The Don's Fake Bride

MELANY Two million dollars. I would laugh it off as a joke if I wasn’t staring at the papers I found in the mail this morning. No matter how long I glower at the words, my mind can’t process them fast enough. Sued. A fortune if I want to settle out of court. I don’t even know if that’s the legal procedure. Shouldn’t we discuss settlement in the presence of our lawyers? But again, I don’t know a thing about legal mumbo jumbo, seeing as I’ve been lucky enough to stay out of trouble. Until that damned article. Just this morning, I went to work at Lite Media, one of the most influential news conglomerates in the city, sat behind a mahogany desk with a gold-plated deck that says Melany Gibson, Senior Newswriter—a superficial title. Putting me in that office was merely a way of my boss to keep me in check while slotting his barely out of college niece into what should have been my position. But now, it means absolutely nothing. My name is being plastered all over social media and news websites as the journalist getting sued for defamation. Oh, and I’m jobless now. Lite media doesn’t want to risk the stain on their name. Jacob, my shitty boss and the man who insisted I had to make a heart-stopping headline, threw me under the bus after the fact, leaving me to deal with the consequences on my own. In hindsight, I should have quit the moment my promotion was given to the airhead who doesn’t deserve it. Well, wallowing isn’t making the papers disappear, so I flip through them, part of me thinking it’s nothing but a bad prank. This is what I get for going after a millionaire athlete. Lorenzo Morgan, the world-famous basketballer, is after my neck because I almost ruined his marriage when I made it public news that he was cheating on his wife. Spoiler alert: He is. With enough supermodels to form a Victoria’s Secret lineup, not to mention some of his wife’s closest friends. However, not everything needs to be yapped about—a lesson I should have learned before I was slapped with a defamation lawsuit. Is it even defamation if what I wrote is true, though? Turns out, the bump in his marriage is merely a blip in his radar compared to the commercial deals he lost, hence the suit. Or maybe this is all a way to soothe his wounded ego. Ugh. Cheating scumbags are the worst. ____ Half an hour later, I’m sitting in a dingy café on the other side of town, because I don’t want to deal with the pity stares in places I’ve frequented over the months. I don’t think it’s helping, and neither is my hooded sweatshirt. Tamia, the best lawyer I could afford after scouring my savings account, draws enough attention for the both of us. With her perfect, shoulder-length blonde waves and red lipstick that costs more than a month of my salary, she sticks out like a sparkling diamond in a bag of pebbles. When she raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, I know she doesn’t have any good news. “What now?” I ask, dreading the answer even before she opens her mouth. “A witness, and more evidence.” “Against me?” I ask, pointing a finger at my nose in disbelief, even though I should be used to my luck by now. Of course the world isn’t done crumbling down yet. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Tamia keeps her voice even, but the tiny tick in her brow gives away her displeasure. I’ve heard of her perfect track record. She’s a shark in the court room, and hasn’t ever lost a case in the five years she’s been practicing. People have dropped mega lawsuits as soon as they heard she would be representing the other side. She sure as hell doesn’t want this to be the first stain on her name. But hey, I’m the one with the most to lose if things keep going south. I force a smile. “No. I found a scoop, reported it. End of story.” A rush of air leaves her mouth. “Ashley Parkins is going to testify.” Mrs. Morgan’s best friend, and one of Lorenzo’s mistresses. I don’t know what she’s going to say. That the picture of her on her knees before Lorenzo isn’t real? Or that it’s a stroke of luck that her ‘business trips’ just happen to coincide with Lorenzo’s away games? I know more than they think and have proof of it, but it will be tossed out under claims of breech of privacy. Actually, I’m a little surprised that’s not what Lorenzo is suing me for. Lucky me, he knows as well as I do that ‘defamation’ is his best shot at making all this seem like the ramblings of a journalist with a nosediving career. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Tamia says, gently rapping her fingernail on the edge of the table to get my attention. “We will go to trial.” “No!” My brain misfires at the last word, and I nearly jump out of my skin. She raises her left brow ever so slightly. “You don’t want to go to court, and Morgan will not relent. I take it you have the money, then?” “I…” I don’t know what to say. Two million? I can barely afford a two-buck cup of coffee. “She does now,” a female voice sing-songs behind me. The tiniest of gasps escapes Tamia’s mouth, her stoic expression cracking. It sends a chill down my spine as I turn and blink at the woman walking closer to me. I rub my eyes and blink again. I must have fallen asleep and gotten sucked into a dream. Or maybe, the restlessness is getting to me, making way for this bizarrely realistic hallucination. Loose curls frame the woman’s oval-shaped face, a few stray ones falling over her caramel eyes. When she smiles, I swallow a thick lump as this woman walks toward me, looking every bit like the one I see in the mirror every day. Minus the highlights in her hair, the French-tip nails with what could very well be real tiny diamonds at the base, and her outfit. She’s wearing a blue A-line dress with a black belt at her waist, accentuating her curves and bringing attention to the bag slung to the crook of her elbow. Definitely a limited edition designer bag that might cost more than Lorenzo Morgan’s settlement if he wins this suit. I blink a few times to screw my head on straight and focus on the most important thing. Who is this woman, and why do we look so alike? It’s almost eerie, staring at myself outside a mirror. Twin? I don’t think so. I’m an only child as far as I know. At least that’s what the news implied years ago. One baby swaddled in a pink blanket, left outside a fire station, not two. There’s always a chance the woman who gave birth to me left each baby in a different place for some reason, but this one looks like she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Said silver-spoon heiress sits next to me. Tamia, the ever-unfazed lawyer, scowls at me. “And now you have a twin? You said you didn’t have a family.” Her accusatory tone riles me up. I grit my teeth. “I don’t. I…” “Don’t be silly, sis.” The woman pipes up, wrapping her arm around my shoulder before smiling at Tamia. “Mel and I haven’t talked in years, but I heard what happened so here I am. No matter what we fought about years ago, we shared a womb, we can share our difficulties.” Woman, what the hell are you talking about? I haven't even processed the fact that she looks like me, and now she's speaking like we've known each other since conception? I would say she mistook me for her long-lost twin, but she used my nickname. What she believes could be my nickname, at least. No one calls me Mel. “This is our chance to reconnect. Don’t push me away, okay? It’s just money. I’ll help you.” The lies tumble out of her mouth with a perfection that makes me question what she wants and how long she’s been practicing this. I want to push her hand off me. For all I know, the tiniest scratch could have her parents—or bodyguards—coming for my life. I already have enough on my plate. Again, I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. “Listen,” the strange woman turns to my lawyer. “Could you give my sister and me a minute?” I want to say no. But part of me—the part that wants to keep lawyers and judges out of my business and be done with this melodrama—nods. Tamia gets up and leaves a crisp fifty dollar bill for our barely ten-dollar drinks. “You know where to find me if you need me.” As soon as she leaves, I turn to the bizarre woman and ask, “Who the hell are you?” I expect her to say she’s me from the future or some other fantasy-level crap like that, but all she says is, “The answer to both of your problems.”