The Twin Switch

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About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

One (#ufe167c1a-bd62-5db8-9ab3-1a7ee14f31cf)

If I could choose my own sister, it would be Brooklyn.

She made me laugh.

Better still, she made me think. And when things went bad, which they often did, she’d lie down beside me on my blue silk comforter and listen for hours. She knew when the fix was ice cream and when it was tequila.

She was smart, too. She got straight A’s right from elementary school.

Me, I was more of a B-plus person. But I was a pretty good listener. And I could twist a mean French braid, which Brooklyn liked.

She had long blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. She tanned, too. We both tanned.

Since we were little kids, we’d spent our summers at the beach on Lake Washington. First it was the swings and the jungle gym. A little older, we’d race to the floater in the middle of the swimming area, dive off, then dry on our towels in the sun. Older still, we hung out at the snack bar, batting our lashes at cute boys and getting them to buy us milkshakes.

I didn’t get to choose my own sister. But it was happening, anyway.

In just two weeks, Brooklyn was marrying my big brother, James.

“I can see the Golden Gate Bridge,” Sophie Crush said from the front seat of the cab.

I was in the middle of the back seat squished between Brooklyn and Nat Remington. That’s what happened when you insisted on taking a hybrid from the airport.

“Do you think we’ll have views from our rooms?” Nat asked.

“I want a view of the spa,” Brooklyn said. “From inside the spa, I mean.”

“You heard the bride,” I said.

I flexed my shoulders in anticipation of a deep stone massage. I’d had one once before. It had been a little slice of Heaven that I was dying to repeat.

“Pedicures,” Sophie said.

“Facials,” Nat said.

“I want to sit in the sauna,” Brooklyn said.

“I feel my pores opening up already,” I said.

The sauna sounded like a great idea. So did a facial. I was the maid of honor, and I was determined to look my best.

Unlike some brides—more selfish brides—Brooklyn had chosen gorgeous bridesmaid dresses. They were airy and knee length with strapless sweetheart necklines and fitted bodices of azure-blue chiffon that faded to pale sky at the hemline.

My auburn hair was tricky but, happily, the colors worked. Because for a single twenty-six-year-old, a wedding was a really good place to meet new guys.

I was at a disadvantage this time since half the guests would be my own relatives. Plus I’d met nearly all of Brooklyn’s friends and family over the years. Still, she might have an undiscovered hot second cousin or two in the right age range. A woman could never discount an opportunity.

The cab pulled to a halt beside a rotating glass door and miles of windows that looked into the lobby. Stylized gold lettering spelled out The Archway Hotel and Spa on a marble pillar.

Three men in crisp steel-gray short-sleeved jackets simultaneously opened our doors.

“Welcome to the Archway,” one of them said to Brooklyn, his gaze lingering on her sea-breeze eyes before moving past her to me.

His smile was friendly. He was cute, but I wasn’t about to get interested.

Not that I have anything against valets. He could be putting himself through grad school for all I knew. Or maybe he liked living near the beach and having flexible hours.

Brooklyn moved past him, and he held out his hand to me.

I took it.

It was strong, slightly calloused, definitely tanned. Maybe he was a surfer.

I’m not a snob about professions. I’m a high school math teacher, and that isn’t the most prestigious job. I’m open to meeting people from all walks of life.

He did have really gorgeous hazel eyes, and a strong chin, and a bright white smile.

I came to my feet and he let go of my hand, taking a step back.

“We’ll take care of the bags,” he said, his gaze holding mine a little longer than normal.

It took me a second to realize he was waiting for a tip.

I almost laughed at myself. He wasn’t flirting with me—at least not with any romantic intent. He did this with everyone who arrived at the hotel. It was probably how he paid for his surfboard.

I rustled through my purse for a five and handed it over.