“I’m with…Bobby,” I manage to get out. “Who the hell is?—”
“I’mBobby. Where are you?”
My face skews in utter confusion as I pull my phone away from my ear to look at the screen.
It saysBobby.
But Bobby is currently still within my line of sight.
Putting the phone back to my ear, I mutter in a daze, “I don’t know who this is, but I’m with Bobby. Don’t call me?—”
“I’m Bobby, Meirna, geezus fuckin’ Christ. I’m yourfiancé. You’re with the wrong guy.”
My eyes deadbolt with Bobby’s, already watching me—like always—and I don’t get the joke. “What are you talking about? I’m looking at him.”
Bobby pushes himself to his feet, closing the distance between us in two steps, but not before the voice—the familiar voice that I’ve known for two years says, “You’re with Bronte. My twin brother.”
Chapter 8
Meirna
My cell phone is plucked from my fingers before I can manage another confused response.
“I’m Bobby, Meirna, geezus fuckin’ Christ. I’m your fiancé. You’re with the wrong guy.”
I can’t fully explain what’s going through my headspace right now. All I know is that I’m looking at Bobby.
That I’mwithBobby.
That the man who planned an intimate wedding and is taking me on my dream vacation isBobby.
ImarriedBobby.
“We on our no-phones rule now?” Bobby inquires, shoving mine in the back pocket of his dress slacks.
He never takes my phone away from me.
I was just in mid-conversation with someone.
“Bobby,” I start, using the pads of my fingers to rub at one of my temples. “There was a man on the phone who just said?—”
“I’m Bronte, Daydream,” he says matter-of-factly, retrieving the sandwich he just obtained from me off one of the small tables. “We can stop with the bullshit now.”
What?
I know I’m gaping at him when he hands me my lunch, but I don’t make a move to take it.
Bronte?
Who the hell is Bronte?
“Since when did you get funny?” I prompt with the plate still hovering in the air. “I know you liked to mess around, but making up marrying fake people?Onmy way to my honeymoon?” I shake my head. “You’re a riot.”
He really must need the outlet.
Except, I can’t get it to stop repeating in my head.
“You’re with Bronte. My twin brother.”
