymore didn’t mean I’d let it go to waste.
“I asked my mom that when I was a kid. She said that we had hospital bands on our ankles that had our names on them. After that, we either wore different clothes to tell us apart, or we were separated—like not in the same crib, not changed at the same time, that sort of thing.”
As if blindly following my lead, she grabbed a slice from the box. But then she picked off the pepperoni, which confused me considering she was the one who requested it to begin with, but rather than ask about it, I wanted to finish the conversation we were in the middle of. “So you two were never dressed in the same outfits? I thought that was a tradition for twins.”
“Oh, I’m sure we did. My parents have one photo of the four of us when Tiff and I were only a couple months old. She and I were in the same clothes, and our parents wore colors that matched us. And I remember when we were little, maybe five or so, Mom always dressed us alike. She said people always got us matching dresses for gifts.”
“It just seems to me that it’d be hard to tell you guys apart.”
“Well, when we got older, we obviously knew our names, so when someone would call us by the other, we’d correct them. Except if Tiff was mad at me, then she wouldn’t correct them. Instead, she’d act like a total brat and get me in even more trouble. Really, it’s astounding how many times I’d hear, ‘I didn’t tell you that you could get out of your room,’ when I was never told to be in there in the first place.”
“Okay, but before you could recognize your name…you have