A Stranger Watching The Imposter

Camilla:

I stood motionless alone in the spacious ornate hall like a statue, my mind already imagining the chaos I'd cause when I stepped out with Arthur again. I remained frozen longer than I could explain.

SoHo. 

The name echoed in my head, the terror of having dinner alone with Arthur playing in my mind like a disc on repeat. I've never been there, but my sister has, and she enjoyed such moments.

I spent the remaining hours hoping it would never turn to evening, but time slipped past relentlessly as if plotting my downfall.

The dozens of rooms made it hard to find my way back to the bedroom but I managed. 

As soon as I locked the room, I went straight to the closet that was supposedly meant for my sister. My eyes darted from the expensive clothing with ornate designs that I found unnecessary or useless to the ones carefully folded in lines of clean heaps, hoping to find something quite dull or nude. Something that wasn't overly fashionable but none. And Arthur had personally told me not to wear black. 

That means I have to…wear one of these. 

At this point, I wished Pamela could just erupt from wherever the hell she was hiding because I'm surely going to ruin this.

The sudden sound of a knock made me jump and my eyes flashed to the door.

“Who's it?” I blurted out, hoping it wasn't Arthur but the muffled sound of Margaret's voice calmed my nerves a little.

I met her warm brown gaze again and her smile sent a strange volt of relief through my nerves that vanished in a fleeting second. 

“Margaret,” I feigned a smile, letting her in.

“Good evening, Mrs Bellingham,” Margaret said simply, but her gaze felt knowing. “It's almost eight.”

Already acquainted with both the Bellinghams and my sister, she scanned the room briefly. I followed her gaze which landed on the untouched sleek glass vase holding a tight cluster of peonies blooming effortlessly and forgotten across the room. Despite her controlled facade, I sensed suspicion lurking beneath.

For a fleeting moment, a tense silence fell between us but she quickly looked away, maintaining a neutral countenance with practiced ease.

“So, Mrs. Bellingham,” She began conversationally. “Anything in mind regarding your dress for dinner? I trust your choices.”

She winked.

My lips parted as though to speak but no words came out.

“Hmm,” she murmured, raising a brow. “Don't tell me our Pamela of all people hasn't chosen a dress yet.”

Does she usually choose her own dress for events? I wondered, hoping the thought didn’t slip from my mouth.

“Well, I was looking into it before you knocked though,” The word slipped out smoother than intended but that was a good one.

 Margaret didn't seem satisfied. She held my gaze for a while, then nodded. 

She shrugged.

“So, what's on your mind now?” She glided toward the closet.

“Did you really expect me to choose my dress?” I couldn't help but ask. 

“You've always chosen your dress for dinners and galas…especially for dinner reservations at SoHo.”

For a fraction of a second, I stifled a laugh. A self-reproaching laugh. The fact that she thinks I'm my twin sister, plus trying to remind her of her own habit like Pamela suffered memory loss was absurd. I could imagine the thoughts running through her head right now.

Before I could speak, she'd pulled a hanger of a sleeveless orange gown that was heavily embroidered with gold stones and the personality inside of me wanted to scream in protest. My mouth opened several times but I didn't speak.

I couldn't risk it now.

Margaret had quickly read my agitation.

“My stomach hurts a bit,” I lied, preventing that question from entering her mind.

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

“It's…it's not severe though,” My voice was wrong in my ears but I quickly masked the tension with a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

I looked like a stray child lost in the wild as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. The gown was fitted and was supposed to be perfect, but not on me. Not with my eyes wide open like a hungry puppy, nibbling for its mother’s milk.

“You look perfect!” Margaret smiled.

But the compliment only ignited my nerves.

Arthur didn't come to pick me up, but he'd sent one of his drivers.

The Honda SUV swallowed me whole, its tinted glasses enveloping me like I was on another planet altogether. A huge man in a black suit and specs sat in front with the driver.

I watched buildings gliding past as the car sped up, honking into another clean and sterile area I barely recognised and the closer we got to SoHo, the faster my pulse hammered. 

The high-rise of ornate buildings with colorful chandeliers sweeping their majestic glows through the evening indicated we've arrived at SoHo. 

Lights spilled generously from the restaurants’ windows in soft gold ribbons, catching against pavements and the lines of exotic cars properly parked. 

I scanned the area, taking in women in elegant dresses laughing too loudly behind diamond earrings and wine glasses. Men in tailored suits were chanting, some drinking. Instinctively, my eyes darted in search of any sign of Arthur but he was nowhere close. 

Pamela would've loved this, but I couldn't help my disdain. I hated social gatherings of any sort. It feels like I'm being shoved out of my shell. 

The valet opened the door and the smell of expensive cigars wafted into my nostrils at once, along with the evening cool breeze.

My gaze was locked on the restaurant entrance. To me, it was a courtroom rather than a place to idolize. 

“Any problem, ma'am?” The guard asked from the front seats. He'd turned to look at me while the driver watched me intently through the rearview mirror.

“No problem,” Despite my controlled facade, my voice lacked my sister's usual effortless sparkle. Mine bellied grudge or reluctance.

My phone suddenly vibrated in my purse and I stiffened, my gaze snapping to the clutch purse which was clearly choking from my tight grasp. 

Looking up, I caught cameras lingering across the streets and buildings and my belly tightened.  

Pamela would've stepped out of this car long ago, grinning at virtually every camera by now.

I stepped out cautiously, my heels making me awkwardly taller than usual. The awareness of being noticeable struck my nerves so hard that my toes twitched in my heels.

“Mrs. Bellingham!” 

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of a distant female voice calling and I froze. 

The maitre d’ walked gracefully to me with a gentle smile. 

“Oh, I didn't mean to startle you,”

“It's…it's fine,” my lips pulled shakily from adrenaline in an awkward smile.

“Your table is ready,” she said simply. “You'd get comfy while waiting for Mr. Bellingham. He instructed me to make sure you're comfortable.”

Relief settled almost imperceptibly within me as I studied the young simple but elegant lady standing before me. 

“Cool,” I said.

The chandeliers were too bright for my liking. In fact, everything here was completely wrong. I didn't belong here. The glowing lights of crystal chandeliers caught the glassy and ornate tables and chairs and the only thing I wished for was to disappear. 

My feet twitched in my heels as high-class ladies on different tables turned to look at me, their mumbled gossip clinging to my dress like forbidden fragrance. 

As soon as I sat at the table specially decorated for Arthur and me, my phone buzzed again and I brought it out desperately. It was a text from an anonymous person with no caller ID. That same person who'd been monitoring me since my wedding to Arthur.

“ Oh, you finally made  

    It's here. Glad you didn't stumble on your heels.

   You know the entire SoHo is out of your league, don't you? 

 What a persistent imposter! But you can't survive for long impersonating your sister! You're already bored with her sharp-eyed and guarded lifestyle.  Wait patiently for Arthur and see how I'd expose you.”

                               

My heart sank. That person is right here…watching me. My fist balled as I resisted the urge to look up immediately.