What Lies Beneath

She flipped through hanger after hanger, the dollar signs adding up exponentially, but nothing caught her eye. Then she saw a glimpse of fabric in her peripheral vision. The flash of purple and white drew her down several feet to a long-sleeved blouse. She pulled it off the rack and looked it over. It was perfect, really. The purple and white stripes would accent the skirt, and some of the details in the blouse were very similar to what she’d been thinking about using in her own collection. Curious, she glanced at the tag on the collar.

Adrienne Lockhart Designs.

She looked at the name, staring intently at it for several moments as her brain tried to process the sudden influx of information rushing forward at once. It was like a dam had broken. Every memory she’d ever had bombarded her.

She remembered designing and sewing this blouse. The woman who bought it at her boutique was looking for a unique birthday gift. Her friend was the kind of person who had everything and she’d been struggling to find something different. Adrienne had hoped the woman would bring in more business, but nothing had ever come of it.

She could now picture her funky little shop with walls lined with clothing she’d designed and sewn herself. The fortune in her father’s life insurance money she’d used to get started. The heartache of packing everything up to ship home to Wisconsin when it didn’t work out.

Adrienne Lockhart.

The hanger slipped from her fingers to the floor, but she didn’t bother to bend over and pick it up.

“My name is Adrienne Lockhart.” She said the words aloud to the empty closet, and for the first time in two months, the niggling sensation in the back of her mind wasn’t there. The name Cynthia Dempsey had always triggered a feeling that things weren’t right. And they weren’t.

Because Cynthia Dempsey was dead and buried in Wisconsin with a tombstone that had Adrienne’s name on it.

A rush of emotion and confusion washed over her. She’d been living a lie for months. Fell in love with a dead woman’s fiancé. Made love to him several times, all the while he believed she was someone else. How could she tell him the truth? What would he do?

He’d said he liked her better now than before, but would the fact that she wasn’t Cynthia Dempsey change how he felt?

Never once when she thought about when and how she would regain her memory did it ever occur to her that she would realize she was someone else. Everyone thought she was dead. Cynthia’s family thought she was alive. All of Cynthia’s friends, the people who’d come to her party last night, pleased to see she was doing so well…how could she tell them the truth? How could she explain any of this?

Nausea swept over her. Rushing from the closet, she raced into the bathroom and lost her lunch in the fancy porcelain toilet.

Why hadn’t she gone with her instincts? Alarm bells had been sounding the entire time to warn her that this life wasn’t hers. She never had money or expensive anything. She was convinced that her tiny apartment in New York was an old janitorial closet. Her house in Milwaukee was a small, three-bedroom cottage in the suburbs that she inherited when her father died. The nicest piece of jewelry she owned was the strand of pearls that belonged to her mother. They were irreplaceable, but even then, they couldn’t touch the value of Cynthia’s jewels.

Rolling back against the wall, she wiped her mouth and was relieved that the engagement ring wasn’t on her hand. It belonged to a woman from an entirely different world. That woman had been a successful advertising executive. That woman had clothes and credit card limits that Adrienne could only dream of. She was also a horrible person who cheated on her fiancé and made a mess of her own life.

Her one moment of relief was knowing she’d never actually done those terrible things. Nigel was a complete stranger. Along with everyone else, including Will.

Oh, God, Will.

Adrienne buried her face in her hands. This was such a mess. “How am I going to tell him?” she said aloud.

“How are you going to tell me what?”

Adrienne’s head snapped up and found Will standing in the doorway of the bathroom. Things had apparently gone well at the paper. Not so much back here.

She immediately noticed a change in him. There was no softness in his eyes. His cold gaze was focused on her like a laser. His hands were thrust angrily in his pockets, his entire body tense from the chiseled line of his jaw to the wide, solid stance in the doorway.

“I…” she began, but couldn’t find the words. What would she say? My memory has suddenly come back, and I realized I’m not your fiancée. Sorry I slept with you. Something like that?

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and just come clean, Adrienne?”