“Before you go.” I turn around and quickly slip my flannel back over my head. “I was hoping I could ask you for a small favor.”
“Uh, possibly?” The panicked look on his face reads anything but sure.
“I need you to pretend to be involved with me,” I say, carefully choosing my words. “You see, my ex-husband is coming over for cocktails, and long story short, I may have led him to believe that we’re an item.”
“You may have?” Phoebe asks, visibly annoyed. “And since when is Smith coming over for happy hour?”
“Since Nana Rosie invited him.” I wave my hand dismissively. “I don’t have time to get into the details.” I turn to Martin. “Are you in? Oh, and keep in mind that we’ll need to look like we’re not together for my parents.”
“Let me see if I’m following.” Martin swallows hard. “You want me to pretend to be involved with you in front of your ex-husband, while also pretending to not be interested in you when your parents are watching.”
“I mean, you don’t have to behave like you’re uninterested. Just not too interested. We’ve only just met. I wouldn’t want things to get weird, or at least not any weirder than you seeing me topless.”
“Is it actually topless if your bra is still on?” Falon asks.
“Technically, yes,” Phoebe replies.
“So, are you in?” I ask Martin. “I’m kind of on a tight deadline here.”
“You’re serious?” His expression shifts, as if he’s finally understood the absurdity of my request. “You know your father is my boss. And I’m supposed to stay here for the weekend.”
“Look, I promise I’m only asking for you to play the dual role of supportive-boyfriend-slash-brand-new-acquaintance tonight.” I hold my fingers up in a peace sign. “Spice Girls honor.”
“Is that a thing?”
“I’d trust Baby Spice over a Girl Scout any day of the week. Wouldn’t you?”
Martin glances over at Phoebe and Falon, as if he’s checking to see if I’m playing a practical joke on him or something. “I-I literally have no idea how to answer that.”
“Are you a Capricorn?”
“Penelope!” Nana Rosie’s voice blares through the vintage household intercom. “Are you almost ready? Smith will be here any minute.”
“Almost,” I shout.
“He looked good, didn’t he?” Nana Rosie hiccups. A fair indicator that she’s dipped into another martini. “Aged like a fine wine. Of course, that Martin fellow is no wet sandwich, if you ask me. He’s a hot pastrami on rye if there ever was one.”
Martin’s face is so flushed it practically looks sunburned. He gestures toward the hallway and mouths something that is either I’m going downstairs or I’m running away before closing the door behind him.
“Nana, I’ll be right down,” I say.
“Whichever one you don’t want, I get first dibs. Over and out.”
The intercom goes silent.
I peel off the rest of my travel clothes and throw myself onto Phoebe’s bed next to Falon. Phoebe’s already in her closet looking for something suitable for me to wear. One of the benefits of being Phoebe’s twin is getting to take advantage of her impeccable taste and a much more expensive wardrobe than my own.
“Don’t get too cozy,” Phoebe shouts from her closet. “You’re going down there even if Martin’s not willing to join in your ridiculous charade.”
“But it’s so nice.” I bury my face into the soft comforter. “Just give me a pair of sweatpants and we’ll call it a day.”
“Can I ask why your ex-husband thinks you’re in a relationship with Martin?” Falon asks.
“Because she’s a liar.” Phoebe holds up a black turtleneck sweater dress. “What about this?”
“I’m not a liar,” I say, genuinely offended by the remark. “Phoebe, you have no idea what I had to deal with. I was trapped in a van with the last man who saw me naked before all my good parts started to go wonky. Also, that dress is giving me Diane Keaton vibes.”
She ignores me. “I think the dress is a yes. Falon?” Falon nods in agreement. “Put this on.”
“Are you just not going to acknowledge me?” I pull the dress over my head and shimmy it down my body. “That’s it?”
“I couldn’t ignore you if I tried, Penny, because you command the spotlight. No. Command is being too generous. You hog it.”